I sat up in my reclining bed, my medicine bag in my lap, and took stock of my life for what feels like the thousandth time. This patch for pain, this pill to counter the side-effects of the patch, these three to make me want to keep living. Those last ones don’t work as well as I’d like them to. Add in five or six more medications to address my myriad health problems and you’ve got far more medicine than any thirty-something year old has any right to be taking. Sadly, life doesn’t seem to care about rights or wants, as proven by the second driver who decided it was a good idea to rear-end me while driving. The first guy at least had some justification for the wreck; he was texting. I could almost understand that, but drunk driving for the umpteenth time like the second guy, that was unforgivable. I remember it like yesterday honestly; it’s one of the last things since the brain damage from that wreck that I remember so clearly. The events of that day play back in my head.
My oldest son had just been born a few months before the accident. He was the sweetest little thing I’d ever seen. I was such a proud new dad. I went to pick my wife up a new pillow she’d wanted from this specialty store before starting work. The accident happened on my way to my first client of the day’s home. I sat patiently at a red light, my foot firmly resting on the brakes when I glanced at my rearview mirror. My eyes widened in horror as I swore in disbelief. With a loud bang, my car was sent careening into the vehicle in front of me. That car hit another, who hit another, leaving five disabled cars total when we were all finally still. My head spun, having slammed into the steering wheel with a dull thunk. A drunken man staggered out of his car door before walking with the swagger only a heavily drunk person can and approached my window. “Are you- Alright” he said, punctuated with a blatant slur. “I don’t know!” I replied angrily. Everything felt fuzzy. Police soon arrived on scene and checked on all of us. I had an ambulance on the way, but needed help finding all my documents. I vaguely recall having given the cops my wallet and car keys before begging them to find whatever they needed. I felt like I was going to black out. I later realized that was a sign of the brain damage I sustained when my head hit the steering wheel. The pain from my other injuries didn’t set in until the shock wore off some hours later.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
‘How different my life would be had I been anywhere else that day’ I think ruefully. Honestly my life has been in shambles since. I’ve had two kids since, the only upside to the last five years, but I lost my job and the ability to work. Disability has been beyond frustrating to pursue. Nobody wants to think a man in his thirties is so injured they cant work, but the examples of jobs the state thinks I can do are frustratingly beyond my limits now despite their simplicity. My doctor has stated in dozens of ways on dozens of days that I’m disabled, but for some reason an employment specialist with no medical training and a random judge believe that their opinions are “more credible” than a specialist doctor and surgeon’s testimony. The disability process in America is a joke and makes me frequently frustrated to have served in the country’s military just to be treated with such terrible care.
I quit reminiscing and take my pills before locking my bag up. I give the key to my wife to take to work; I don’t feel quite confidant I’d be able to resist the siren song of death if I had it with me. I decide to try my best to survive another day. I don’t believe in God anymore, but I say a random prayer for strength anyways. “If any God or Goddess is out there and cares, please help me with this pain. I’m tired of living a fragment of a life. I’m tired of fighting with no hope of ever getting better. Please give me a shot to overcome this. Anything will do, just so long as it lets me be a real father to my kids instead of having to constantly disappoint them. I’ll do anything, just, please help me.” I cry a little towards the end of my prayer. I lay my bed back down and close my eyes. At least I don’t hurt as bad while I’m asleep.