I’ve been having a terrible time sleeping the past few nights. Last night, while lying there waiting on sleep to find me, I had an epiphany hit me HARD. I am one of VERY few people on this planet who was once a quadriplegic. I mean, normally this is a club that’s, like, once you’re in, you’re in for life. Ya know? Like the mob. But a very small–and I mean a teeny tiny number of people can say that they were in but got out. Don’t get me wrong. This is definitely NOT a club you ever want to join. For any reason. But I did. I was a quadriplegic for three weeks.


 


And now I’m not.


 


By all rights, I was supposed to be a lifer. I was never supposed to walk again, never supposed to have anything more than maybe–MAAAAYBE–a little bit of movement and feeling in my arms. Maybe. If I was lucky. But 79 days after the car wreck in which I broke my neck, I walked out of the hospital, to the amazement of every doctor and nurse who knew about my situation.


 


So then I thought, okay. What can I do with this? Surely, there’s something. So, out of curiosity, I did a search to see what the other former quads were doing with their lives. One of them has dedicated his life to helping other quads adjust to their new life. Bless him hard, you guys.


 


Another guy who broke his neck in a motocross accident is racing cars for a living. Guess he’s just crazy.


 


But then I realized that I have something those other guys don’t have. I have the ability to write books. I can help other quadriplegics and their families by writing about my experience.


 


Now, if you’ve been following me for any length of time, you’ll know that I’ve tried many times to write that story. It’s just so damn painful to even think about, every time I try to write it, I just end up with a wet keyboard and puffy eyes. But I feel now that it’s something I have to do. I HAVE to write that story to be helpful to others who need it. Those folks lying in the hospital bed feeling like their life is over, sad that they’re a burden to their loved ones, and depressed as hell because they can’t even kill themselves to alleviate that load on their families. I’ve been there. I know every thought and every feeling they’re having because I had them too. And now, I feel like a ten pound asshole in a two pound bag because I’ve been sitting on this for almost 15 years now. Sure, I wrote a blog post about it which has helped a LOT of people. But I could’ve and should’ve done more.


 


So this time, no condensed internet version. No stopping because I’m crying like a baby. No excuses. I have to do this.


 


It’s time.