Hi, my name is Ruby. But maybe it’s not even mine anymore. Anyway, what difference
does it make what they call what is left of me. I lost my present, future and past- all at
once in the blink of an eye. At least, that’s what I thought just a couple
of months ago. From the moment I was born, I lived a fairy
tale life and my mom tried to raise me to become a princess one day. I had everything - popularity, charm and a
bad temper - a proven formula for success. Even though I was difficult, I was beautiful
at the same time and it seemed to be without a
doubt that I had a successful career as a model ahead of me. But one evening, everything changed. On the eve of my graduation, my boyfriend
Chris picked me up from the house in his brand-new Porsche. Chris was driving us down a road that was
as straight as an arrow. At the same time, a
drunk electrician Harry was driving like a maniac at 100 miles per hour with his head
lights turned off. He was heading straight for us. His pickup literally smeared the Porsche. Immediately, our car caught fire; Chris and
the driver of the pickup truck both died on the spot and for half a minute I laid face
down in the melting wreckage of the car. I was taken to the hospital along with a part
of the dashboard melted to my face. I had
to undergo 7 surgeries in the next 72 hours — doctors separated the plastic from my
muscles, in some places they even managed to preserve skin scraps, saved one eye,
separated my lips which were melted closed. The bridge of my nose was collected like a
puzzle from multiple pieces. My broken arms and legs were packed tightly
in a cast. In part,
they were even able to save my hearing, but I permanently lost the ability to speak. When I finally woke up three days after the
accident, all I could feel was pain everywhere. I was given so many painkillers that I didn’t
know who or where I was, what I was doing here and who all these people were
crying at my bed. I will never forget the moment when I looked
into a mirror for the first time since the accident. It happened on the 4th month of my stay at
the hospital. When the nurse removed
the bandages from my head, I swear I saw two extra wrinkles appear on my mother’s
youthful face. The mirror was round and the reflection of
my face looked like a burnt pancake with holes for the eyes, mouth and nostrils. During my entire stay in the hospital, no
one spoke a word about my injuries. Everyone
comforted me saying: “Everything will be fine” or “You will get through this,”
but I could not even imagine that my face had turned into
a scary skinless skull. I could not believe this freaky creature in
the reflection, in fact, was me. Yelling and waving my arms, I kicked everyone
out of the ward. I needed to scream,
break something to take out my anger and pain. Pounding a glass vase with the mirror, I
imagined breaking the face of the person who stole my life and shattered it to pieces. The fairy tale was over, the princess had
become a monster and this time, it was forever. Probably at that moment all that the world
knew of the old Ruby had disappeared. When they released me from the hospital, I
became a ghost of our country mansion. I did not want to accept any of the realities
of my new life or to see anyone from the outside world. Neither did I want to be seen by anyone. All I could do was just wish to stay that same old Ruby, whose face I now had a
hard time remembering sometimes. I continued
to blog on Instagram, posting old photos and talking about my fascinating life along with
them. One time, my parents made an appointment with
a psychotherapist, a specialist just for mutilated people like me. Dr. Sally was his name. “Yea, another narrow-minded old man”,
I thought, hearing his name. However, I agreed to meet him, but under one
condition - our meeting must be held in the dark. He asked questions, and I answered them - “yes”
- silence, “no” - clap. The first 10
questions were typical life-affirming slogans, as if read from a piece of paper. After each of
them I clapped and thought: “Uhh! Why did I agree to this?” However, the next question was
straight to the point. Dr. Sally asked, “Ruby, do you think your
life is over?” I wanted to clap,
but I couldn’t. Then he asked: “Do you think that there
is not a single chance to get back even a small part of your previous life?”,
“Are you sure no one can ever understand your
pain?” - all these questions were followed by complete silence. If I wanted to find the answers to these questions,
said Dr. Sally, I needed to turn on the lights. When I turned on the lights, I saw a man,
whose face was lacking a nose and that looked like it was sewn together from many
pieces-a scar on top of a scar. I understood in that moment - Dr. Sally – is
the only one I could trust, he understood me. We met every week. It seemed like he read my thoughts and I just
kept silent and listened. He also talked about his family and children,
and about the fact that he refused to do a face transplant surgery, because with
a new face he thought he would not be able to
help people like me. My meetings with Mr. Sally breathed new life
into me, I gave him my word - not to give up. I will never break the promise I made to him. Tomorrow is my face transplant surgery and
this will be my first step towards a new life. Who knows what kind of person I will become
with my new face? However, it is not
really that important. After all, having lost my old face, helped
me to find my true self. Please share my story with your friends if
you found it to be helpful or interesting.
