Even the most valiant among us are prone to failings.

What do you think when you see a person in a wheelchair who is missing both of his legs? He'd be considered by the majority to be a poor "handicapped" or "disabled" individual. Most people assume the same thing about me until I tell them that I lost both of my legs while serving my country in a war zone far away from my home. Everything changes with just one piece of information. There is a noticeable difference in their temperament, as well as an increase in their vocalization of their patriotism, and then they are less afraid to mention my injuries. I change from being a "handicapped" person to a "American Hero" in a matter of seconds. The difficulty with being a "hero" is that it carries the connotation that I am exempt from pain, suffering, and the consequences of my injuries sustained on the battlefield.

When I was younger, I was enamored with the thought of others doing things for me. Getting married was the only way I could get out of doing the dishes. Things have evolved since then. As a guy, I was proud of my strength and independence. I had no need for anyone in my life at any time. If there was ever a time when I needed assistance, it was just to transport a couch. When I was forced to use a wheelchair for the first six months of my recuperation, I lost my independence. Without my wife's aid, simple activities became difficult, if not impossible. The stairs and curbs became my "kryptonite," making it difficult for me to get up and down them. I would not enter a building if it did not have a ramp.

People praise me for my service all the time, but as time goes on, I've become more upset by the way people talk to me and the way they try to help me. When I was wheeling myself up a ramp into a dining hall to eat lunch, I had one of those moments. I politely declined the offer of assistance from a kind woman. She grabbed my wheelchair from behind and pushed me up the rest of the way in a matter of seconds. Her motives were pure, but in my mind, she had ruined my entire day. By making me feel like I was a child in need of my mother, she crushed my sense of self-worth.

Being referred to be a "Wounded Warrior" comes with a slew of issues. My life would be so much easier if I were referred to as a "amputee," and I wouldn't have to deal with the constant barrage of inquiries and comments I receive on a daily basis. Who would ever question a paraplegic about how his life has changed? As if it were a social obligation, I'm expected to relate the story of the "heroic" deeds that caused my suffering or simply listen to the complaints of others. In one incident, a fellow veteran asked me whether I was a veteran because of my prosthetic legs in a neighborhood store. When I was shopping with my family, he started telling me about his own personal woes. Perhaps he expected me to sympathize with him after only five minutes of conversation. But I'm not Lucy from the Peanuts comic strip who runs a therapy booth. The terms "disability" and "injury" are distinct ideas that are not synonymous. To be disabled does not mean I want to hear about other people's injuries and personal problems.

Everything about my life has altered since the day I was diagnosed with an impairment. I've made some fantastic friends as I've made my way back to health. It is time for me to realize that I am no longer the person I used to be, and that my physical restrictions have altered my appearance. In spite of the fact that I am no longer able to run, I will always strive to be more than a poor "disabled" man or a poor "handicapped" individual. I aspire to be known as a man who has conquered adversity and perseverance. I want the world to know that although I experience pain and suffering as a result of my injuries, it hasn't altered who I am on the inside.