Can Do, Sir by Earl Corp
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Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language. While I was in Germany a sign hung in battalion headquarters. The quote on it had a big impact on my life. “The soldier who says he can and the soldier who says he can’t are both right.” It guided me through the next 12 years of military service and following my discharge. The real test came in December 2010 after being struck down by a spinal abscess. I woke up in a hospital in Pittsburgh not knowing my wife, not knowing who I was, and not being able to walk any more. Only 57 percent of the people get off of the table. In fact, they lost me on the table. A doctor told me I’d never get out of a wheelchair. “You wanna bet,” I replied. As his words sunk in, I remembered the sign. I vowed to myself I’d never say, “I can’t.” Which I damn near did three days later. Before being sent to Greenville for rehab they sent me to the physical therapy suite. There I learned just how disabled I was. I had zero balance or muscle control. At that point rehabilitation seemed daunting and overwhelming, something I couldn’t do. I cried, then I got mad. I was going to show these bastards what I was made of. “I can.” When I was moved back to Greenville the real work began. I was transported back and forth to therapy in a wheelchair. Just standing up for any period of time made me break out into a sweat. Balance wasn’t easy, but I had to get some back to negotiate the steps into my house. I was taken to a stairwell to practice. They didn’t think I'd be able to do it. “I can.” I climbed the rail like a mountain climber on a rope. Eventually I could go up and down 12 stairs twice. An allergy to an antibiotic shut down my kidneys costing me another month in the hospital. Oddly, I walked without any devices when I dreamed. Water therapy was God’s way of saying, “You can.” I left behind the wheelchair and moved on to a walker 90 days after leaving the hospital. A year later, I was on forearm crutches. At every point I was told this is as good as it gets. “Nope, I can.” At the three year mark I was driving again and working as a news reporter, all on crutches. “I can.” A year later, they discovered I needed new hips. During rehab they said I might not need any devices to walk. “I can.” I decided I would walk in 5k races and collect enough T-shirts to make a quilt, there was a doctor in Pittsburgh I needed to show it to. “I can.” Two years later, I had walked in 54 5ks. Came in dead last in 50 of them, but I finished all of them. “I can.” T-shirts are at the seamstress and doctor’s appointment made. “I did!!”
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