When I first came to a full understanding of the severity of my injuries in the intensive care unit, everything was still burry. My vision was of colors, light, and movement alone, like an impressionist painting. Words made sense, but only at a strange instinctual level whose sole purpose was to differentiate small talk from the important information, but completely subconscious. I was in energy saving mode due to catastrophic failure.

I was being told by a male voice that I had broken my neck at a high level, that major damage had been done to my spinal cord, that I would probably never walk again, and that I might not have the use of my arms, either. Rob’s voice was peppered in there as well, trying to soften the explanation with encouraging words like “possibility” and “hope”.

This was important information. I had to stay with it, and not drift back into unconsciousness. I was just coming out of the medically induced coma. I didn’t yet have full use of my mind, let alone my body. But I focused on these voices with every bit of ferocious willpower in my arsenal, holding onto it as if it was something tangible. 

And the realization of what they were saying, what my predicted life would be with the injuries they were describing to me, became a more detailed vision in my head than anything that was happening in front of my drug-addled eyes. Quadriplegic. It hit me hard, this tangible stone of information that broke free of the rest. My idea of life as a complete quadriplegic came into vivid consciousness. 

I had the beginnings of a voice again, and I needed to speak to Rob privately but immediately. I asked him to come closer to me, and whispered very matter of factly, “I cannot live this way. I won’t. I need your help.”

He smiled, rested his hand on my stomach, and said, “Sweetie, we are all here to help you. Everyone is here, and we will all help you through this.”

“No. Listen to me,” I said, with a degree of urgency. “I cannot live this way, and without my hands, I can’t even do anything about that. I would need your help.”

“I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

“Rob, if I don’t get any movement back, I WILL not live this way. I don’t want a life like that. Not for me. and not for you. But you will have to do it for me. You will have to help me do it, because I won’t even be able to end this by myself. Do you understand?”

The reality of what I meant, of what I was asking, soaked in for him, and his demeanor shifted entirely. His shoulders sagged a bit, and he turned slightly away from me, taking his hand off my waist.

“Cheryl, the time for that has passed.”

“Rob we have talked about this, that we wouldn’t ever want to live this way! We JUST talked about this a month ago, about what we should do for each other. You HAVE to! You promised.“

“You are off the ventilator, and the time for that is passed. You have no idea what that’s like. I’m sorry, but you got through it. You WILL get through this, and I will help you. But that is the only help I can give you now.”

And I watched his specific colors, light, and movement disappear from my bedside right before I fell back into the black.