My life changed inexorably when I got smacked in the face with a computer. My eye almost fell out. Literally. A full orbital blowout. Now, for those of you who don’t know me, I am a red head. To add insult to injury, I am also covered with freckles—head-to-toe... So, let’s all take deep breath and thank the big man upstairs that I am NOT writing/telling this to you with a glass eye. A FRECKLED--RED HEAD WITH A FUCKING GLASS EYE?! Are you kidding me? That cannot be my story.
Let’s begin this story with the day of the event, the disaster, the moment of contact with the computer and my face. It was just like any other (pandemic) day. I began with cold brew and cereal for breakfast while catching up on the news. And by news, I mean watching (in this exact order) Stephen Colbert, Jimmy Kimmel, Seth Meyers, and Trevor Noah all give their take on another unnerving day in 2020. It was the humor that I craved before I would hop on the hamster wheel of having a corporate job. I was going on my 4th year working at an advertising agency and my patience barometer had already run out at this point. However, working from home had brought out a whole new direct and short-tempered side to me and I was beginning to enjoy it. I decide to knock out a few aggressive emails with astonishing confidence. This confidence might have been due to the fact that my best friend and I were about to launch a business together, but I like to think it was me just being a boss ass business woman.
Anyhow, back to getting my face shattered…at this point of the pandemic my best friend and I had perfected the prep work for our daily spreads, charcuterie boards and veggie plates. I have always loved the point in the day when we switched from cold brew and water to cider and Lacroix. No matter, our rituals are what made the days so special and fun. Did you know that carrots and hummus cancel out all brie and goat cheese calories?! It’s science. We had just set up our usual concoction of savory snacks when she showed me a trending video of Scarlett Johansson, Cameron Diaz and Margot Robbie. The action-packed video titled “Boss Bitch Fight” comprised of clips shot from the actresses' respective homes that were edited together to entertain fans amid the pandemic. The viral video quickly became a trend on social media. The videos became so popular that viewers/fans began posting their own versions of a “Boss Bitch Fight.” We decided to join the fun and make our own video.
It was our first take. I was going to film her doing a scene and then we would switch. She was going to pretend to be mad about being on a computer and slam it shut. It didn’t even cross our minds to do a run through. Idiots. So, with my arm fully extended and phone in hand, I pressed record and said, “action”. I was watching her through the screen on my phone. Before I even had a second to process what was happening, it was too late.
It is difficult to describe what it feels like when your face gets shattered. It felt like someone took a metal bat to my head, and I remember so vividly that I KNEW that I was dying. Not thinking, but knowing. When there is an explosion in a movie scene, it always seems to be followed by a piercing/deafening ringing sound. The piercing silence of the end. It was like that…times a million. There was a separation between my body, mind and spirit in that moment, and I remember thinking I didn’t want to die like this and leave my family forever. As I slowly began to come back into my body, I realized that I was in trouble, but I was having difficulty processing whatever the hell just happened to me. I knew that it was bad. I muttered “I think you need to call an ambulance” and then shrieked, “CALL AN AMBULANCE, NOW!”
“Breathe lize. In and out,” I thought to myself. The waves were so intense. I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t call an ambulance but I didn’t have the wherewithal to dial 911 myself. I was on my knees bent over with my left hand holding my face up. I placed my right hand firmly on top of my left as double support. There was blood everywhere, and I had no vision out of my left eye. I remember her calling her husband in a panic about what to do. He said he would come over and I remember screaming “TELL HIM TO BRING THE CAR!” She hung up, but the chaos continued. She was pacing trying to find something to help the bleeding stop, but it was clear that she was in just as much shock as I was. I could hear it in her voice. I kept comforting her as she was saying over and over, “I can’t believe I did this…How are we going to explain this?” I Replied with “We’ll worry about that later! Everything will be fine; we are in this together.” I kept just telling myself to focus on my breathing and try to survive until help arrived. It felt like forever before her husband got there. Once he arrived, she blew out the candles, grabbed my phone, wallet, and keys and we slowly headed down my three-flight walk-up.
I remember feeling safe knowing that her husband had been in the marines and would likely know how to handle this type of predicament. As children, girls are conditioned to think that men are in charge. Men are bigger, stronger and faster. Men will save us. So, when he looked at my face and said that he didn’t know what to do, it not only questioned my perception of him, but men in general.
Us three had become a trio, especially during the pandemic. I mean helllllo…we were starting a business together! We all brought unique skills to the table, and there was no doubt in my mind that we were going to make it happen. We spent so much time together and it just clicked. They were my partners in crime, in friendship and in business. They were family. So, when he failed to take initiative or control of the situation, I felt completely helpless. He took a picture to send to a family friend that is a doctor. I never learned of the response, but after driving around to three urgent cares that were closed, we pulled over. You know when you are with a group of friends who cannot decide what to eat so they are just scrolling options? That is what it felt like sitting in that car. Her husband said “maybe we should go back and put some ice on it?” I was panicked, but physically couldn’t even muster a “please just take me to the ER” response. Finally, she mentioned the urgent care facility on Broadway was accepting patients and that we should stop there first. Due to the pandemic, they weren’t allowed inside, so they dropped me off. That is the last time I ever saw her husband.
I went to check-in and instantly knew this was going to be a nightmare. I could see the petite woman behind the desk was taking patient information and getting overwhelmed by the sheer number of sick people in her waiting room... I quickly filled out all of the requisite forms, and begged for her to recognize the urgency of the situation. I flashed her a look that said *GIRL…read the room and bump me up the list… TRUST me when I say I know and understand first-hand how a UTI will RUIN a week… but it can wait. She gestured me over to the waiting area and said they would call my name.
This was the first time I was truly alone with my thoughts. Everything up until now had been a full-fledged panic and thinking wow, well…. this was a plot twist. I continue to be shocked by how amazing our bodies are. How they react to trauma and pain. The waves of excruciating pain are truly indescribable. Those waves continued in the waiting area for 36 minutes and 22 seconds until I heard, “Ms. Fisher”. Oh, trust me, I remember the exact amount of time. That clock was a lifeline for me in that moment. It was my escape. I would stare at the ticking hand and focus on getting my breath to match. Three ticks for the inhale, 3 ticks for the exhale. “Just make it to the next minute”, I told myself, “Lize, you got this”.
I finally arrived in the examination room, and the doctor…or the woman whom I assumed was the doctor, asked me to remove the towel. I was frightened because I wasn’t sure what remained of the left side of my face. I had barely begun to remove my makeshift compress as I watched her gasp, “wait a minute, let me grab the physician”.
Well……that’s a bit unsettling, I thought to myself. What is going on? I thought you were the physician? Where am I? Are you a school nurse?! IS THERE A REAL DOCTOR ON THE PREMISES?!
I looked for a clock in the room on which to refocus. The attending physician entered, took one quick glance at my battered face, and immediately sent me to the emergency room. He said they would call ahead so they knew I was coming. I called my best friend to come back to drive to me the ER. I stood outside on the corner with the bloody kitchen towel covering most of my face thinking “… wow I really am alone… and in QUITE a pickle”. The streets felt apocalyptic; eerily quiet and gloomy. If my senses were like a circuit breaker, there would have certainly been an outage. But before that felt like my nerve wiring lines had been crossed... I could see the trees moving with my right eye but could not hear or feel the breeze? I had temporarily lost my sense of smell because my whole face had been distorted. I just stood there like an empty shell hoping that somehow autopilot would take over. So, with all of my senses out of whack, I stood alone in the streets of Chicago, thinking to myself I was not ready to die, and I believe that is what got me to the emergency room.
The post-apocalyptic feeling continued at the ER because the waiting room was completely empty. Omg am I dead? Was this the like “waiting room” for heaven? To be honest, I pictured the waiting room for heaven to be WAY more glamorous. You know, marble, waterfalls, crystal chandeliers and gold everything.
I was very confused because the empty ER was very different from what I had been seeing on the news. I anticipated pure chaos. I didn’t know that there was an entirely separate wing of the hospital for COVID patients. This side of the hospital in which I found myself bleeding, numb, unable to smell or see from the left side of my face, was COMPLETELY empty. And there I sat. Certainly not the waiting room for Heaven, but beggars can’t be choosers. At this point, I felt lucky to still be alive. The initial intake nurse was impressively efficient as she gathered and notated vast amounts of information and data in marine-like proficiency. I was so grateful for that. Moments later, I was whisked away to a room that had both sides of the door flanked with armed policemen. As I made a quick questioning glance to the proficient and enthusiastic triage nurse, she responded quickly and unambiguously, “they are here for you”. I sat on the bed and my mind began to race again as I tried to unscramble my present circumstances. “They are here for me”. What does that mean? Were they here to protect me from someone or something?? Is someone after me? Is there like a bounty out on me?! It hadn’t occurred to me as to how this situation might have looked from the outside.
A woman entered my room wearing what appeared to be a full beekeeper suit. “I am the attending resident, what happened here?” she inquired with quiet confidence.
“My friend and I were filming a skit and…. I don’t…really know, but I think my friend may have smashed me in the face with her laptop computer.”. Of all people, how could I stumble on my words? But I honestly didn’t know what to say. For one of the first times in my life, I was truly at a loss for words.
“Your eye is completely swollen shut but we need to take a look” She left the room unceremoniously, and re-entered moments later pushing one of those machines that the eye doctor uses to test your vision. At this point I don’t need a machine to tell me if I can see or not. Without emotion, the doctor asked me to rest my chin in the chin cup.
I leaned forward to put my chin on the chinrest, trembling, and feeling battered and broken. The reality of what had happened to me (now several hours ago) began to set in concurrent with the beginning of her examination. The doctor sensed my anxiety. Her affect changed instantaneously from detached to calm. She said “I want you to know that you are safe and we are going to take care of you.” Tears started to stream down my face. This was the first time I cried. I think the pain and shock from the accident, the assault, was so intense that I had disconnected from my body at times. When your body is assaulted beyond your imagination, sometimes it is difficult for your conscious mind to process the pain. Additionally, I felt like I had to hold it together until I knew I really was safe and with people who knew what to do. I am so grateful for those doctors and nurses. However well they are compensated, it is not enough. Since the pandemic began, these brave healthcare workers have had to do their job, and also double as family, support system, priest, rabbi, best friend--everything.
Finally, the attending physician came in with the diagnosis. “You have three broken bones, one being the orbital wall that holds up your eye, which we will have to fix surgically. There are two deep lacerations that we will need to stich up.” I was nauseous, tired and in pain. Yet I felt a sense of relief that I could at least now understand the severity of what happened. My face was broken, battered and bruised. I would need some 30 stitches to close the wound on my cheek and eyelid, and I would need at least one surgery. But I could see…and I wasn’t going to die. In this moment of realization and capitulation, I was filled with gratitude