Still just an ordinary person

They say the best way to learn about life is to step into other people’s shoes. Everybody has gone through something another person has not. My life is the same. I have written multiple times of my disability, but many do not know what actually happened.

I was born Jan. 8, 1990. I was completely healthy. All limbs moved. I could breath. There were no signs of defect. I had a somewhat average family. Both my parents were together and still are. I had eight brothers and sisters, in which I am the youngest. All throughout school, and up to high school, I was a nerd. I was bullied like everyone else. I wanted to join the military, and when I was 18, I was finally able to. My life had an ordinary start.

On Nov. 12, 2011, I was getting ready for my night job when I had a fight with my dad. I was 21 at the time, and I thought I knew everything. After a 10-minute yelling match, I stormed out of the door into a stormy, dark night. The storm was the worst I have ever driven in. I still remember the uneasiness I had in that slow ride. Then it happened.

When my vision came to, I tried to look around to see where I was, but my neck was extremely sore. Another car’s lights were beamed onto me, and I could see people run in and out of the light. My face was lying with the left side in a puddle. I could feel the rain beat on the right side of my face. I could hear a man ask, “Hey, are you okay,” multiple times to me. After answering “yes” to the man, he walked away. In terror, I began screaming for help just before I fell unconscious. At that moment, I knew I was in a wreck.

It’s funny what goes on in your mind as you sit in a pile of wreckage waiting to be removed from it. I was not thinking of death or even anything permanent. I was actually kind of angry for other reasons, like calling off work and losing a week’s worth of pay to recover from injuries. 

I regained consciousness twice before my surgery. Once was during the ride in the ambulance. The medic was asking me questions like what my parents’ phone number was. He kept asking unimportant questions too to try to keep me conscious. I remember counting the ceiling lights on the ambulance over and over. There was only four, but I kept counting them. 

The second time was just before the surgery. I was in a semi-lit hallway with my parents right there. I remember saying how sorry I was for fighting with my father. I felt I might have been punished for arguing with him.

The thing that probably surprised me the most was my own reaction to the doctor telling me I will likely never walk again. Most people would probably cry. I felt nothing. I had no reaction. I had a stronger reaction to the pudding I ate after being on a feeding tube for three days.

I thought I would change after all that. I did somewhat, but I’m still just a normal person. Even through all that pain and all the physical disabilities I have, I’m still just an ordinary person.

Let me hear your story. Let me know what you have gone through, so I may learn through your experiences.

Beau Bruneau | voices.spectator@gmail.com

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