Today is the day I'm transferring to the inpatient rehab unit, which is still conveniently located inside the same hospital.

They are also switching me from the IV pain medication to leg catheters that will deliver numbing medication only to my right leg. I will be trying to manage any other pain with oral medications. They discontinued the medication about an hour ago, and now I'm starting to feel a burning, throbbing pain in my right leg. It feels like it's spreading all over, like my entire thigh was affected and not just the part above the knee. I don't know how long it will be before they get the new catheters. I hope it will be soon because it feels like the muscles are contracted tightly into the worst cramp I've ever had in my life, in addition to the burning.

Mom notices I'm becoming increasingly uncomfortable, so she calls for a nurse and asks what we can do to alleviate the pain.

"I'll get you some ice," she says and disappears. She comes back with two ice packs and tucks them close to the amputation. Then she shows my mom how to gently massage my muscles to help loosen them up. My mom gets to work and it helps somewhat, but not much. I think it's more the case that the feeling of her hands on my leg is distracting me from the pain a bit.

Finally, after what feels like hours of intense pain, a tech arrives to take me to a prep room where the catheters will be put in. Bette had introduced a mild sedative into my IV just a little bit ago, so I'm starting to feel more relaxed.

After the procedure, I find that I'm back in my room, not quite remembering the details, but realizing that the pain is completely gone and I breathe a sigh of relief.

I look around. This room is a bit more bland than the last one, with plain, cream-colored walls and a wooden closet to the side of my bed. It's so depressing, I want to cry. "I don't want to be here, Mom."

She sits on the bed next to me, stroking my hand. "I know, honey. It won't be long. You're a hard worker and you're strong. You'll make great progress."

"I know," I sigh. "It's just so unfair, you know. I can't believe this is happening to me. I had so many plans for my life and now they're all out the window."

"Mija, you know that's not true. You're only twenty-one, you have so much of your life ahead of you and I know you'll make the best of it."

"Or I'll just rot away in a wheelchair," I grumble.

She sighs deeply and hugs me, saying, "Now I know that's not true at all."

My dad arrives at dinner time with a pizza. It's greasy and disgusting, but oh so good. Surprisingly, it lifts my spirits a bit. That's probably how it will be from now on – I'll get my joy out of stupid things like pizza or being able to get to the bathroom by myself. I feel like my greater life goals, like becoming a successful businesswoman, are slowly crumbling. Soon it will just be me, pizza and the television. I'll gain a couple hundred pounds and live on Social Security.

Fantastic.

I yawn in an exaggerated fashion, hinting to my parents know that it's time for them to leave. I just want to be alone for now.

However, they're not even gone for fifteen minutes when a knock sounds on my door.

"Come in," I say, hoping it's a quick visit from a nurse and then I can be alone again.

However, when I see Ethan's face, I feel an unexpected sense of relief instead of dismay that he's interrupting my pity fest.

"Hey," he smiles, coming to my bedside to place the obligatory kiss on my forehead.

"Hi," I say, attempting to smile back. But it's not sincere and Ethan notices.

"What's up?" He asks gently. "Something bothering you?"

I blow out a small huff and scoff, "What do you think? This is bothering me!" I motion to my legs and and then to my hospital room.

He pulls his eyebrows together into a look something akin to pity, but I soon recognize that it's genuine concern. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I know this really sucks for you. Do you want to punch something?" He asks.

"Kind of."

"Here," he says, sitting on the side of my bed with one arm facing me. He pats his upper arm. "Give it a good hard punch."

I crack a small smile. "I'm not going to punch you."

"You won't hurt me, I promise." He notes my hesitation and encourages me further. "I'm absolutely serious."

I close my eyes, draw in a deep breath, and then I make a fist and punch him as hard as I can in the arm. But instead of feeling relieved, I bury my face in my hands and begin to sob even though I hate crying, especially in front of other people. It makes me feel weak.

But somehow, I don't mind that Ethan is here while I'm weeping.

"Hey," he says, gently tugging me against himself, enfolding me in his arms. And then he doesn't say anything else. He doesn't try to convince me to look at the bright side or anything like that. He just lets me cry for a long, long time. All I hear is an occasional "shhh" and I feel him rocking me gently.

Finally, I pull away as he hands me a box of tissues. "I'm sorry," I say after I'm done wiping my face and blowing my nose.

"Nothing to be sorry about," he shrugs. "You have every right to cry. This is a very difficult thing and it happened to you."

"You're usually so positive," I said with a little chuckle. "I thought you'd just say it will get better or something to make me stop crying."

"Well," he says, "I do believe it will get better. But I can't ignore the fact that you're upset about this. It's huge, I know. And I know your whole life is changing because of it. That's not an easy thing to face. So I think it's completely normal to cry. Healthy, even."

I smile a little more. "Thanks." After a bit of silence, I tell him, "You're a really cool guy, you know that? Most men aren't as intuitive as you are."

He shrugs again. "Let's just say I have some experience in dealing with crying women."

"Ahh, I get it. You've broken lots of hearts," I say, teasing him.

Or am I flirting?

"Not even close," he laughs. "I had a girlfriend for a few months in high school. And I went on a handful of dates in college. That's as close as I've come to breaking any hearts."

"I don't believe that," I say, smirking. "There were probably dozens of broken hearts that you never knew about. Girls want a guy like you. They want someone to understand them."

"Wait now, hold on. I didn't say I understood women at all. Maybe I'm just a good actor," he says, a small smile lighting up his eyes.

"Well, I think you are because you made me feel better. Really. Thanks for letting me just get all of that out."

"You're welcome. And just so you know, my experience with women comes mainly from my four sisters."

"Wow," I laugh. "Your house must be a very interesting place."

"You have no idea," he grins, shaking his head. "I don't understand them, but I've gotten used to a little bit of crazy."

"Are you calling me crazy?" I ask with a smirk and I realize that I might just be flirting again. Then I feel kind of stupid to be flirting, to be honest. Sure, he's a really cute guy, but he's a really cute guy who seems to have it all together while my own life is currently falling apart.

We talk for a long time about anything and everything except my accident and my injuries. When he finally gets up to leave, he places another kiss on my head and quietly says, "Just wanted you to know...I'm praying for you."

I give him a courteous smile in return but as soon as he's out the door, I let my head fall back in disappointment. I was just starting to think that maybe Ethan could be my type, and then he says something like that. That definitely puts him back in the not-my-type category. I'm not the least bit interested in falling for a guy like him.

The next morning, I awaken early, before anyone else wakes me up. I lie here and think about Ethan holding me while I cried. It was nice to have the feeling of someone caring for me that way. Besides my parents, I mean. And of course, my friends care deeply about me.

But with Ethan, it was different, somehow.

I'm kind of like Ethan in that I haven't had many relationships, and never anything serious. I was way too busy in high school being the classic over-achiever. Drama club, student government, track, you name it, I was in it. I'm somewhat athletic, but I didn't like team sports like basketball. Track and cross country were perfect because I got to compete by myself in a sense, not with a team; well, at least they weren't on the field with me. I like to do my own thing; I don't like to rely on others to succeed.

Why does Ethan have to be a the religious type? I mean, fundamentally, I'm not prejudiced against them or anything. My parents are religious, I guess. They can believe what they want, I just never got into the whole Jesus thing. Certainly, I believe there's a God, and that he wants us to live a good life, which is what I've been trying to do all along. But religious people always say things like "Trust God" or "God has a plan for your life" when it's so much more complicated than that. I've always trusted myself to achieve what I want, and I haven't let myself down yet. Besides, if this is God's plan for my life - making me lose an entire limb - then I don't really want any part of his plan.

It would be too much for me to really fall in love with someone who is so obvious about his  faith. I'm more comfortable with people who keep their faith between themselves and God. I could never see myself with the kind of person who talks to others about Jesus openly or who tells people so plainly, "I'm praying for you."

Not that I'm bothered that Ethan said it to me. I think it was kind of sweet, actually. And comforting in some way. But still, I'm not that kind of person to say that or to live like that, so I guess he still isn't really my type.

In any case, I kind of doubt Ethan would want me anyway, since I'm sure his faith is important to him. That's probably why he seems so positive about everything. Maybe he's blinded himself to the fact that life isn't always cheerful and happy. And anyway, I'm sure he'd think I'm a terrible person if he knew that I don't even go to church. I went to my mom's church when I was little, but eventually I stopped going some time around middle school and she didn't force me anymore.

A while later, it's a new person who pushes a wheelchair into my room. She greets me with a bright smile and a much-too-cheerful voice. She has long, straight brown hair, narrow, wide-set eyes and her smile reveals her gums. She's very pretty, but also very, very perky. And perky and I do not always get along.

Is that a requirement for everyone who works in the hospital? To possess an annoying level of perkiness that makes you kind of want to punch them?

"Good morning, Sarah. My name is Laney and I'm an Occupational Therapist. Let's get to work on some ADL's."

"ADL's?" I ask.

"Activities of Daily Living. I'm sorry, I sometimes forget that not everyone knows the lingo," she apologizes. "I'll help you with basic things like using the bathroom, taking a shower and getting dressed, to start with."

I'm surprised at how difficult it is to get into a wheelchair for beginners. I don't do much of the work, but Laney gives me about twenty instructions before I even attempt it. Even then, she positions herself in front of me and practically lifts me over to it.

She tells me that it's difficult mostly because I've been lying in bed for a week and my muscles have weakened, but they will strengthen quickly as soon as I start using them.

"Why don't we start with a shower? That probably sounds wonderful, doesn't it?" She asks.

I wonder if she's suggesting that I stink. But a shower does indeed sound appealing except....

"I'm not ready to see it yet," I tell her.

She knows what I'm talking about. "Oh, no, we won't take the bandages off. We'll cover it up so that the water doesn't get inside."

I breathe a small sigh of relief as Laney gathers a few things and places them into a pink plastic tub, which she then places into my lap. She wheels me down the hall and into an extra large bathroom with a shower stall. Laney closes the door, grabs a plastic bag and tapes it securely around my bandages with first aid tape.

She then instructs me on how to push myself up from the wheelchair and move with her to the shower bench. She stands in front of me, with her leg right in front of mine to offer me support. Standing on one leg, even momentarily, feels weird. It still hurts, but it already feels stronger. It's only for a moment, and then I plop unceremoniously onto the bath bench.

She points to the snaps on my hospital gown. "You can just unsnap those and toss the whole thing into that bin," she says gesturing to the suspended plastic bag labeled LINENS. "Let's see if you can move your hips side to side to get your underpants off," she then instructs me.

No problem. I remember not to lean forward too much or I'll lose my balance. As evidenced by the fact that Laney has to give me specific instructions on how to take off my  underwear, it seems like I'm relearning everything. Or maybe "relearning" isn't quite the right term. I'm re-figuring everything because my body is thrown off by my missing leg. I'm occasionally surprised by leaning too far and losing my balance, or sudden pain that wasn't there before.

Now I'm sitting on the shower bench and I'm completely nude. Oddly, I wish it was Carol again and that I didn't have to reveal myself to someone new.

Showering, in and of itself, is nothing too difficult. Hot water, soap, washcloth. Laney stands behind the curtain but keeps her eyes on me, making sure I don't fall.

I finish the shower and manage to dry myself off. I start dressing by putting on my sports bra and a clean t-shirt. Then I move on to the underwear and shorts, which are more difficult without being able to stand completely, of course. Still, I'm pleased with myself to accomplish it on my own.

I'm tempted to just feel sorry for myself again, thinking I shouldn't be so damn excited about taking a stupid shower. But a tiny part of me feels a glimpse of hope that maybe I'll get my life back after all.

* * * * *

Hello everyone: I  know I regularly ask for your support in sharing my stories and you're  always so wonderful. This time, I'd like to ask for a different kind of  support. As many of you know, my husband is a stroke survivor. Since his  first stroke seven years ago, he has suffered another stroke, a small  aneurysm, and possible seizures that have compromised his memory and  caused excessive confusion. In addition, his mobility decreases  regularly which means that at some point, our current house will not be  accessible for him, especially if he eventually needs a wheelchair. With  all this being said, my mother-in-law and one of her good friends  started a GoFundMe account for our family with a rather high  financial goal. The idea is to create a savings account for us going  forward to be able to use for unforeseen medical bills as well as major  household needs. With his current mental state, Al may never return to  work and my job is wonderful but with my health issues, I can only do so  much.

So here is the  request: Would you please take the time to read the rather long story of  our health and financial issues and especially SHARE the page with family and friends on social media.  I understand that many of you are in high school and college and don't  have the means to give financially, but I would be so blessed if you  could make this fundraiser fly by sharing it on Facebook, Twitter or in  any other way you might see fit.

www.gofundme.com/help-al-persevere

Thank you SO MUCH and I love you all <3