Through great perseverance and courage, I have finally achieved inner peace. No longer do I struggle with issues beyond my control, lash out at family or recklessly abuse myself. Today, I am completing a doctorate in higher education, speaking publicly on disability-related issues, mentoring peers and serving as a member on Florida’s Board of Regents. I am also evolving psychologically, emotionally, physically, and intellectually.

However, such an enlightened view of my life has not always been my guide. My journey to the present has been a most difficult struggle, filled with tragedy, suffering, rehabilitation and forgiveness. While my uncharted journey through life is presently satisfying, happy, and fulfilling, I am soberly reminded of the tragedy that took place on Saturday night, September 25, 1983.

It was my senior year in high school. It was a time for happiness, opportunities, and challenges blended with social activities, friendships, and fun. For most people, their senior year is an unforgettable rite of passage. For me, unforgettable was an understatement.

The evening began with a date with my high school sweetheart. Our dinner and movie plans went well and we ended the evening with flirtatious smiles and a kiss good night.

As I walked home, my mind was still on my girlfriend and the evening we had shared. I was too busy dreaming to notice the two grudge-harboring teammates whose jealousy has overcome them, who were waiting for me. Under other normal circumstances I might have fully engaged them, but that night was different. In order to salvage my wonderful evening and begin my senior year without incident, I walked away from the potential schoolyard fight. Unfortunately, this response was not what my attackers had planned. Before I knew it, I was caught and body-slammed onto the hard ground. My athletic reflexes would normally have sprung into action, but this time they didn’t. The impact had crushed my neck and severed my spinal cord. I was paralyzed. Unable to move, I lay helpless on the cold, hard dirt of the Indiana countryside.

A few days later, I was consciously aware of my physical powerlessness. Thinking my condition to be a temporary one, I thought constantly about my future. But before I could begin what I thought was the journey to recovery, I had to undergo the repair of my vertebrae. This surgery would be the first of many. Only days later, my stomach would perforate, requiring surgery. Forty-eight hours later, my lungs collapsed and a tube was inserted down my throat to drain the fluid from my chest. These complicating medical developments forced me to remain in the ICU for five weeks. Each day, I wondered what I had done to deserve this nightmare.

Because I was so ill, my parents could only visit me for a few minutes each day. Depressed, scared, and alone, I was unable to talk or feel and craved only to see the city, campus, and friends I had so recently taken for granted. One night, as I lay helpless, a Catholic priest came to my room. Instead of comfort this minister of peace brought to me a heart-stopping fear I will never forget. After reviewing my chart, he calmly began delivering the final Catholic sacrament – Last Rites. The look of dread in my eyes prompted him to suspect the imminence of my death and to speak faster. Completely horrified and scared that medical science considered me on the verge of death, I realized my fate was in the hands of God. Without knowing his effect, the well-meaning priest was slowly peeling away the only the only thing I had left… hope. No longer was I struggling to walk once again; I was struggling to survive.

God was listening; my prayers were answered. Slowly but surely, I began to heal – physically and emotionally. By the end of the seventh week, I was healthy enough to be transferred to a rehabilitation unit. Unable to feel from the neck down, I could barely move my arms. I had no finger dexterity. This horrifying physical disposition prohibited me from showering, eating, pushing my wheelchair or any other activity. I was, in fact, hopelessly dependent on medical assistance – a state mockingly juxtaposed with my recent athletic condition. My reduced physical prowess delivered a severe psychological shock. Instead of relying on my about-average physical strength and skills, I was going to have to find a new source of courage. Up to this point, almost everything in life had come essentially without challenge. I now had to reach for an inner strength I had never before needed.

As I entered the physical rehabilitation stage, I approached the situation with the same zeal I had for sports. Play to win! I would strive to see how far I could go, not wonder how far I could have gone.

After three and a half months of rehab, I had made great strides. I learned how to push my wheelchair, feed myself, brush my teeth, write my name, and drink without a straw. These simple tasks were monumental events for me, similar to the emotional rush of scoring the winning touchdown or sinking the winning basket.

Life would never be as it was. Paralysis affects more than just the individual. Because I never doubted my family’s love and support, they caught the anger and frustrations that weighed on top of every challenge. I had developed too much independence to accept the support and assistance that was forthcoming. For me it was necessary to journey alone.

Learning how to care for myself was the easy part. Learning how to reintegrate into society would prove much more difficult. Where was I going to find good, caring, and responsible people to assist me? Where was I going to get the money to pay these care givers? Could I still go to college and follow my dreams? Would girls still find me attractive? Would they want to be intimate with me? Could I find a place to live outside the medical community? And finally, would society treat me like a leper?

At the time, there were no books or support groups to gain guidance from. I was left to my ingenuity, creativity, and courage to reintegrate into society. By the time I entered graduate school, seven years after my injury, I had finally begun to reconcile these issues. I chose to be involved in larger issues and expanded my horizons. One of the more satisfying activities was founding an organization for students with special needs. In this way, I was able to bring a disabled perspective to the campus and help my disabled peers, demonstrating the abilities of the disabled and overcoming the stereotypes.

When I thought there could be no more challenges, I soon after found out that I was wrong. In August of 1998, while returning from overseas, I was involved in a tragic car accident propelling me through the windshield. The result of this injury was two broken legs, one broken shoulder, and a second spinal cord injury. Consequently, I had to undergo an additional four months of surgeries, rehabilitation, and not knowing…

Nevertheless…

Today, I live by a simple philosophy: living with a severe disability can be a normal part of life. I refuse to be excluded from any economic, political, cultural, or educational activities. I no longer feel helpless, deprived, or excluded. Discrimination is now only an abstract term that I do not feel or encounter, except for the occasional curb or flight of stairs. Through mutual care, love, and support of my fellow persons, my paralysis is merely a fact of my life, no longer the bondage I once considered it.

The bodies of men and women engirth me, and I engirth them, They will not let me off nor I them till I go with them and respond to them and love them…. The expression of the body of man or woman balks account. The male is perfect and that of the female is perfect. –I Sing the Body Electric by Walt Whitman