I don’t think I dream an awful lot. When I do though, and I awake with a memory of one, I’ve not been in a wheelchair. At night, when I’m asleep, I get taken back, back to when things were better.
There seems to be so much in the media about paralysis and treatments and cures at the moment. It’s looking increasingly hopeful that a good therapy will come along in my lifetime. Last night we watched Robocop Two… I certainly wasn’t expecting that to strike any type of cord with my situation.
Lo and behold … A cop gets blown up, severing his spinal cord, and more besides. He gets rebuilt, and dishes out justice left right and centre. The only bits of him that are human are his brain and lungs and one arm. That’s less than I’ve got functioning, and yet they do a pretty awesome job, there in the lab.
So… I’m gonna write in, to the LAPD, or whoever, and push for one of the next generation of Robocop conversion suits.
I hope they’re happy to overlook my ban for speeding in 2000, in their selection process…