“A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.” – Christopher Reeve
I never dream of myself in a wheelchair. I walk, run, and sometimes even fly! Typically, I’m the hero of the dream, saving the kingdom ending up with the fair damsel at the end of it. Or I’ve made the next huge blockbuster movie while married to Taylor Swift (honestly, only celebrity that came to my mind there), or I have cured cancer or some terrible disease. The only thing all these dreams have in common? They have nothing to do with paralysis, wheelchairs or lengthy hospital visits. Unlike reality.
Then I wake up, and I’m hit with reality immediately. I wake up in a small room, unable to move and alone. Oftentimes, I’m waking up at close to 5 AM. My mom is my main caregiver, and I have made the promise to not wake her up until 6 AM, unless there is an emergency. So, that leaves me with at least an hour to live in my own thoughts.
My thoughts tend to the negative. I feel like I’ve spent my entire life denying that fact. I’ve tried to foster an almost Mr. Rogers persona with most people. Which is just categorically not true. I’ve dealt with depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts since I was about 12 years old.
I never knew if anybody was buying the act that I’d been selling until I was approached by a director telling me that they had written a character that was based off of me. The character was optimistic to an incredible fault; in my eyes, he was happy to the point of being an idiot. I had been going through some tough times to the point of having intense suicidal thoughts for over a week before being approached by this director. That’s when I realized how effective an actor I’d been. At least, in this one role I’d been playing for most of my life.
I had often wondered if anybody believed this act after I became paralyzed. I sort of assumed nobody would, but it was the only act I’d ever known so I kept it up. Until, after another long bout with suicidal thoughts, I joined my weekly spinal cord injury support group (I definitely do not attend weekly, maybe more monthly, on a good month) and was told I was the best of any of them, because of how I handled this terrible situation with strength and joy. That sent me spiraling even further down (somewhat unrelated, but being called a hero or an inspiration will often have the same effect). If I was the best of them, then what was even the point?
But I digress, when I wake up now, I’m hit by my physical reality first, but what hurts more is the emotional reality. I’ll be turning 30 in a month, and my 5-year anniversary of being paralyzed will be in November. Let’s recap what has happened in those five years. Paralyzed for life (short of a miracle medical breakthrough or just a plain miracle), a year-long messy divorce with, who I mistakenly thought, was my best friend (she wanted as much money as possible on the way out), countless doctor appointments, numerous hospital stays (several of which I did not know if I would make it out alive), the loss of my job, moving from the state I had dreamed of for years back to Idaho, moving from my own apartment to my parents’ house, a complete lack of autonomy, and the list could keep going on and on. Those are the thoughts that greet me nearly every morning. Along with the improbability of changing any of them.
So, what’s the point, God? If I had it my way, that night, nearly 5 years ago, when I was driving to work, would’ve been my last. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the artist in me, but that seems like a romantic way to go out. Picking up a random shift as an EMT, at the only job I ever liked to help my patients and boss, and then getting killed on the way there. Leaving a loving wife, family and friends behind to mourn my loss. I could almost write the movie myself!
That sounds better than reality. Jobless, divorced, technically homeless, fighting health issues constantly – along with my own mental health issues that have been exacerbated by all of this. Sounds pretty fun to me. So why? Why am I still here? Am I just that tough that a multi-ton machine runs over me and I survive? Did I have unfinished work to do? Maybe I’m just lucky – must’ve had a rabbit’s foot in my pocket or something that night. Or God is so cruel that he kept me around to see me suffer. Maybe that’s how He gets his kicks?
Or maybe, just maybe, it has nothing to do with me. Maybe I’m here for everyone else who I can help now and couldn’t before. As I see a cry for help from an old friend who is suffering from a painful, chronic illness and I have the opportunity to send him a comforting message. Or I get told that a short film I’ve made since I’ve been paralyzed has changed someone’s life. Or even that a certain book I’m writing could have an impact on thousands of children’s lives who have been through what I have been through or worse.
Sometimes, those are comforting thoughts; I have a cosmic duty that I wouldn’t be able to perform otherwise. Sometimes, it makes it even worse. Sometimes, I want the Job treatment (based off the biblical Job who received double the blessings of everything that was taken). I’ve endured all of the suffering, give me twice of what I had before, God. But I, honestly, don’t think that’s what it is about. I don’t believe I’ll be getting some massive blessing for anything I’ve done. I just think it’s the only right thing to do. The only thing that Jesus would do in similar circumstances.
So, what’s the point of waking up? I think the only reason I can give is that I have been given a special opportunity, one I never asked for or wanted, to help somebody else have an easier time waking up. At this point, that’s going to have to be good enough. Even though I would not mind the Job treatment and have everything I ever wanted to come true. But if I had to make the choice between personal blessings and helping someone else make it through their own version of hell. I think I would have to choose the latter.
Eventually, my thoughts will set on this and allow me to start another difficult day.
“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)
Dylan Wood 