When I envisioned myself writing a last post, I saw myself posting a picture of me walking or talking. But, alas, it is not to be. For some hours, it felt like running into a brick wall. But I have come to think about the training camps elite athletes go to before an event. Away from home, without distractions. That is where I am going. Away. Alone. To get ready to live my life at home.
It is last ditch. I am going all in. Wish me luck.
Over and out.
It has been said that when guys have a regular cold, they feel like the world is about to end. There is probably some truth hidden in that, because I have all the symptoms of a cold and I am positive I am dying. It is probably not snot coming from my nose – my brain has become liquid shit and is escaping. My head hurts because, well, my brain has become liquid shit. My aching head makes my useless body even more useless. My mood is in the dumps. Everything is crap. Life sucks.
Or, I am just a guy. Walking uphill.
If there is one thing I have learned, it is not to care about words. After all, they can never hurt me. The person using them sometimes needs to be dealt with, but that is a different story. Around me, everyone seems to fear the term “medical invalid”. Well, I don’t. Or so I thought. It will happen in October, and to prepare I have been asked to provide a list of specific things I need help with. It is a long list. That is a tad depressing. But that list does not grow or shrink with me being a “medical invalid”.
Apparently, people are faking handicaps because (I guess) being a “medical invalid” is better than being unemployed. I wonder how I would prove my handicap. Falling out of my chair might break my bones, but words can never hurt me.
I have been forced, or willed, to accept a certain level of fear. Things that scare me, but are not really dangerous stand in my way. Learning to walk, for example, is extremely scary. Ignoring fear is odd, but it becomes addictive. Sort of like the feeling of overcoming fear is greater than the fear itself.
But some fear is not meant to be overcome. Like being strapped into the back of a car being driven badly. Today I had to create, in my mind, a plan for getting out once the moron driver drove into the water. He didn’t. But I was ready. And scared.
Before I became a parent, I visualized coming home and being met by a smiling child. I was correct – it was wonderful. Lately, it has not happened. Firstly, I think, because I rarely leave. Secondly, because my daughter loves the TV.
But today it happened. Waving as I approached, she gave me hugs. She asked if I had missed her. She gave me gifts. For a moment, everything was normal.
A person I do not know, but know about, and who is in a similar situation as me (although she broke her neck, arguably giving her less hope than me) has gotten to the “why me” phase. Constantly trying to answer this question. As it is so unlikely that it didn’t really happen. It amazes me how short my trip was down that alley. Sure, I asked the question but I also realized how pointless it was. Maybe one in ten million have this happen, but I can say with 100% certainty that it did happen to me. “Why?” Bah. Silly. I will focus more on training to get away from this than analyze the probability of me being here in the first place.
Given that my family has been on a trip forever (5 days) I understand that my emotions might be somewhat inflated. But I don’t care: here goes.
I see myself moving forward. Towards a goal. That goal is my daughter. I want to be with her, spoil her, lift her, and generally do anything to make her smile. I suspect there will be ice cream involved. And that she will be smiling at the fact that she fooled me. But I don’t care. That is where I am going.
Keeping me moving, however, is my wife. My support and courage – without her I would grind to a halt. Pushing me to try harder, she reminds me of the goal. She gives me strength when I need it and love always.
Now I know it is unwise to “put all your eggs in one basket” as it where. It is true, without either of them I would lose purpose and hope. I should have a support system with more legs. But I don’t. And I won’t. Less is more.
People believe strange things. And depending on what side of the argument you are, the opposition must seem clueless. But when belief is kept private, I see no problem with it. When it is pushed onto me, however, I must take a stand. Pleading for reason, I might ask if snakes can talk or how the imaginary friend is doing. At those times, I praise science and measurable proof.
But now, I find myself believing. Not a supernatural belief in any way, but I believe I will pull through and be happy again. When doctors show x-rays of my brain and point out the dead bits I think “I probably didn’t need them anyway”. Ignoring reason, I believe. My belief gives me purpose.
Quite obviously, I am not the guy that got married more than two years ago. Well, maybe mentally, but absolutely not physically. Still people insist on saying that I am the same because I am intact mentally. It makes me wonder. How much mental change is acceptable, while still remaining “me”. Say I forgot the names of animals or tools (it happens). Would that be “me”? I think so. How about if I lost all my memories but had the same morals and ethics? “Me”? If I was intact physically but developed schizophrenia? Does “in sickness and health” count?
Luckily, I must not come up with an answer. All things considered, if I would have to decide what to lose it would be the body. I was harmed exactly where I could keep my personality and loose my body. Lucky me. Keeping my personality and my wife. Thanks, honey.
It is said that time goes by quickly when one has fun. I would be hard pressed to call my life “fun” but this summer just flew by. Trees are turning yellow, and I am still not walking. Depressing. But today the reading felt a tiny bit better. With my voice would come irony, making the wheelchair a non-burden. And the drinking continues to improve. With that would come the removal of the plastic tube into my belly – I hate that thing. But no progress on the walking. It might be a freedom I am not to again enjoy. Too little time. Time that passes too quickly. It tends to do that both when you have fun and when you really really wish it to slow.
There is something refreshing about being called a dumb-ass. At least for me. I have always, with all my friends, had a tough way of talking, but much of that has ended with the strokes. Generally I guess people feel sad for me, so they skip the kind hearted insult. The fact that I do not want to be felt sad for is of little consequence to those who can see what I have lost. But those that can only guess what I have lost do not feel the need to feel sad for me. Instead, they call me a dumb-ass. And I smile.
So, what screwed me up was my neck. Sure I should be extra cautious with my neck in the future – but where should I draw the line? How scared must I be? Is every little feeling of neck pain worth a rush to the hospital, hours of waiting, a x-ray, and a doctor’s opinion? I think not. Sometimes a sore neck is just a sore neck. Even though I know more about air disasters than most, I still feel safe flying. Statistically, I am right. And I know for a fact that neck pain can ruin lives. Yet I lay here, in pain, with no intention of seeing a doctor. My sore neck is just a sore neck. Statistically, I am right. I fear being wrong.
I know that negative feelings, like revenge, are through and through bad. But now and again they push me. “Try once more, and maybe you will be able to walk up to X and tell him he is an idiot”. I am guessing that the positive effects are very short term, that these feelings are poisoning my soul. So I started making a list. Of all the people I need to walk up to, hug, and thank. It is a long list. Some people have held my hand at the hospital, some people have wished me the best from half a world away. Quite clearly, I have a good cast of people supporting me. And I am more thankful than vengeful.
There is one thing I don’t like about getting better. I am losing my universal excuse. Two years ago, if I said/did something dumb I was “probably hallucinating” because I was, after all, brain damaged. Now I am expected to be myself. People know I can make decisions, so I must. Before, my broken body was a shield I could hide behind. A half-broken body apparently warrants no shield. If I do something good, I might get a hug. If I do something bad, I might get slapped. I, again, am responsible for my actions and words. I, again, am a person.
When I imagined parenthood, I envisioned coming home from work and being greeted with a hug from my child. Naturally, the past couple of years that has not happened. Primarily because I am always home. It has pained me much that my daughter has not run up to hug me when she gets home. Like maybe she was disgusted. So today, through my wife, I asked her how come she doesn’t hug me. She said “sorry” and hugged me. She gave me exactly what I wanted, I just had to ask. Soon I will try the same trick with my wife. “Why have you not made your strawberry cake for me lately?”
Running the risk of being labeled a fool, I must say that I really miss school. The feeling of being better than the day before has gotten me hooked. And when I think of schooling not as work-preparation but question-answering new interests appear. Nowadays I am completely uninterested in IT, but stuff like literature and biology fascinate me. How many have wondered “how did we evolve” and “was Shakespeare all that” only to leave school with those questions unanswered but fully prepared for a lifetime of work. I do not want to prepare for anything – my selfishness has taken over. I want to learn. I want to know. I have so many questions.
For a long time I have wondered about the reason my body is so nice to me. Apart from the simple fact that it doesn’t work, that is. I mean, why am I given endorphins to ease my pain? If I strip away feelings, it would make more sense if my brain just called me a lost case and gave up. For the group, that is.
And today a woman much wiser than me gave me (at least part of) the answer. I was thinking only of me. I was being an egoist. I have purpose even though I can’t walk: to help and aid my daughter become a strong woman. Apparently, evolution “thinks” a crippled father is better than no father. So, for her I must fight on. Because evolution mandates it. And I dare not but comply.
I am two people. Not really split personalities, but I am who I am and I am who I could be. Who I could be is a happy dude who sits in a wheelchair, maneuvers it expertly, and who is an influence in his daughter’s life. I like his. He is my friend. I can see myself living a long life as him. Who I am is a drooling cripple who moves the wheelchair at a microscopic pace and who barely is even present in his daughter’s life. Nobody likes him. Personally, I would use the word “hate”.
But I am wrong. He is likes. His wife, for example, loves him. In fact, when I say “nobody” I really mean “me”. I probably need to befriend him. He may stick around.
Today I was put in a position where I traditionally would say much. But, alas, I am a mute so I said nothing. And oddly, it did not bother me. It was not really my handicap that kept me silent, I just did not try to say anything. The need to voice my opinion has sort of disappeared along with the ability. I have the conversation in my head instead. That way, when I say something dumb, nobody hears but me. I have never spoken this much; odd that it only happened after I lost my voice.
Effectively, I am a chained prisoner. Partly imprisoned by my stubborn pride, partly by less than ideal circumstances. If push came to shove, I guess I could break free. But some things are just plain not happening. My best friend lives on the top floor. There is no elevator. I know where I am not going. I guess I am chained to my wheelchair too. I can only move with mechanical help. But now I am partaking much more. Pressing buttons, strapping myself in. Putting the chains on myself. They are much lighter that way.
