| Today was a day like every other day, I woke up, went back to sleep for half an hour, woke back up with a start and looked at the time. I took a shower (singing), brushed my teeth, got dressed, ate some “Mexican” food, and listened to music as I walked. I just walked to work as I do every day, I had just gotten into Virginia and was crossing the street, when quite suddenly, and quite unexpectedly I was almost plowed down by some bitch in a Porsche. Although I support her choice in car (it was a pretty sexy Porsche) she is still a bitch. I was crossing the street and our crosswalks have the nice convenient count down to tell you if you should attempt to make it within time, or just cross while the people in cars wait on you. (standing and waiting through the red hand is rarely an option.) The countdown was at 26 out of 37, so its not like she tried to catch the yellow, no, she just straight up ran the red.. In the moments following, after exclaiming. “FUCK!” quite audibly, making the homeless guy with the sign that says, “Old, Homeless, GOD Bless” look over, but after all that my would be future flashed before my eyes, and in an instant I saw how my life would have changed.
I pictured myself on the ground, unable to move, someone had seen it happen, and called an ambulance, time was moving quickly, and in flashes. One moment the homeless man was standing over me, then the woman in the car, then a few other people from other cars. I pictured the crowed of unknown faces surrounding me and felt the rush of emotion and confusion, I felt dizzy and sick. I did not feel any pain due to the shock of the event and I heard no sound except that of a high pitched whistle. I was not aware completely of what had happened, or how injured I was, my mind raced to try and figure out why I was on the ground, why I could not move my body, why were all these people looking at me? But I could not retain focus on a single thought, my brain was being flooded with so many questions at once, that I could not focus on answering just one. What felt like a moment later I saw flashing blue and red lights over the heads of the people, quickly they parted like The Red Sea, faces all horrified, but with an undertone of excitement at the story they would have to tell their friends and family, the only face that did not show this excitement was the one of the homeless man. I don’t know why it is that his face was the only sinister undertones, but it was. They could tell all their friends that they were there, they had seen it, they saw another human suffer, and everyone would love the story. Given it would be a great story to tell, you would get all the great reactions, and then the disbelieving, “NO!” at various parts, it’s the kind of story people save to tell. I was on a stretcher I didn’t remember being put on it, I was too occupied being confused, and trying to discern faces from one another, then I was in the back of the ambulance. I had never been in an ambulance before, and looked around as much as I could at all of the gadgets and such above and around me, some in use, most not. Fade to black.
I wake in a hospital bed, my mouth tastes like complete shit, and I still cannot move my body, it feels heavy, but at least now I have regained my hearing, and time seems to be moving in realtime, not in quick flashes. I try to remember what exactly those flashes were of, but they always just seem to escape me, what had happened? I am alone in a room, I am confused, and I can hear the beeping of several different machines. A nurse comes in, doubtlessly due to the spike in my readings. I am asked a few questions, simple things, I am confused at first why these questions are being asked, then I realize I am being checked for concussion. I am told that my family has been contacted, and they will arrive in a day or so, I am told I have slept for about 18 hours, I am told a doctor will be in with me shortly, but if I need I can use this button to contact a nurse, and if I want I can turn on the cable. My brain seems to be lagging, I am comprehending words a few seconds after she says things. After she leaves and I have time to sort out what has been said, I realize that her manner, and brevity, make it apparent that she wanted to leave the room with as little conversation, and as quickly as possible. The way she said the doctor will be in shortly makes me think that she is trying to pass the buck off to someone else, but she is gone now. I dislike television, there are very few programs I enjoy, and the ones that I do I usually watch online at my own leisure, but given the option of television or silence, I will generally choose television. I flipped it on, and flitted through the stations, I stopped on USA, one of those movies were on that you have seen the ending hundreds of times, but never the beginning, it’s a pick-up movie as I call them, turn it on and you can catch up with the premise quickly, a perfect TV movie.
Finally the doctor came in, he had a clipboard and a look on his face that told me, had I been standing, he would have told me to sit down. He introduced himself as Dr. Something-or-Other with some other titles enhancements attached, I wasn’t really paying attention to his name, I just wanted to know how long I had to be in this room watching USA. He said that he had some bad news for me, while I slept for the 18 hours I had undergone some major surgeries, and it seemed unlikely that I would ever walk again. I ignored this and began to ask when I would be able to go back home, then it sunk in. I asked for some more details, how? What had happened? Why? When he began to explain the event with the car I quickly stopped him and asked him what exactly is wrong with my legs that cannot be fixed. He said that my legs were ok, it was my back, my spine specifically had been broken when I was hit, that I would likely be paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of my life. He explained that this did not only mean that my legs would be void of movement and feeling, but that I would more than likely become impotent, and the chances of me being able to ever have kids was very low. He said, “The good news is that we were able to save your life, and after some tests, and after they keep an eye on me for a while I should be able to go home.”
I was in that hospital for seven weeks, seven weeks of minor testing, and supervision. Seven weeks of hospital food and Jell-O knock-off, seven weeks of sad faces, and falsely happy ones surrounding my bed. Seven weeks of getting accustom to not being able to move my lower half and using a wheelchair. Seven weeks of USA movies, I had my computer, but just didn’t have the motivation to get on. Finally I was allowed to go home, the trip home was interesting, there is a major difference between wheeling around a hospital and rolling around the outside world, most of all when you’re not very good at it. In a hospital no one thinks twice about someone in a wheelchair, yes you do get a few looks but in general everyone is too concentrated on their own ailments, or the ailments of the one they are visiting to pay you too much attention, when you leave that hospital though you are the center of attention where ever you go. You are the different one, and they notice, as do you, that your right foot points inwards at what looks like an uncomfortable angle, and you’re sure it would be... if you could feel it. I had spent a few hours everyday trying to move anything, trying to feel anything, but all to no avail. It’s a strange helplessness that you feel when you can suddenly not move your legs, it feels kind of how I picture suffocation to feel, it makes you feel claustrophobic when you want to move. Although I felt helpless, and more and more hopeless.
We finally were able to fly home. It’s strange, going through security as someone who cannot walk at my age, the security guards don’t seem to want to touch you anywhere that seems to be infected. They let me pass rather quickly compared to normal, because they know just as well as everyone else that cripples don’t commit crimes. I had started thinking of myself as this, as a cripple, under the current circumstances that was the most derogitory term I could think to call myself. I didnt show it on the outside, but I had inwardly turned into a self-hating individual. When I thought upon this I figured that once I was around my frineds I might feel better, feel like I fit in again.
We finally made it home after many unforseen problems, airplanes, and most places in general just were not designed for proplr in wheelchairs, yes they were designed to support people in wheelchairs, but they were not made for them. I got home and found that a lot had changed, I hadn’t been home in about a year, and it seemed as if everything except my bedroom had changed, not that it mattered, because my bedroom is upstairs, and after getting up there once I realized that it just was not worth it. All of the places I had been prior to home, had been desined to at least accomidate to disabled people. I never thought that my own home would be so hard to get around, narrow doorways, staircases everywhere. Why did this have to happen to me? Did I do something to deserve this?
Alas I had a time where I would see my friends, that night me not driving is not unsual, I hate to drive, but I never realized how much I would miss its freedom. How much I would miss being able to get around on my own. Of course there are ways for handicapped persons to drive sticks and buttons, but I not only did not know how to work those controls, I did not have them, and did not feel motivated enough yet to reteach myself to drive. I remember the days where I had wished that I had some struggle to get through, the days I wished hardship upon myself because I wanted to prove I could make it, I wanted to prove that I could over come some odds as well. Maybe that is why this happened to me specifically, I wished it upon myself, if so, I am a prime example for be careful what you wish for. Jeff came around my house at 5:40, twenty minets early. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him be early for anything before, unless it involved sex or alcohol, this involved neither. He showed up, and as I expected upon seeing me he could not hide his surprise, he tried of course, but how often do you see your best friend suddenly in a wheelchair? Hopefully not very, better yet, hopefully never, unless you are really old, then I suppose it is acceptable. But, back to Jeff’s surprised expression, we made small talk with my mom for a few minuets before leaving, he had brought his mom’s van. It was sad in a way, I had grown to love his car, it was something I was used to, it would have been nice to have that memory of the old times, it would have been nice to see that not everything changed, but it had. We went over to his house, more people were to come over at around nine, but we wanted some time to see eachother before hand, catch up. Mainly it was just to ease both of us into my situation. At first we both ignored it when at all possible, we both tried to act normal, except he was much more accommodating, opening doors, helping me when ever he saw an opportunity, even when there was not one. After sitting upstairs for a while I told him that I wanted us to go downstairs into the basement, into the place I had called home many nights. This turned out to be one of the greatest struggles for the both of us. Jeff can carry me fairly easily, but when you not only cannot move your legs, but also cannot feel them it makes the situation harder. After at first attempting the, as I like to call it, Wedding-Day Carry, and he dropped me, being more apologetic than I have ever seen him before, I thoguht he might cry (I quickly told him that just because of this does not suddenly make me a panzy, if I could take it a year ago, I could take it now.) Eventually we found out that riding piggyback seemed to work best for us, although I could not move or feel my legs it turns out that they made pretty good handles for him to hold on to, though I am slightly embarassed to say that I noticed the same fear in him as with the security workers at the airport. He feared touching my legs, he did not want to catch what it was that I had, he did not want to become a cripple like me.
When we eventually did make it downstairs after a little more idle conversation we finally came to the topic that he had been dying to ask me all night. First he eased into it with asking about the accident, I explained to him that it never really hurt too bad. I said, laughing half heartedly, after I got hit, the world was just moving fast and I couldn’t feel anything, and after that they had me so drugged up if I could have felt something it would have been a nice change. Then I got a bit more serious as I told him, “but I would love to be able to say my legs hurt like hell, I would be happy to say my legs feel anything.” I don’t know if I had done it intentionally or not but I had instantly killed the conversation, I had mentioned the taboo, and I had not let either of us ease into it like was intended. We both felt kind of awkward at this point, me not being comfortable in my own, dysfunctional body yet, him not knowing where the boundaries were with the subject. I apologized, we turned on the tv, flipped through stations, finding nothing was on, it was just like it had been, I was sitting on my ass, he was too, we were doing nothing, it was a good time. After a while of sitting in silence he got up and got himself a beer from the fridge, the general consensus of our other friends is that drinking is bad, and that there is no reason for doing it, knowing that these friends would be over within the next hour I told him to just bring the case and we could plow through it.
Generally if we each got through about seven or eight in the hour until we heard the doorbell ring, he quickly gathered up the cans, threw them in the bin and went upstairs to answer the door. I had stashed a couple cans within reach of myself in case the night got long. Turns out that most everyone had showed up at the same time, they all came downstairs, it was the most quiet I had ever heard any of them being when all amassed together. It was strange seeing so many old memories in one place, all of them seemed to be exactly the same. Sure haircuts had changed, and some now were a little more professionally dressed, but they were all still exactly the same. The came down the stairs in a single file, most weakly saying hi, giving me an awkward hug, tears welled up in some of their eyes. This was by far the most depressing reunion I had ever witnessed, and ever hoped to witness. Instantly, I was flooded with questions about the accident, none pertaining to my injuries, just about the event. The event that all of those people who had seen it happened had doubtlessly told dozens of times by now. I thought back to their faces looking at me upon the ground, I imagined their stories, how they had without question embellished it upon every retelling. When I spoke it was silent, I had never had so many people listen so intently on what I was saying, it gave me both a feeling of power, and it made me a little uncomfortable as well, I did not say anything about my ingeries, I did not want to share everything with everyone, if they wanted to know they could ask me one-on-one. The night finally fell into its usual routine of video games, television, food, drink and immature conversation; it was wonderful. For a moment I even forgot that I was hurt, that I was a cripple, for a moment I was just another person, not damaged, not anything, just another person.
As the night became darker people sifted home, and eventually it was just me and Jeff again,(I had not wanted anyone to see our struggle ensue of me getting back upstairs.) we now spoke freely and openly. We discussed girls, booze and anything, eventually we decided that we would go upstairs while he could still carry me. We got upstairs and went out on his back porch, it was not cold out, but it was crisp, sweatshirt weather. We sat outside enjoying nature, and the quiet of the night for a few minuets before he pulled out a couple of cigars, we lit, took a few puffs and began a relaxed conversation. This was it, this is what I wanted from seeing my friends, I wanted the normal feeling back, after a long while he finally got up the nerve to ask me what he had been wanting to all night. He asked me about my legs, about what it was like. I was relaxed and answered all the questions he asked, a twang of pain in some of the truths I spoke about how different everything seemed. Eventually I went to sleep on his sofa. When he finally woke up the next day he drove me home.
That day I had to meet with a doctor, after being in the hospital for so long I had grown accustom to doctors, and the way they talk. I had learned to read between the lines into what they were saying. I had come to realize that a doctor never gave you the entire truth of what they thought, they were too afraid of saying something wrong and getting sued. So basically I went to the doctor to have him tell me what I already knew, that my back was fucked, BUT there were some experimental things out there that had a one in a million chance of working, but he wanted me to know I still had a chance, but not really.
When I got home I was left alone for the first time in weeks, I had time to think uninterrupted by the intrusion of a nurse checking up on me, or someone sitting next to my bed. There was no one, and would be no one in my house for the next couple of hours. I don’t know if this was the best thing for me, leave my mind to wander unregulated and it can wander anywhere, usually the places it goes are random and don’t have much correlation to my life, of course with all the events that had occurred it went to one place in specific. I poked and prodded myself, hoping that perhaps I would hit one nerve unaffected, just one. There was no such nerve that I could find, and I searched pretty hard, and this was not the first time either. It’s strange to be able to prod yourself and not feel it. My mind wandered to what my life would be like, I could no longer do what I had planned, working in a kitchen as a cook in a wheelchair just wont fly. I would have to get a desk job of some sort, I would have to go to a new college, start from scratch. I would have to find a new dream, a new life. I thought about all of the things I could no longer do with my life, the things that I wish I had done.
Days past, weeks, months even. I lived my life the same way, doing nothing, not knowing what I could do, seeing friends, thinking on my life. Thinking about all of the things that I should have done, all of the things I could never do. Outwardly I put on an air of being ok at best, but on the inside I feel torn apart; my life has become unsurmountable and confusing. I want to return to the past, but know such is impossible. Though I have become accustom to being in a wheelchair and the odd looks that follow me, eyes purposely not meeting my own. I can drive now, using the handicapped utility installed on my car. Driving gives me a certain feeling of worth, I no longer rely on others to get me from point A to point B, driving gives me a feeling of self worth. I am enrolled to go back to a State School, the vast majority of my schooling is paid for by the state due to my disability, the settlement from the woman who hit me pays for the rest. Luckily enough people witnessed the accident in order to secure me the money I needed quickly and with little time and effort expended.
Finally classes start and I am back at school, I live on campus in my own room because I want the feeling of independence, while at the same time I want the safety net of being surrounded by people at all times so if I do need help I can get it. People at school look at me the same as I have grown accustom to being looked at, with curiosity on what’s wrong with me. I opt out of joining any of the clubs based around being in a wheelchair, I feel awkward enough about it without being surrounded by a posse of others like me. I see my friends less and less as the year progresses, it’s just a pain for me to go to parties, most have no way of me getting up to them, and I cannot bare to have someone carry me around, most of all in public. So generally on the weekends I just sit in my room and drink by myself watching TV, I never call anyone, and I ignore their calls when the weekend approaches because I don’t want to make them feel obligated to come hang out with me, and I don’t want to awkwardly say no to another party. After a few weeks they all stop calling all together. Left once again to my own devices my drinking spreads out and consumes more of my week. I still go to most of my classes most of the time, but I am rarely sober in them now. The good thing is that it’s a whole lot easier for me to roll straight in my chair than it ever was for me to walk a straight line so few notice. When I pass someone I know I nod, and keep going, I don’t really like to talk to people face to face anymore. The idea of looking up at someone to talk to them makes me feel awkward even after all this time I have had to get used to it.
After the complection of my first year in college all of my friends have graduated, most have moved on to graduate schools across the country, the others now have scattered even further abroad for job opportunities. I am now completely alone on campus, I didnt have the nerve to meet new people on my own accord when I felt good about how I looked, now I am lucky if I can meet eyes with a stranger. I make it through school graduating as 24 year old, not the oldest in the class by any means, but a deal older than I expected to be when I first got out of High School. I had not had sex in over five years, I did not have the self esteem to let anyone other than myself, and doctors, when it was absolutely necessary, see my uncovered lower half. I was ashamed to be like this, I was ashamed to be myself.
I obtained a degree in Accounting, it seemed like a job that sitting on your ass all day was not only acceptable, it was expected. I live alone in an apartment in Seattle, some corporation picked me up to fulfill their Affirmative Action bit. I felt exactly the way I expected to feel, I felt like shit, but I said nothing negative about it, I wanted the job. I only know this because I knew of two of the other guys going out for the job, they both not only were better than me (mainly because I did not care for or about it at all) but they were both younger than me as well. I had gotten the job solely because of my legs.
After a year of living on my own in the rain of Seattle, without any significant other what so ever since the accident I decided that I would take a week off from work, I said that I needed the time off for medical reasons, and they of course asked no questions, they had not any of the other times before. When I got home I finally reached the resolve I has struggled to obtain every day since what I saw as my life was taken from me, so I ended my existence, it was February 15th, 2012. My body would not be found for over two weeks when my work began to wonder where I was, and the building began to smell. |
