Questions and Answers About My Injury
What follows are interview questions I answered about myself and my injury. I thought it was a good insight into me, so I thought I'd share it here. The 7 questions are in bold and my answers follow.
- Tell me your story of when your suffering or struggle began.
- Describe when it first started, what was it like for you? What was it like for others close to you?
- What feelings do you recall from that time? Were there feelings of shock, denial or other feelings?
- I can only realize some of your overwhelming needs/issues that you face, what are some things that you now deal with in everyday life (I) or (people not in your situation) would take for granted and not think about, but are huge to you?
- What are some of the acts of caring that mean a lot to you and why?
- How did you continue on, not only after the accident and everything that you have been through, but on an everyday level and what is it that continues to drive you to be the amazing person you are?
- When were you first aware of what had happened? How long after the accident, were you coherent? When, were you first told what had happened to Tana? What did you feel, how did you react, how did you find strength to go on?
1. Tell me your story of when your suffering or struggle began.
My struggle began when I woke up that first day in the hospital, sometime in late April of 2001. I knew something bad had happened to me, but I wouldn't realize the extent of it until several months - in some cases, years - later.
This suffering began for me right as my life was about to begin a new chapter. I was one month away from graduating college and less than two months away from starting a well paying job that was the culmination of my college work. I had been dating Tana Thompson for four and a half years and she and I planned to build a life and family together. As I was just getting my life where I wanted it to be, I lost nearly everything on one ill fated decision to have fun. We went out for a night of drinking, just as we had done many times before. Sadly, we mixed alcohol with driving and our journey home was cut short by a tragic motor vehicle accident. Tana didn't survive and I broke my neck, rendering me a quadriplegic.
My paralysis is very difficult to cope with but the pain in my heart due to the loss of Tana is the most unkindest cut of all.
2. Describe when it first started, what was it like for you? And for others close to you.
Immediately following the accident, I was airlifted via helicopter to Sioux Valley Hospital in Sioux Falls, SD where I remained for six weeks. I had to be resuscitated at the scene of the accident and my heart stopped several times before I was somewhat stabilized. Bone from my hip, two plates, and several screws were used to fuse my broken neck. The surgery was done on Easter Sunday and lasted 10 hours. I'm sure that my family and friends had a rough holiday, as my condition was still very critical at that point.
After weeks of being in an intensive care unit, I was transferred to a pulmonary unit to deal with my breathing issues. Because I broke my neck at the 4th, 5th and 6th cervical vertebrae, my diaphragm no longer worked and I was unable to breathe on my own. I had a tracheostomy tube placed in a hole that was cut in my throat at the base of my neck and this was hooked up to a ventilator that forced air into my lungs for me. I was given nourishment through a feeding tube that went up my nose, down my throat, and into my stomach. I was not able to eat or breathe on my own for over five weeks.
I took a pretty good blow to my head and was on several stout pain medications, so my memory of this time is almost non-existent. I had to be repositioned in bed often to prevent pressure ulcers. I vaguely remember being woken up at all hours of the night, either for breathing treatments or so they could do X-rays on my lungs. My sleep seemed like it was always being interrupted; if it wasn't doctors, nurses, X-ray technicians, respiratory therapists, etc., it was morphine induced nightmares that played upon my fear of large snakes (I had a recurring one that featured a large snake hinging its jaws to the base of my neck, which lets you know how I felt about the unnatural breathing tube coming out of my trachea. Let's just move on.) I was constantly fighting pneumonia. I had to undergo at least a dozen bronchoscopies, a procedure in which a tiny vacuum tube was put into my lungs through my trach tube in an effort to suck out some of the 'junk' that plugged my lungs. Antibiotics were also used to try to keep my lungs clear, but there were times when they were of little use. There was a point about a week after the accident when fluid was filling my lungs faster than the doctors could get rid of it. I entered respiratory distress and my family was told there was nothing that could be done. Remarkably, the antibiotics began working and the floodwaters collecting in my lungs began to recede.
3. What feelings do you recall from that time? Were there feelings of shock, denial or other feelings.
Again, my thinking was clouded in the early stages of my injury. Even if those factors wouldn't have been present, I still doubt that I would have been able to comprehend the multitude of ways in which my life - or some semblance of it - would never be the same.
I remember a particular lady that was supposed to serve as a counselor of sorts for me. I vividly recall her matter-of-factly saying that my life wouldn't really be all that different, that I would just need a wheelchair to get around. She also said that studies show that many people in wheelchairs indicate they are very happy with their lives. To listen to her, it sounded like paralysis would just be a little inconvenience for me. Maybe I could deal with it. Little did I realize my life would completely revolve around it, and that these dead axons in my spinal cord would hold me prisoner.
There was definitely some denial, but it was more of an ignorance as to how life would be. My life was so much on the right track just weeks before; surely the medical experts could help me out in some way. Once talk of sending me to the nation's best rehab facility for spinal cord patients began, I was certain they'd be able to help me out. I remember thinking that I might be a few months late starting my job in Minnesota, but I'd surely be able to start working there once this great rehab place fixed me up.
I remember feeling like people cared about me, as I had a never-ending stream of family and friends coming to visit me. I've always thrived on feeling like others valued me, so this constant attention was another nice distraction from the reality of my injury. Because I was on the vent, I was unable to talk for almost five weeks. I could move my lips, but no sound came out. This was troublesome for many of my visitors, but a few became adept at lip reading. I have to think even that was better for them than looking at my paralyzed body lying still with tubes coming out of me seemingly everywhere. I'm sure that's how it was the first few weeks. At least my eyes were open and I was trying to communicate after a time.
I don't know when it was, but I remember starting to see familiar faces as I first became aware of what was going on. My mother seemed like she'd always been at my side (as I'm sure she was) but, outside of my family members, I recall one visit in particular. It was Tana's family. I'm not sure of the time frame, but I was still in the ICU. I do know that it was shortly after Tana's funeral and it was the first time they were seeing me. Of all members of the family, I was closest with her father, as I had worked for him for over four years on his farm. After going through losing his youngest child, here was this strong man I'd known for years leaning over the foot of my bed, tears pouring out of his eyes and falling onto the blankets that covered my lifeless feet. I don't know if I'm remembering this correctly or not, but he was wondering how my injuries were no longer considered life threatening when I was hooked up to a myriad of monitors and tubes that were keeping me alive. I also recall them coming to see me on Tana's birthday, and I remember confidently assuring them that Tana would help me walk again. I still credit Tana for being a major reason I haven't given up on life; in fact, she is the first and last reason I haven't. Beautiful girls with big hearts - even when they're physically gone - make life worth living.
4. I can only realize some of your overwhelming needs/issues that you face, what are some things that you now deal with in everyday life (I) or (people not in your situation) would take for granted and not think about, but are huge to you.
Besides the emptiness in my life caused by not having that special somebody to share it with, the one thing I hate the most is my dependence on others. I can't get out of bed without help. I can't get something to eat or drink without help. I'm always at the mercy of others, mostly my angelic mother who has dedicated her life to caring for me and constantly tells me she wishes she could trade places with me. (That's just crazy talk; I don't wish this life on anybody.) My six year old niece has a more independent life than I do. I would literally die if left alone for a few days. That's not hyperbole; that's a fact.
Like prison, quadriplegia consists of routine, and then more routine. Getting ready for the day used to take me mere minutes. Getting out of bed, showering, going to the bathroom, dressing, etc. now takes hours. There is no break; I must do this every day. Paralysis is an all day, every day condition. They don't tell you that when you sign up. Read the fine print, people.
Feeling like a burden to others has been a constant for me. My mother selflessly gives of her time, but I feel like a hindrance on her life and those of others who lend a hand. I always have to ask for help from others. I bet I say 'please' and 'thank you' more than most anybody, but that doesn't make me feel less bothersome.
5. What are some of the acts of caring that mean a lot to you and why?
I've already mentioned the acts done by my immediate family, and I don't want to discount the importance of those, but I'll touch on some other gestures that I treasure.
Certain acts that make me feel like I'm cared for include my grandmother making sure I have a constant supply of homemade cookies and buns, or somebody buying me a red hat because it reminds them of one I used to wear, but the one act that means so much to me is one that has boosted my psychological well-being: feeling like a part of other peoples' lives. I like having people invite me to do something, send me an email or even leave a comment on my website. It makes me feel like others want to be around me, lessening that burden thing I mentioned earlier. There have been nights when I'm out with friends when I feel like the paralysis isn't there; it gets lost amidst the interactions. To modify some narration from The Shawshank Redemption, it's like some beautiful bird flaps its way into my drab little cage and makes my condition dissolve away - and for the briefest of moments - I feel free.
6. How did you continue on, not only after the accident and everything that you have been through, but on an everyday level and what is it that continues to drive you to be the amazing person you are?
A common theme I've told people lately is that I'm just a lonely little kid in a wheelchair trying to make it honest. That is so true. I went to grad school because I didn't want to be bored. I teach at a university because the job fell into my lap (one benefit of being a kid in a wheelchair is that you have a permanent lap, thus increasing the likelihood that things will fall into it...or one of your fantasy girlfriends will sit in it).
To once again borrow some words that are not my own: "There is only where I am, today, and what happened yesterday to put me here; and yes, there is tomorrow, a tomorrow I cannot foresee or guarantee, one I can only prepare for by doing my best to hang in there today. I feel abandoned to my fate, powerless to alter it. Yet, what else can I do but continue on to the next moment, and then the next?" That was written by a paraplegic who used to post on a spinal cord injury forum. His mastery of words has always touched me.
I can always turn to Andy Dufresne's words too: "I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy living or get busy dying." My heart is still beating and the little voices in my head are still telling me what to do, so I guess that choice has been made for me.
7. When were you first aware of what had happened? How long after the accident, were you coherent? When, were you first told what had happened to Tana? What did you feel, how did you react, how did you find strength to go on?
My memory is really hazy of my time in intensive care, but I remember one particular moment. I think it was roughly a week and a half after and I woke up and Mom was there. I couldn't talk at all and at that time the vent was shoved down my throat, so I couldn't even move my lips. She could tell I was confused and explained to me that I was in a car accident. She got a board with the alphabet on it so I could spell out what I was trying to say. I immediately went to move my hands to spell something out and discovered my arms hardly worked and I couldn't move them enough to point to the letters. She started going through the letters one by one until she got to T. I shook my head ever so slightly and she started over with A and I shook my head again. She realized what I was asking and told me that Tana had passed away. That moment in time is forever burned into my memory.
As far as being coherent, the concussion, pain meds and happy pills they thought I needed took care of delaying that. As far as memory goes, the first six weeks were almost non-existent, the next three months in Denver were spotty at best, the first several months at home were a blur, the first few years are hazy, wait...what was the question? Many days I'm still not sure if I am coherent. Maybe I never was.