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After a few days, I realized I needed to check on the statistics to plan my next move and was delighted to find out that I had a few dozen followers and that several of my videos had climbed to thousands of views. The one I had done about my emotions and the accident itself was in the tens of thousands.
Engagement was off the chart. There were tons of comments, and comments to the comments, threads being built all the time. I tried to follow each one and respond to answer questions, but it took some time, and I spent the entire day either at the desk with the laptop or moving it over to the bed and stretching out.
I could hear Dee tooling around in the house, and I was tempted to share the news with her. But I kind of liked the fact that for now—it was all my own. Once I told her, it would be a thing she asked about and tried to come up with ideas for. Not because she wanted to control it, but because she wanted to help, but I wanted to build this up on my own.
To have something that was uniquely me.
I had to admit, I had a small measure of pride about it already. The follower count and the video views were well beyond what I expected, considering I hadn’t really done anything to accelerate my growth. Hashtags were one thing; they were simple and easy. But anyone could do those. For whatever reason, they had done wonders for me, as had my engagement. Tons of people were commenting about how they loved the way I was in touch with everyone and that they followed me because they felt like they knew me.
I was like their sister, their daughter, their friend that had gone through similar experiences. Some reached out with advice, things to watch out for, or things to try. Fellow amputees commented, giving me a heads-up on things that I needed to keep an eye on. A company that made pads for stumps when using prosthetics reached out and was broaching the subject of possibly sending me things to use and keep for free if I talked about them on my videos.
I needed that pick-me-up. I needed that help. The people who watched and commented had no idea how helpful it was to know I wasn’t alone. I knew I wasn’t alone in the strictest sense. I had Dee, and Wendy offered to help as much as she could too. I had people. But to know I had others who knew firsthand what my struggles were was uplifting in a way I’d never known I’d needed.
My first steps into vlogging were successful, and now all I needed was to get the prosthetic and start my life in this new journey.
Part of me wondered, among that video count, who was watching. Specifically, I wondered if Gerry had seen one. The idea of him “following” me sent a thrill up my spine and a smile to the corner of my lips.
10
GERRY
“Hey, Gerry, you coming this Saturday?” Everett asked as I walked into the office on Friday afternoon.
“I appreciate it, but no,” I said. “My parents are coming in from Massachusetts on Saturday, and I’m sure they will be tired. They’re driving down, so they’re going to be wiped out.”
“Oh man,” Lauren said, sitting at the reception desk, collecting her things. “That’s a long drive.”
I shrugged.
“They used to do long drives all the time,” I said. “When I was sixteen, they took me to Disney. Drove the whole way from Montreal.”
“Holy, shit, that’s like a twenty-hour drive,” Deacon said from the kitchen.
“Took us two days,” I said. “Fifteen hours the first day and another fifteen the second. We stopped a bunch, though, so it didn’t seem as bad.”
“That’s my favorite,” Everett said. “Going down the highway and stopping off at all the crappy roadside attractions. So much fun.”
“We did that once,” Deacon said. “Everett and me. Did a big loop of theme parks right out of the military. So much fun.”
“That sounds like a good time,” I said.
“It was a blast,” Deacon said. “Though, I think I’d rather fly now. I don’t have the patience to drive that much anymore.”
“Right out of the desert, you don’t mind driving forever, as long as it’s home,” Everett said.
“Well, we’ll miss you at the bonfire,” Carter said. “Wendy and Finn will be there with the kids. If your folks go to bed early, you can always drop by.”
“I appreciate it,” I said, finishing putting away my equipment in the locker. “I might take you up on it. We will see. Otherwise, I’ll see you all on Monday.”
A chorus of goodbyes met my back as I walked out of the double-wide trailer that still operated as our main offices. A building was probably going to go up in the next year or so, making a proper office for us, but I had a feeling I would miss the intimacy of the trailer.
