Hello, my name is Christa, and I'm here to make a plea for assistance so that I can pay my medical bills, keep my home, and pay my other miscellaneous bills. It's a very long story, but I'll try to keep it short.

Almost 2 years ago, I decided to paint my home. It isn't a fancy home, just an old Cape Cod style, humble place to rest. I had hoped it would be the last place I would need to lay my head down.

I bought it as a fixer-upper and had been working on it here and there. Now I know that as a single senior person, it was not the greatest idea to do it alone, but my piddly little social security check doesn't leave anything for extras.

So it was August, and sweltering out. I decided I would only work very early in the mornings and then again in the evenings since it is cooler then, and I would rest in between. This was not the first home I have painted, but even I knew it would be my last.

The first few days of prepping the house for primer went great, although it was slow going. This house hadn't been painted in at least 50 years, but I intended to do it right and make it last until the end. As I climbed up and down the ladder, I reminded myself not to try to catch myself if I fall. I was on my second day of priming when I reached the 24' peak and was just 10-12" from completing it, but either needed to stretch that far or climb down and move the ladder 1 foot. I chose to try to stretch, even though I knew better. As I stretched, the hose to the power sprayer tangled me, and I slipped. At first (although it frightened me), I thought it would be okay; the ladder seemed to hold until it didn't anymore and started its downward fall.

As it fell, it seemed to twist, and I kept telling myself to hang on and not try to catch myself. I landed completely 180° turned around from the house. I crashed, still clutching the ladder, but on my back looking up towards the sky. I opened my eyes just in time to see 200 pounds of scaffolding come crashing down on me. I drifted in and out of consciousness for quite a while, head throbbing, stabbing pains in my back, and barely able to breathe or talk. There was nothing I could do but lay there, trapped behind a 6' privacy fence, stuck under scaffolding, and a leg twisted painfully through the rungs of the ladder.

Finally, I heard someone passing by, and I tried to gather enough air to scream "help," and although it wasn't much of a scream, she heard me and peeked in through the open gate. She asked if anyone was there, and I managed to squeak out a small "help me" once again. She kept yelling about my leg and ran to get help lifting the scaffolding and ladder off me.

The pain was excruciating as they loaded me into a car bound for the hospital, who already knew to expect me since they had called. Suddenly, I was surrounded by doctors, nurses, and attendants as they lifted me onto a gurney. The doctor was screaming orders for X-rays, CAT scans, IVs with fluids, and pain meds. Hours later, I was told I had broken ribs that had collapsed a lung, pierced my liver, internal bleeding, my leg was severely damaged from lack of blood flow, my back had crushed vertebrae, and I had a concussion, but I was alive and would live.

After leaving the hospital, I was given 2 whole measly weeks of 1 meal a day delivered to my home, then the insurance company cut it off. My regular physician found me an orthopedic surgeon that specialized in spinal surgeries and gave me a referral to him. For the next year, we danced around the demands of the insurance company before they would approve the back fusion surgery I needed to lead a semi-normal life.

On June 30th of 2025, I was admitted for my back fusion... scared but hopeful. When I was released, I spent 2 weeks on bed rest, with a bedside toilet beside me. Once again, only permitted 2 weeks of once-a-day meals. I have no family near to help me, and most of my friends still worked, have passed, or live quite a distance away also. I was on my own again.

About a week or so into that bed rest, I realized I had a urinary tract infection. Nothing unusual, I thought, since I had a catheter inserted during my surgery. I called my physician, who prescribed me some antibiotics that gave me some relief for a week or so, but it came back. I called my physician again, but she refused me any more antibiotics until I came in for some tests. I had to find someone to give me a ride there since I was not permitted to be driving for at least 3-6 months.

The test came back with not 1, but 2 gram-negative strains of "Klebsiella pneumoniae" bacteria (in case you want to research it) in my body. All due to the catheter insertion. They are antibiotic-resistant strains, so they keep coming back and have now damaged my kidneys. I am not eligible for an organ transplant because the bacterial strains will just attack them.

All hope is not lost, though. I will be monitored by a urologist, who will keep changing my antibiotics and hopefully will find one that will cure these. Until that happens, though, I am drowning in credit card and medical bills. I don't worry about the medical bills since I can pay them $1 a month, and there isn't a thing they can do. My credit cards are another story, though. They are heartless and will force my home to be sold, leaving me homeless to get their money. My physician has told me to stay calm, which is easy for her to say; it is not her that will be without a roof over her head. Apparently, stress weakens your immune system, which allows this bacteria to keep invading and damaging my system even more.

If any of you would consider a small donation or even sharing my GoFundMe, it would be so greatly appreciated. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this.