Disability - Need for truck repairs

Hello! I'm posting this GoFundMe to raise funds to fix my truck. I'm disabled, with several spinal conditions, knee and hip problems, and chronic pain stemming from stuff I was born with, stuff arising from aging and things made worse from a rear-end collision. The collision was in 2012 - on my birthday, of all days - and while some things have gotten better, I'll never be back to what I was.

For a little background, an independent medical evaluation for Social Security found that I only have 18 degrees of flex in my left knee, meaning I can't lift properly. I've had this problem since birth, and the years of working 'improperly lifting' have taken a toll on my spine and other joints. I've got three protruding disks from that, and I'm told that there really isn't a safe surgery that can be done. There is a greater risk of paralysis, from what the specialist told me, and I'm not pleased with the thought or the chances. From the wreck, the spina bifida I was born with was made worse, there's bone spurs in that area, there's arthritis running up and down my spine, and there's spinal stenosis to deal with, too. I'm told by the available surgical specialists here that there's no fixing any of those, and traveling for experimental procedures that "might" fix them are out of the question. Where my health is concerned, I'm not in a gambling mood.

There's other not-so-minor health problems that I have to live with, but with the meds for that and the chronic unending pain, I can't work. I've gone through my sparse savings to purchase a Nissan SUV to get myself and my mother to our respective doctors. My mom has her own health issues from cancer treatments, heart problems, and other things that age brings, and between us we have a full slate. Due to my health insurance, I have to travel out of town forty miles away to visit my pain management doctor and other doctors (ortho, neuro, and so on.) Mom has the same problem with her doctors, since we have roughly the same plan. There aren't a lot of choices open to us where healthcare is concerned.

The Nissan Pathfinder I purchased ran well until it started leaking coolant in a river from the engine block. I spent my savings ($1300) in having the serpentine belt, water pump, thermostat, water pump and thermostat gaskets, a pulley, and several hoses replaced. This was after a severe Florida cold snap that left six inch icicles on the Nissan's body - and while I had new antifreeze installed beforehand sufficient to 10 below freezing, apparently something happened. The auto insurance wouldn't cover any repairs, and I had to pay out of pocket. They also wouldn't consider totaling it out. I mentioned that I'm still paying the loan on the Nissan (which I probably shouldn't have) and they still didn't. I have just under $5000 left to pay it off. I'm still paying.

From the papers that I got from the mechanics, there's 'apparently a leak behind the timing cover.' I'm not a gearhead, so I have to take the word of those that work on cars. They wanted to do what they termed 'exploratory surgery.' I did not agree to that, since I have no idea how much the labor alone would run and I had already given them all my savings as listed above. They also made noises about either a head gasket blown or the head itself being cracked. They quoted me a range from $5000 to $7000 for that kind of job, after I'd had all the other work done, and the range was dependent on parts and labor.

I don't like asking for help. I've had to swallow my pride several times in the past and do it, and I'm swallowing my pride again to do this. My health and my medical conditions prevent me from working now and putting up money for things like this. There's also my mother's health to consider, and frankly, I do not want her to have to do without just because we're out a ride. Our family is pretty much out of state or have their own problems.

I maintain on my fixed income to pay my bills. I struggle with a lot of the other things, and I don't get extravagant. I rarely go out because there's simply nothing to go out on. Still, I try to do stuff for others. I've cooked food out of my meager supply for others, and given clothes from my closet to to others. I tried to raise money doing a Facebook fundraiser for a battered women's shelter in Jacksonville, FL and I was way short of what I wanted to raise. The point of mentioning that is that I've tried not to look at myself, and look at others first - but I'm in the situation of being the one in need.

I look around at the astounding totals that was raised for the former FBI agent and for various celebrities, and I hope that some of that can rub off on me. I'm not asking for those goals they had, just $7000. That was the high end of what the auto shop quoted me. I picked the Nissan Pathfinder in part because it was one of the rare vehicles that didn't hurt to sit in and drive.

One of my friends made a pointed joke after I mused about turning to crowdfunding about making references to the President and other things being prevented because of his office. The joke was if I did Trump-bashing, I'd blow the roof off. I couldn't do that, because that's not me. It's not my way to try to use politics to get something. So, no jokes here - just the honest truth.

I like to write, and I do have a couple of things published on Amazon and other things under my pen name, but quite frankly it's hard to sit and write out all the stories in my head when I'm in pain. While I have the time now, I often don't have the spoons to do what I love.

I'm just a guy with a broken body still trying to struggle along the path despite all life has thrown at me.

And for a little something extra, this is something I wrote some time ago. I posted it on my Facebook page instead of submitting it for publication somewhere. I was born quite premature and under two pounds, and that's something I ponder from time to time when I think about today's medical technology.

Thank you for your attention and your help. This will mean a lot to not just me, but my mother as well. She has sacrificed a lot for me from the moment of my birth and before. Please donate and share. $5 each can add up quickly.

As a bonus, I will save the list of each donator to this effort and write the names in an uncoming fantasy novel.


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Taking Shifts with Angels

I'm not afraid to die. I don't want to leave this world before my time, no. I want to live my allotted years out and hopefully help at least one person in this old world, then maybe that person can help somebody else. You know, the 'pay it forward' thing that only pops up occasionally now and gets remarked upon for its oddity.

As I've gotten older and more used to my personal quirks, my imagination tends to politely insert something that grabs my fancy. Sometimes I discard it, sometimes I don't.

This one, I didn't. My subconscious gifted me with a dream of this.

As some of my readers know, I didn't exactly have the best of beginnings, and the best of medical technology simply had to have had a bit of a nudge from the Almighty to keep me going. At least, that the only thing I can think of, considering the things I was told over the years from my family and the medical professionals that tended my newborn self.

I'm pretty sure Christ Himself and the Angel of Death took shifts in that NICU. I'm not being flip. Not cracking a joke, not making light of the situation, not being a comedian. I'm being really serious - this is me in that 1970's incubator, after all. Besides, I've always thought that the Angel of Death was subordinate to God and took his orders and direction.

And I'm not going to get into what exactly this being is. Angel of Death, Azrael/Azrail, Malak Al-Mawt/Malach ha-Mawet, whatever name or appearance you prefer.

So, in this dream, there's a room with a few medical machines of indeterminate use, my incubator, a chair, an old clipboard with forms that the nurses mark vitals on with a regular motion, and a quiet air around the whole unit. The nurses' station isn't far off, of course, and there's a big window that lets in natural light. Several fluorescent lights with a buzz emanating from ballasts that need servicing. Telephones that ring every so often, and nurses that talk about this and that. Some kind of fading yellowish-green paint on the wall that could just be from the light coming from the fluorescents.

That's what I see in this dream, and for all I know, that's exactly what was there. I can't quite confirm this from a firsthand testimony, and I doubt anyone with a newborn's tabula rasa mind could, either.

So, here's the thing. Of course you have the medical people there. My family, too. No idea who else, though. Hospitals in the seventies probably didn't have the exact same security issues at the same levels as they do today, so no telling who else showed up to do whatever they did.

I'm confident enough in this dream to say that a minister of some kind was there. It was Sacred Heart in Pensacola, and priests and nuns are there. With that man of the cloth, though, came two other visitors, both with impeccable credentials and security clearances.

First, the Angel of Death. He's no stranger to hospitals. I say 'he,' because that's the image I got. Not particularly tall, probably average in height, but powerful in build. Strong, calloused hands, too. If he were human, you could see him plowing a huge field behind a draft horse or throwing square bales of hay like it's not all that big a deal. Here in the hospital, he's not wearing overalls or flannel, but a set of khakis. Strong cloth for the pants and the same thing for the button-down long-sleeved shirt. He's got a wide leather belt that looks like you could use it as a pulley belt on the tractor, if only you get it stitched together tight enough. His shoes are Oxfords, just as tough as the belt.

Considering all the work he does, he's got to have durable clothing.

The Angel has salt-and-pepper hair, a little long in the back. It's not long enough to raise any eyebrows - well, not much anyway. Nobody's going to bother him about it. Would you?

Instead of a scythe, he carries a handleless mug of coffee. No matter how many sips he takes from his mug, it's always full. The rich aroma of double strong, double sweet coffee, brewed with a pinch of salt gives off a promise of something that puts every Styrofoam cup of hospital coffee to shame - past, present, or future.

He always seems to come in on the quiet times, when infant me is doing relatively okay and I'm not in dire straits. The Angel has his orders from El Shaddai, El-Elyon na Adonai, and those orders don't include gathering my soul up. Still, he has to check up on me and give regular reports to God Himself. And so he did, very scrupulously.

Of course, there were times I didn't do as well. Frankly, there were times when I was about to partake of the Angel's professional services, if I might put things that way. I think that's when the Boss's Son took His shifts.

No one knows what God looks like. Some don't belief in the existence of God, and I'm not going to get into any theological debates in this little piece. Remember, this is a recounting of a dream fragment I had.

So, the Son clocks in, right on time. Never late, too. I see Him as slender and tall, with a wiry strength that looks deceptive. Long fingers that can handle delicate tasks with impressive ease, but shoulders and arms that have the stamina to swing a hammer to drive a ton of nails or push a saw through a forest of trees. Piercing gray eyes that can literally look into your soul and know everything.

Well, of course. Look Who we are talking about, anyway.

In His role as the Great Physician, He's here in His scrubs of royal purple. I'm fairly sure doctors then didn't wear scrubs during rounds, and wore ties with their dress shirts and white coats. Christ was always hands-on and willing to get dirty to do His work, so yeah. I can better see him wearing scrubs. The stethoscope is there, a battered watch on the wrist, and a leather cord is around His neck.

It holds a simple piece of jewelry - three old nails that make a cross.

So, while I was dreaming about watching my infant self seizing or having other major problems, there was several senses of being there. Drama, of course. Those of us in the medical profession don't jump into saving the life of someone else for the relaxation of it. Palpable fear, from some, knowing that it's never easy to have to call the parents of a child that's just crossed over or about to.

Here, there was calm. The kind of calm that projects from someone that knows his business, and goes about bringing order from chaos in such a way that it looks so easy.

Well, He knew His business. I'm here. I can see my family stream in, the worry and fear and uncertainty - and relief - as the Great Physician reaches into His little black bag and pulls out yet another miracle.

There's not much else that shows up from that dream. I guess I passed into a different state in the sleep cycle. Still, that fragment stuck with me.

I'm going to be thankful for it.