When I wasn’t concentrating on acquiring the skills and strength needed for living on my own, I tried to imagine how I would manage to support my three children and maintain a home.
The accomplished actor, Christopher Reeve was injured in 1995 when he was thrown from a horse. The accident left him a quadraplegic, unable to breathe on his own or move. In his marvelous book, “Still Me” (published by Random House in 1998) he said, “But slowly I came up again, as from a dive in deep water, I gradually stopped wondering “What life do I have? Is there a way to be useful, maybe to other people in my predicament? Is there a way to be creative again? A way to get back to work? Most of all, is there a way to be there for Dana and Will and Matthew and Alexandra, to be a husband and father again? No answers came, but raising the question helped.”
Fact is, I couldn’t find an answer either, but I trusted the therapists and paid careful attention to every detail of every therapy session. When the doctors talked to me — I listened. It seemed impossible, but that didn’t dampen my eagerness to get on with my life.
A high school classmate of mine, a nice-looking young doctor interning at Rancho in the spinal cord unit. One day he stopped by to chat. After a little small talk, he asked me bluntly, “What will you do when you get home?”
My answer was phrased in the same blunt style. “I will go home to my kids, I will find a way to support them and I will create a happy, loving home.” He remained mute as tears ran down his cheeks. His concern touched me deeply. I hope he knows I did just what I said.
On the day of the accident I was happily looking forward to a significant promotion and raise which would enable me to take better care of the kids. A successful career and terrific kids blessed my life.
While not sure how to get back to that point, surrender to self-pity was not an option. All my energy was required to cope with the new set of challenges.
Rancho counselors were surprised at the choice to move back to Bakersfield after rehab. Los Angeles had better medical facilities and a better climate. I felt I’d be better off near my brothers and their families. I thought I would somehow find a way to fit back into the life I had before.
Wrong.
Soon after arriving in my own new apartment with my kids, it became clear we needed to build a new life. They were committed to making a home with their mother, even though she wasn’t much help with floor moping and doing heavy laundry. The attitude was “can-do” from the beginning.
In “Still Me” Christopher Reeve wrote on page 54 about the moment he felt secure: “When Dana said, ‘You’re still you, and I love you,’ it meant more to me than just a personal declaration of faith and commitment. In a sense it was an affirmation that marriage and family stood at the center of everything, and if both were intact, so was your universe.”
My children made the difference. At the heart of our new home was our love for each other. We had a strong belief in our own ability to survive the setback … to build a bright and happy future. Looking back over the last 36 years, I realize we did exactly that. My sons have wonderful children and fulfilling careers. They make significant contributions to their community. Each of us have lovely fulfilling lives.
When we began we didn’t know how we would manage, we just knew we would manage. No life is without setbacks and there are worse things than physical disability.
A parent with a serious disability may not hold children back in their development. In such a home, the kids learn early to consider the disability of the parent. They learn to consider the feelings and needs of someone other than themselves.
They become more responsible as they know they are needed. That it is not just important but necessary for them to make a contribution to the household — in whatever ways required by circumstance. KIds of disabled parents often — as in my small family — turn out not only okay, but successful in life.
My daughter struggled with the transition, but that may have been related to an unsuspected illness. We didn’t find out the extent of her problems until a number of years later.
Within a short time an emotional Erin came home from school, upset that his teacher was facing transfer to another school. I soon learned this particular class hadn’t had a year with the same teacher all the way school since kindergarten. All the parents were upset. I was soon on the phone organizing a parent protest. This was my first step into local politics.
The principal, who very much disapproved of my efforts, let me know she considered my sons living in “a difficult situation.” It was an ominous conversation. She happened to me a particularly domineering person and I had proved myself a political opponent on the teacher transfer. Soon she soon was asking me to help her with her mending, which gave her an excuse to drop into our small place to “look things over.” Apparently, she found nothing amiss, so soon she managed to get by without my unpaid services as a seamstress.
Despite our intense efforts, we parents were defeated. The teacher was transferred. Erin came home with reports of the new teacher which disturbed me, so soon I was pushing my manual wheelchair to his school many blocks away to attend PTA meetings and to sit in on his class. The hardest part of this was figuring out what to wear.
The positive thing that came out of this was that it propelled me back into normal life, if with considerably less energy than I had before.
After a couple of years, my brother Virgil gave me one of his old Cadillacs. It was in good mechanical condition so I had hand controls installed. Gas prices were low in 1974, so the fact that it was a greedy gas guzzler didn’t matter. A dread of driving and of cars in general remained with me, but there were times we needed to drive. Fortunately, nowadays in Bakersfield we have buses equipped to scoop up wheelchairs.
Step by step, we were solving the problems.