Disabled thoughts

Every once in a while I get woken up to reality. The pain gets so great or I realize that I cannot do the things most people take for granted. Reality smacks me right in the face. "You can't do this" "You can't carry that bag of groceries" or "typing for five minutes causes agonizing pain" This is my life. I have not fully accepted my situation, my implanted morphine pump that keeps me from screaming. The pills I swallow every morning and every night. The neck brace I sleep with, drive with, sit in my chair with.

When I was seven I was run over by a car. On the way to the store to buy Mighty Dog for Popcorn, my Cockapeekapoo. Grandma had bought me an old schwinn bike from a garage sale around the corner. I was not grateful for that bike, it was not a cool Schwinn Stingray. Instead it had a basket and was kinda dorky. But my Grandmother really loved me, and I could not be mean to her, I loved her back very much. So I took the new bike which I felt like a fool on, and went to get dinner for Popcorn.

I was driving down Livingston Avenue, and I decided to cross the street. I looked both ways and started walking my bike across when all of a sudden a big station wagon came from the other side of the street and smacked right into me. The bike fell on top of me and she drove over the bike, crushing me under it. I was made into a sandwich, with a bicycle and the road as the bread and me as the lunch meat. Tasty.

The next thing I remember is being carried off the street. A few hours later I woke up in the hospital with my parents by my bedside. I did not remember much. Some how I broke no bones and had only minor cuts and bruises. Seemed like I got away easy. Not true. 30 years later I can tell you that I got hurt terribly in that accident, just not broken bones or lacerations.