What I remember most clearly about my new life is the sight of my family gathered around my hospital bed, looking grim and despondent. My right eye was fucked up - I was seeing double and saw everything through a hazy film, even so, one glance at their faces told the story… I was in deep shit. They didn’t think that I would survive this. I was angry at myself all the time for not being able to communicate, and now a new horror set-up shop - what if this would go on for the rest of my life? Or get worse? They’d send me to a convalescent home and I’d stay there, in my “marvel” of a wheelchair, until I died.
Then my brother entered the room, he’d flown all the way from Florida, and said “How’s it goin’ Bro.” After a few minutes he turned to my mom and said “He’s going to make it.” and promptly left the room. I didn’t see him again for nearly three years, when I visited him from my home in Guatemala.
“I can do this,” I said, although I didn’t believe it.” I will do it.” as I finally gave in to a drug induced sleep. The next morning when I awoke, I couldn’t remember my own name, but I could remember I can do it.
I was more determined than ever to prove the doctors wrong, and walk out of the hospital on my own two legs. So began one of the longest and most difficult journeys I’ve ever been on in my whole life.
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