Still Alive, Still Suffering… So No One’s Accountable?

Anyone who knows me knows one thing, I don’t like to sit still.

I’m always moving. Work, play, doesn’t matter. Sitting around has never been part of who I am.

So if you know me… you know I’m not just struggling right now, I’m barely holding it together.

I can’t work. I can barely drive and when I do, it’s honestly dangerous.

Watching TV? Forget it. The only way I can even tolerate it is laying down or slouched forward, forcing my head down just to avoid triggering the pain.

Because the second I’m upright…

A violent surge of pain and pins and needles that shoots through my arm and into my hand.

The only way I can describe it? It feels like high-voltage electricity is running through my arm.

And I don’t say this lightly, this is the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life.

These blogs… they’re not just posts for fun. They’re my outlet. My pressure valve. Because without this release? My mind goes to some very dark places.

I’m not well. And I’m not even sure people understand how fast things are slipping mentally.

Even something as simple as walking Coda has become a challenge.

There’s no clear end in sight. No plan. No direction. No timeline.

At this point, I’m seriously looking at leaving the country for surgery… Panama, Mexico… wherever someone will actually do something.

And yeah, I hesitated. Draining savings for surgery in another country isn’t exactly a casual decision.

But let me ask you something… What’s the price of getting your life back?

I need to say something that not enough people see.

My wife. She works all day teaching. Which, let’s be honest, isn’t the same job it used to be. It’s harder. More stressful. More demanding.

And then? She goes straight to the restaurant. Not for a paycheck. Not for recognition.

She does it so the business doesn’t fall apart. She does it so someone’s there to answer questions. She does it to make sure everything’s handled, right down to checking that the ovens and fryers are turned off at night.

She asks for nothing. She doesn’t complain. She just… shows up.

Every single day.

So I’m asking, if you see her, be kind. Be patient. And if you’re able, help out where you can.

Because I promise you, this isn’t the life she imagined when she said “I do.”

This isn’t marriage. This isn’t spending time with your husband, this is struggling to stay afloat while everything around you crashes.

And yeah… I’ve been thinking about malpractice. Because where do you even go from here? My family can’t sue anyone, I’m still alive.

So what am I supposed to do?

Just keep going? Keep waiting? Keep suffering?

Let me walk you through what “doing everything right” looks like:

Chiropractor.

Primary care physician.

X-rays.

Physical therapy.

Neurosurgeon.

MRI.

Second neurosurgeon.

CT scan.

EMG.

Pain management.

Two epidural injections.

Orthopedic spine surgeon.

And somehow… Here I am. Sitting in my basement, unable to do much of anything but fight off the darkness.

While the people who were supposed to help me go home, enjoy their weekends, and live their lives.

I don’t know where the breakdown is. I don’t know why no one has a plan.

But I do know this… Something is wrong.

The MRI shows it. My body proves it.

And every day… it’s getting worse. And yet… nothing.

If you made it this far, thank you.

Seriously. Because right now, being heard means more than anything.

And if you didn’t make it this far…

Well, I guess you’ll never know how much I appreciated you anyway.