Hello, World.

The Hardest Part Is Waking Up:

“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)

Turn to Next Page for Adventure and Wonder

A small boy named Jason rides up on a horse, he’s covered from head to toe in shining armor. He has a large broadsword firmly grasped in both of his hands. The sun hangs lazily behind him as his large, imposing shadow leads the way. He gallops up the treacherous mountain, a thin road leading him ever closer to the blood-red dragon waiting for him at the top. In its sharp, ghastly talons is the beautiful princess of Fairview, wearing a white dress. “Don’t worry, Princess! I’ll save you!” He yells. The dragon gives an angry roar and its mouth burns red as flames spew from its jaws. Jason gives it an angry roar right back and grasps his sword even tighter, “Today I avenge my fallen brothers, you dastardly beast! Today, I rescue the land from your foul presence. Today you feel the wrath of my sword!” 

Jason is on a rolling ship. “There she blows, Captain!” He screams, swinging from a gangplank down to a massive man with a peg leg and a large, dark beard infested with dead clams and fish guts. Jason points excitedly to a large, white whale breaking through the surface of a loping wave and charging straight for them! He grabs a harpoon and rushes to the side of the ship. “What are you doing, lad? Are you daft?” The man rasps, staggering towards him. “Someone needs to end this, Captain. Why can’t it be me?” He stares at Jason for several seconds, then slowly nods. He places his gruff, hairy hands on Jason’s thin shoulders, “Godspeed to you, son.” Jason nods somberly, plugs his nose with his free hand, and then plunges himself into the icy, black sea. 

Jason is piloting a screaming plane, it dives low over enemy territory. Bombs explode in the air mere feet from the plane, rocking it violently back and forth. “What’s the plan?” His redheaded co-pilot, Stevie, asks him, but Jason doesn’t have a chance to answer. The plane suddenly rips apart in two, they must have been hit! The plane spins like a top, and they’re both slammed into their chairs. The plane freefalls, the g-forces rip Jason’s heart down to his feet and keep his hands plastered against his sides. He struggles to yell, “We…jump!” They both slowly reach for their ejection levers, fighting the intense g-forces trying to hold their arms back. It takes everything Jason has just to keep himself from blacking out. After several tense seconds, they finally reach them! “On the count of three!” Jason screams, his hair flying widely in his eyes. “One…two…three!” They pull the levers, and for several seconds nothing happens, they both glance at each other nervously. Sweat slides up Jason’s cheeks and into his hair and eyes. The burning in his eyes is the last thing on his mind, however, as the plane seems to fall ever faster towards the earth. Right when he’s thinking his death is a certainty, their chairs get launched into the stratosphere! The air rushes savagely around him, pulling his cheeks wide open. He looks down at the tiny trees littering the ground. He smiles and screams with joy. He looks over to his co-pilot who’s screaming for an entirely different reason. He shakes his head and pulls the knobby cord to open his parachute. He then rubs his stinging eyes with his dirty sleeve. He gently begins to make his descent to the ground, he gives a contented sigh. Until, he realizes that he’s about to fall into enemy-held territory in the middle of the invasion of Normandy! The smile leaves his face and he aims for a little open clearing, hopefully, he can sneak past the German troops and…  

A voice interrupts his adventures, “Billy! Why don’t you just do what your teacher tells you?” 

“Because it’s stupid, mom!” 

Jason looks up from a large stack of books to his driving, and scowling, mother “What’s going on?” 

“Your brother here won’t read any of the books that his teacher has assigned for him…which you seem to have found.” She says, giving him a soft grin.

Billy grabs one of the books from him and says, “Who wants to read about some giant fish anyway?” 

Jason shrugs, “I thought it was fun…and it’s a whale, not a fish.”  

“FUN?” Billy scoffs, “What’s so fun about it?” 

“I don’t know…it just felt like I was there.” He shrugs again. 

“You’re not there, you’re here dummy.”

“Billy!” Their mom snaps, “Watch your manners!” She looks at Jason and says, “That’s exactly how you’re supposed to feel, sweetheart.”  

“Whatever,” Billy says, throwing the book to the dusty car floor. “Not like I’m going to read it anyways.”

“Oh, Billy,” Their mother sighs. “What am I going to do with you?” 

“Get me home. Deadliest Explosions is on in ten minutes! This is the episode where they’re going to blow up a tractor while it’s rolling into a house!” 

Jason shakes his head and picks up another book. 

He’s running through an African jungle. Sharp leaves slap him in the face and chest, leaving them numb. If he had the time he would guess they were laced with a natural poison to dissuade predators from munching on them, but he doesn’t have time for that. His heart pounds violently inside of his chest as he runs for his life. Chasing closely behind him, and gaining ground quickly, is a four-hundred-pound, angry lion. In front of him lies a three-hundred-foot drop in the form of a raging waterfall. He looks behind him and sees a flash of yellow fur streaking towards him. He keeps running and then without stopping, or even a thought of caution, he jumps! The air rushes wildly around him, his stomach lodges deeply in his throat. He smiles, wondering what other adventures he was going to have today. 

Three guys walk into a bar, the first two go to the bartender and ask him for a martini and a whiskey, respectively, the third guy goes up to the most attractive person he can find and uses his favorite pickup line, “Did it hurt…” and you know the rest. The bartender hands them their drinks, then points to the flirting man and asks, “Does he know he’s talking to a mirror?” 

My Miracle in a Box – Diaphragmatic Pacemaker

I am a C1 complete. That means that I have broken the top vertebrae in the cervical section of my spine. What does that mean? Practically that means that I have zero movement or sensation below the neck. It means that I will likely not regain any movement below the neck outside of some new scientific development. It also means that I should spend the rest of my, most likely shortened, life on a ventilator. I don’t. How? An amazing little machine called a diaphragmatic pacemaker or DPS for short.

A ventilator forces air down into the lungs. It’s artificial and, quite frankly, dangerous. The ventilator connection can easily pop off your trach.  A pop-off for me would equal death. Many other quadriplegics have died that exact way. The diaphragmatic pacemaker is different, instead of forcing air down Into the lungs it stimulates the diaphragm and allows me to breathe ” normally”. As it’s doing this it actually strengthens the diaphragm, making those muscles stronger instead of allowing them to atrophy.

Practically this increases my quality of life dramatically. If I was on the ventilator I would not be able to talk, eat or drink. On top of constantly being afraid of a pop-off and limiting my time away from the house.

I call it my miracle in a box, but it truly was a miracle how fast I took to it. Most patients have to wean off the ventilator incredibly slowly, a year if not more to be solely on the DPS. It was described to me as running a marathon, constantly. I was able to fully wean off the ventilator in a matter of weeks. Now this wasn’t because I was so strong or healthy, I wasn’t. I truly believe that it was a miracle from God. Neither I nor any respiratory therapist had any other probable alternatives.