who is telling me to react to my losses with joy, because they are only temporary. I won't be suffering like that in Heaven, he tells me.

He says that not everyone reacts to my type of situation with cynicism and despair.

Excuse me, old boy. But not everyone reacts well to the possibility that they are going to be on morphine for the rest of their lives...when they're only 33. It's on a hip that's been surgically removed...for pain relief. The other one is dislocated and there is a good chance that they are going to come for that one too...and ten years from now, we will be repeating the same scenario.

Right now, I'm on so much morphine, I'm having problems keeping awake and I haven't even taken any breakthrough doses yet and I need to kill the pain. If I do, I don't know what that will do to my ability to write, or drive my own wheelchair.

My pain is now so bad that I cannot sit on a toilet or even get dressed, that's why I'm taking so much morphine. They haven't even begun to run tests yet.

All my doc can do is pump more morphine into my system in the meantime.

Cynicism and despair are the order of the day when you've been messed up on by the best surgeons in the world. They took from me the ability to crawl, climb stairs, swim; in short to have a life. Because of them, it hurts to rub my feet with a towel or to cut my toenails. It has been this way for twenty years.

Until now, I could at least take comfort that the pain was only during certain times of the day, triggered by only certain actions. At least, I said, it's not constant.

I should have kept my big mouth shut.

It was surgery to relieve pain that led to all this and now I have to go with cap in hand for them to bail me out. I do not trust them as far as they can throw me. I still haven't even confronted my anger towards the people who did this, let alone forgiven them.

Now I face more screw-ups. The only thing they can take from me now is my life. I feel rage towards these people, towards my friend who is telling me to feel joy and towards a God who could allow this outrage to take place.

I sat there in church alone, wanting to let out one anguished, enraged howl. I squeezed an unopened pop can to death instead, in silence.

No one knows my rage or understands it. I need help

There is a thing more crippling than cerebral palsy: the prison of your own mind.