A Conversation With Myself

If I rolled into the hospital room of my 51-year-old just-paralyzed self, I would be met with two opposing reactions. Then-Allen would first smile, happy to see an older wheelchair user who seemed otherwise perfectly normal. At the same time, Then-Allen would be very wary of an upbeat, you-can-handle-this, you’re-a-fighter sermon to make him feel good. He wouldn’t feel good. He would consider it “toxic positivity,” trying to put a patina of optimism on an intensely distressing, soul-wrenching experience. Too many friends had already come by and done just that. Since I was Then-Allen, I know exactly how he would react.

ADVICE #1: Don’t feel like an ingrate or defeatist when someone hits you with that kind of cheery pep talk.

Just smile, say “thanks for that,” and if they don’t get the message, tell them you are very tired and need to rest.

It is not wrong to retreat into yourself. It is not wrong to sit in your chair and stare out the window. Or, like I did in the early days, listen to the Paul McCartney song “Blackbird” over and over again. It takes time to process this change, often a long time. Think of it as a creative act, not following a set of hard and fast rules. And the timeframe for redefining yourself is yours to determine. A week after you leave the hospital, someone is guaranteed to say, “So, now that you are over that, what’s next?” It could be you telling yourself that. Don’t listen.

ADVICE #2: Don’t rush. If you can afford it, take some time off.

Everyone has different economic circumstances, and as Then-Allen, I was in a terrible situation when I became paralyzed. I was supporting a wife, a mother-in-law, and two kids, one in college. I strained to pay the mortgage and freelance writing jobs were sporadic at best. I felt compelled to jump back into work. My self-worth was also on the line.

That was a big mistake. Only a few days after the paralysis, I began to work on a new TV project that had just come in. Three weeks into that, I was asked to fly to Vegas for the weekend to write for a live show. I was elated to have two jobs at the same time, but it was stupid to take either and it almost killed me. Soon after Job #2, I passed out in the car and headed for bed, thinking I was just exhausted. It was only after passing out again on the street that I was rushed to the hospital with what is known as a pulmonary embolism, i.e., blood clots in my lungs. One doctor told me afterwards that I was “a few clots away from eating it.” I survived and got the rest I needed. In my 29 years of being paralyzed, that was the closest to death I’ve ever come.

ADVICE #3; Find a confidant who has also experienced a life-altering experience.

The only person I could really confide in as I worked through the depression, confusion, and sadness of my new state was a friend whose husband had just died of cancer. She got my raw feelings and didn’t try to buck me up. I remember telling her once that I couldn’t get out of bed and she said, “Then don’t! Stay there. It’s your prerogative.” I didn’t want to appear lazy or having given up, to my wife or anyone else. The Protestant Ethic runs deep.

In the long run, Then-Allen my friend, I have always thought that the best person to listen to, outside of the doctors who’ll keep you going, is someone else with paralysis. I was lucky to find two new paralyzed friends, one now deceased, who have had a major impact on my post-injury life. I could have survived without them, I guess, but I would have felt lonelier, more isolated, and less informed. They became my true comrades in arms.