How It Happened
It’s hard to believe it, but in less than a month it will be half a year since my accident. However, I still have no recollection of it (isn’t it amazing how our brain is built to protect us from traumatic memories?). On August 3 of last year, exactly a day after we came back from Armenia, me and my husband, Daniel, were riding to his parents’ house. Since they needed his help with some renovations and we were already so late, Daniel asked if he could ride ahead. Of course, it was okay. I’d ridden that route many times.
I began riding downhill, but as the bike gained more and more momentum, I didn’t slow it down. Maybe I was enjoying the thrill—I don’t know. I only got scared when the front wheel began wobbling out of control, and that’s the last thing I remember. I’m guessing that in my state of panic, I forgot to brake with my legs and only braked with my hands, causing only the front wheel to stop and me to flip over.
In an interesting turn of events, it recently turned out that Daniel’s grandpa knows one of the people who found me that day and called the ambulance. He immediately arranged for us to meet her, so we could ask our questions and get a chance to thank her. When we met, the lady said that when she and the others found me, I was face-down, bleeding, and drifting in and out of consciousness.
Since she had some experience in healthcare (and, coincidentally, had only taken that road that day because her usual route was in heavy traffic), she knew it was vital to keep me awake. She started speaking to me and calming me down. When I responded in what sounded like gibberish, they couldn’t figure out if I was speaking another language or if I’d hit my head too hard. Then they tried English and I understood. They told me to lie still and be calm because an ambulance was coming.
It turns out another motorbike accident had happened nearby (not a great day for bikes), but since those people were at least on their feet, the ambulance changed routes and came for me. Every minute was of the essence, so that was another one of the lucky “coincidences” that saved my life.
From One Hospital to the Next
By that time, Daniel had taken the car to come and see what was taking me so long. He said that when he first saw the ambulance and a group of people gathered around someone on the ground, he thought it was an old man. I like to think that it was due to him being in denial rather than some kind of commentary on my appearance. His real emotions didn’t hit him until I was in surgery five hours later.
They first brought me to the ER in our town, Örnsköldsvik. They scanned my brain and saw that I had a brain bleed the size of an apricot. They immediately sent me to another town called Umeå, which has one of the best neurosurgical hospitals in Northern Europe. There they discovered that I had epidural hematoma and two other smaller bleeds in my brain, as well as one skull and two facial fractures. They began operating as soon as possible.
I feel so bad when I think about what the people close to me were going through during those few hours. The whole experience seems to have traumatized my family more than me, since I don’t even remember what happened. In fact, hearing all these stories from other people’s perspectives is like seeing a film in which I’m the main character but have no memory of taking part in.
Then I Woke Up
Daniel says that when they took me out of surgery, the first thing I did was poke his nose. (He says I might have been trying to pull down his mask, but the first version sounds funnier, so I’m going with that.) Apparently, he also explained to me what had happened twice, but by the time my memories begin, I woke up really confused about where I was. When a nurse explained to me what had happened, I remember thinking, “This must be a dream. I’m going to wake up soon.” I can’t tell you how confusing it is to have someone describe something that has happened to you that you can’t remember. For a while, it seems more probable that it is all a dream.
The hospital ward allowed no visitors because they had had some covid cases and were worried about that. So, I was alone, which wasn’t as big of an issue because all I wanted to do was sleep. The nurses woke me up every hour or so to see how I was feeling, test my memory, offer me something to eat or drink (all I wanted was the Swedish “lingonberry saft”). It was hard to stay awake even through those few-minute checkups.
I remember this one particular nurse—or rather, I remember her voice—who made me feel as at home as you can feel at a hospital. She assured me with the most soothing voice that it was a pleasure to take care of me, that I needn’t feel bad or uncomfortable. She told me the doctors had made sure my scar would be hidden under my hair. She offered me a mirror and brush, so I could feel better about myself (later on, seeing the pictures in which I looked like a plucked chicken, I understood why). I told her, “You make me want to be a nurse,” and she said, “It’s the best job.”
After about four days, they moved me to another room for patients who required less intensive care. Instead of getting regular checkups, I was to press a red button if I needed help. That night, I woke up to a dark and empty room. A young male nurse came to me, introduced himself, and explained that the other patients had all left. I found it funny that everyone had suddenly gotten better, but when I pointed that out, he barely smiled. He said that a new patient would be arriving in an hour and let me get back to sleep.
When I woke up again, a middle-aged patient had been brought to the room. He seemed to be needing a lot of attention, so the male nurse and another middle-aged female nurse were attending to him. Suddenly, a strange sense of panic started growing inside of me. The room started feeling like a cage and I felt an urgent need to get out of the bed. I felt like if I remained static and lying down another minute, I would scream. Every nerve in my backbone spiked up and hurt from the tension. (I experienced that twice more later on, so I’m wondering if my body was reacting to some kind of trauma, even if my brain couldn’t remember it.)
After overcoming my guilt over taking away attention from the other patient, I called the female nurse as she was passing by. I told her I was feeling really anxious lying in bed. She struggled to find a proper response. “But you know you can’t leave the bed,” she said. Then, lingering awkwardly a few seconds longer with nothing to add, she left.
I felt so alone just then. I missed being in the other room, where the nurses had checked up on me on the clock and cared for more than just my physical needs. Even more so, I missed being home. I wondered how I would survive the long hours of the night until I could leave the next day for the hospital in Örnsköldsvik.
The Happy Bus
Somehow I must have fallen asleep despite the anxiety, because I woke up to a sunny room. The joy was simply bubbling up inside of me at the thought of being with Daniel again after so many days with strangers. As the nurse pushed my stretcher towards the bus and Daniel walked by my side, holding my hand tightly, I felt at peace again.
The man and woman who were in charge of the hospital bus were a complete contrast to the nurses from the previous night. They greeted me so cheerfully you’d think they’d known me all their lives. They made jokes and made me laugh as they lifted me into the bus and buckled me up.
That ride felt like freedom. I lay by the window and watched the sky, never letting go of Daniel’s hand. He was kneeling by my side instead of taking a seat further away. He constantly looked at me like he was on the verge of tears. When we arrived and I was carried out of the bus, the two nurses hugged me and said goodbye.
Restful Days (for Some of Us)
We stayed at the Örnsköldsvik hospital for a few more days while various kinds of specialists did more checkups. The CT scans showed that my brain was healing as it should. Now that Daniel was with me, I felt like I could go through whatever procedure was necessary. We spent most of the day in my hospital room, him convincing me to eat and counting my calorie intake and passing on all your sweet messages while I was awake. My stomach had shrunken so much that even a small bottle of a nutritional drink felt like a mountain.
Eventually, we were allowed to go back home. That moment when Daniel helped me into our clean bed, pulled down the blinders, and closed the door, I sank into the most blissful sleep. No more hospital sounds, no more nurses waking me up. Daniel was in the other room making us dinner and I could sleep as long as I wanted.
Guess Who’s Coming to Sweden!
And then my mom came! We joked about how previously she’d been reluctant to travel, but now came with the worst possible flight plan: she took a minibus to Georgia (although she ended up in the company of a warm Armenian group, so it wasn’t all bad), then flew to Warsaw, then to Stockholm, then took the train for five hours up to the town where we live. But then she arrived, and with her she brought all your love from Armenia and different parts of the world. I will never forget all your acts of kindness–from being concerned to offering to pay for her tickets to people who don’t believe in God praying for me.
Even though my mom kept reminding us that she hadn’t come for a touristic experience, we tried to show her some of the beautiful Sweden. Everything depended on my energy levels; sadly, there were many places we couldn’t go to because the car ride or the following walk would be too long. Sometimes, the fatigue would hit me out of nowhere just as I was putting on my shoes. Daniel and my mom would insist I go back and take a nap while they waited for me. Eventually, we’d attempt to leave again.
My mom says she didn’t realize how literally I’d meant that Sweden has forests and lakes everywhere and agreed that it is a very beautiful country. Her favorite memory is when we took a quiet boat ride at night near Daniel’s family cabin and she got to see a beaver.
I needed so much help in those early days: to get dressed, to walk up and down stairs, to eat enough. Daniel’s parents prepared a bed for me so that I could take a nap at their house whenever I wanted. Just me being alive seemed to be such a big deal. I know some people hate the loss of control that can follow an accident, but I enjoyed every minute of the spotlight. A secret part of me wondered how I’d be able to adapt to normal life again once I’d recovered. (One might even say I got a little spoiled 
.)
Rejoining the Mere Mortals’ Rank
As the start of the semester was drawing near, I had to decide whether to drop my university course or to go through with it. I only had one Screenwriting course, because the Teaching Creative Writing course I’d DREAMED of since I started university had been moved to the second term without any explanation—I guess I know the explanation 
.
In the beginning, it was obvious that I would drop the course, even if it meant delaying my education for another year. But as the weeks went on and I started to make a miraculously quick recovery, I decided to go for it. I paused my Swedish lessons and my thesis and let that be my main focus.
However, at that point, my brain was so exhausted that I had zero interest in anything creative; I didn’t even want to read or listen to audiobooks or watch films. Partly because of that tiredness and partly because of how my life had just been saved by a cast of amazing doctors and nurses, I started thinking, “What’s the point of writing anyway? What difference do books make in the great scheme of things?”
For a few weeks there, I actually wanted to change my career and become a nurse. It was the strangest feeling because all my life I’ve been writing and it was the first time I’d considered giving it up. My mom and Daniel told me it would come back to me once my brain had recovered, and I guess on some deeper level I knew that to be true.
Now that I’ve finished my first term and started my second and final one, I’m really glad I plowed through despite my lowered energy levels. I’m working on a screenplay about a violinist during the cold and dark days of the newly independent Armenia. One of the themes—the importance of art in dark times, even alongside vocations like nursing—was inspired by my own experiences. I do intend on turning it into a novel one day, as I will always be a novelist at heart.
So, yes, my crazy phase of wanting to swap writing with nursing is over (honestly, it was over the moment my mom told me you can pop a vein if you insert an IV wrong), and the old me is back–even if a little drowsier.
If you enjoyed this, you might also be interested in reading My New Life in Sweden.
Made me cry and made me go through those days and emotions.
Great to see you smiling and at work 😉
Love you,
Nazik
Oooh, I didn’t want to make you sad! Thanks for caring so much 💕 Love you too!
Tears of sadness that you all had to go through that and of joy and thankfulness to God how all those “coincidences” were there to help and save.
Much love 💕💕
Wow, Christina, you’re an amazing story teller and it was so good to hear this from your perspective, finally! Thank you for doing this and I loved the photos (and the humor) as well)))
Thank you so much, mama 😘 Glad you enjoyed it!
Thank you, Christina for sharing your journey to health with me. It was sad to follow your recovery.. The good Lord protected you and sent all those angels who made your full recovery possible.. Thanks again… I wish you all the best in 2023 with your loved ones..
Thank you for reading, Sonia! I wish you and your loved ones a lovely 2023 as well 🥰
Tack för att du delar din berättelse Christina ❤️
Tack för att du läste den 😁
How well you describe your experiences of this time! Thanks for sharing them with us. 🥰
We are so greatful for all the “coincidences” that happened to get you the care you needed so quickly. You had what we in Sweden call “änglavakt”, i.e. God sent his Angels to take care of you. 🙏❤️
Thanks for your sweet comment and all your care and the new word 😅🤗
My dear,you took me through each step of your journey as if i was there with you.
It is funny how you made me feel like i should start writing ,to be able to take others on a journey just through words and share with them ,just like how you wanted to become a nurse.
It takes a good nurse to make others feel like they would like to become a nurse and a good writer to make others feel like writing,so I’m very glad you keep on writing,you are an amazing writer!
And about the story for the screen play, it sounds so interesting makes me wanna know more!
Could you share some parts of it with us once you are done?
It is very interesting how Daniel made you feel like home,it is the same feeling for me with Denis,i wonder if it is because they are the reason we moved to another place and somehow they have become the closest one to us and the definition of love and home in the new country.
as you might know ,I have recently started a new learning journey(since September 2022), that’s how i would like to call it after all these years of studying.
since i have turned eighteen i have been in three different universities, studying three different topics,so i understand your feeling of wanting to change or learn more but most of all i believe it is your kind shiny heart that gives you such a feeling to be able to help others and i love seeing Gods miracles through your story and his love through your kind heart.
There is so much i want to tell you,i have some how lost track of it.
So back feeling like home topic.
My new studies is in manual section,i am going to become a dental technician.
I needed to find a dental laboratory to be able to get accepted into the program,i started my search quite late compared to others as i wasn’t sure if i should do it or not and by the time i started the search all the laboratories in my city had taken other students or were overwhelmed with a big pile of requests.
Therefore,I decided to start searching in other cities far and close to us as i really thought it would be the best option for me to get paid and learn something interesting at the same time.
I remember going into the last lab that was kind of my last hope and telling Denis,if they don’t accept me i am going to stop searching but my current boss,he accepted me that very same day.
This was the begining of a new journey and we rented another flat in another city for me to go sleep there about three weeks a months until i go for my training courses back to the main city and where Denis mostly was.
Denis would spend two days during the week and mostly all weekends with me but after some time i had enough and couldn’t take it anymore.
I some how had lost feeling of home and the joy of going back as i would be alone most nights.so i started searching for train tickets and finally could find a good membership card that was cheaper than the rent of the second flat and could finally move back to the same home.i was ready to do more than 4 hours of trip everyday just to be back home to him and to what it means to feel home and with family.
The very first night after we gave back the keys of the second flat,i felt like home again.
When i hold Denis’s hand and told him i am going to come back home every night and how joyful it was to know i am not going back to home without him.
Everything felt nicer,the sofa,the food even the windows.
He is the definition of home to me in the new country and i do feel how much it means to be with the person you love after being far from them.
My story is not comparable to yours but when you talked about how happy you felt when you met him after days,it made me wanna share it with you.
I am so happy to know you have healed and congrats for finishing your semester
And loved the photos ,also
Thanks for sharing it with us!
Sending you lots of love,
Shiva
Shiva 💕 Thank you soooo much for all your sweet words and for always reading what I write with so much love! If you had a blog, I would be so happy to read it. I love you both so much and the way you describe how Denis is home for you warms my heart. I hope one day soon you’ll find a job that doesn’t require you to travel so long to be back home 🤗 Sending much love to you both!
Thank you dear Christina,you are very kind.
I don’t have a blog right now,i used to have one when i was in primary school up until mid middle school but after that i just stopped writing as i was trying to find ways to move out and also violin was taking up so much time.
But you inspire me to write and i am thankful for .
Your writing gives warmth and love
I hope we’ll be able to see you guys soon!
We will be looking forward to see if we can plan something out with you guys, can’t wait to show you around here!