People
lookatme
withpityin
theireyes
just overreacting.
I hadn’t felt anything.
Why was she freaking
out like this?
As the current took us
further away, we didn’t
know what to do.
The girls called for help.
‘Keep moving, Kristina,’
Rita urged.
She looked after me, but
seemed shaken.
Then a guy on a jet-ski
called Ryan appeared.
‘I heard you from the
dock,’ he said.
‘There’s been an
accident!’ Rita yelled.
Ryan jumped in and
helped hold me.
‘You’ll be fine, don’t
worry,’ he reassured.
Next, a speedboat carrying
two families appeared.
Ryan flagged them down.
The children on it were
ushered to the front while one
of the guys jumped in, helping
lift me into the back.
Suddenly, I understood
Rita’s reaction.
My right arm...
It was gone!
It had been sliced clean off
by the boat propeller.
Bloodied tissue was hanging
from my shoulder.
There were cuts and bruises
down my torso, and my right breast
was mangled.
As thick blood slowly oozed out
from my right shoulder, I gently
wriggled my toes, checking to see if
my legs were fine.
As a critical care nurse, I knew to
stay calm, somehow.
I knew panicking would only
make things worse.
‘I need to lie down, elevate my
legs,’ I instructed.
Two men on the speedboat, Jason
and Luis, were Army guys.
They followed my lead.
Get me fluids and paper towels,’
I instructed next.
Pressing the towels against my
shoulder, I lay back, legs up in the
air, and waited.
I didn’t feel any pain at all.
Just numbness.
Am I going to die? I thought.
My head was clear.
‘I need to call my husband,’ I
said, thinking of Blas, 34, who was
back home.
We’d only been married for
two years.
Luis dialled
the number as
the boat sped
to shore.
‘I love you,’ I
cried. ‘Tell the
family I love
them, too.’
‘I’m on the
next plane,’ Blas
promised.
Paramedics
were waiting as
we docked.
Lifted into the
back of an
ambulance, I was
driven to a waiting
helicopter. I feltdrowsy, but knew I had to stay
awake, keep talking.
‘What are my vitals?’ I asked.
‘You’re OK,’ one said.
‘Luckily there isn’t much blood.’
I knew they were right.
An injury like this, involving a
severed artery, usually meant hard,
fast bleeding.
But somehow I’d managed to
dodge that fate.
I was then hurried into theatre.
‘Female, 31, amputation,’ a
doctor’s voice said.
I woke up six hours later.
Tubes everywhere – one helping
me breathe, one in my stomach, and
a drip pumping in antibiotics.
But I was alive.
Bleary-eyed, I saw
my friends.
‘You’re awake,’
Rita sobbed.
I had four broken
ribs, and surgeons
had cleaned my
shoulder wound,
stapled it shut.
They explained
that there’d been no heavy bleeding
because of a kink in my artery, like a
garden hose – it had actually curbed
the rush of blood.
Incredible.
When Blas arrived at 2am, he
held my remaining hand.
‘I love you,’ he wept.
The next day, the breathing tube
out, I could speak.
‘You don’t have to stay with me,’
I told Blas.
‘I’m not leaving you,’ he said.
A week later, transferred to
Morristown Medical
Center, close to home in
New Jersey, I had two
more operations to
clean the
wound.
When
I wasdischargedthreeweekslater,it was
time to face reality.
I was right-handed, so I knew
there’d be challenges ahead.
But I refused to be beaten.
I could’ve bled to death or even
been decapitated.
I was lucky.
But struggling with basic every
day tasks – carrying bags, paying in
shops, dressing myself, cooking –
was tough.
I had intensive therapy – I learnt
to write, eat, and do everything with
my left hand.
It’s frustrating at times, but now I
can blow-dry my hair, tie it up by
placing my head against a wall, and
even dice food with a special tool.
A year later, Rita and
I returned to Lake
Travis in Austin.
We had a barbecue
and thanked those who
helped us that day.
In November, I had
another operation to
reconstruct my breast.
Now I’m waiting for
a prosthetic arm.
I kept my job in the Critical Care
unit, training up nurses.
When I meet new people, they
give me a look of pity.
But why feel sorry for me?
It could’ve been my face, both
arms, or worse...
I’m thankful for every new day,
and the people around me.
I hold my head high.
I’ve so much more to give.
I’m a survivor, and proud.REAL LIFE
I continue to work
training nurses Don’t feel
sorry for me!