On a cold, foggy Kern County morning, January 12, 1972 I walked to the car to drive 18 miles to work . About 20 minutes later I was on my back in a ditch unable to move my legs.
The car had skidded out of control on wet pavement. I was thrown out of the car into a ditch next to the Blue Moon Ranch reservoir a few miles west of Wasco. Other Belridge staff found me a few minutes later. Fortunately, the boss had a car radio — pretty advanced for 1972 — and an ambulance was soon on its way.
The heavy fog caused several other accidents that day. All local neurosurgeons were busy patching up other injured people by the time I arrived at Kern Medical Center. After x-rays there I was transferred to Bakersfield Memorial Hospital for more x-rays and — where, hours later surgery (decompression laminectomy at Thoracic Level 4 - 8), was performed, followed by long, boring three months on a Stryker frame.
Soon after release from intensive care, the orthopedic surgeon came into my room on the surgery floor, stood solemn and still at the bedside. He told me I was a complete spinal cord injury at level T-8. (Later surgery changed this to T-4.) He explained I would not recover. It was not a medical possibility. In fact, since my spine had been crushed through four levels, I might not be able to tolerate sitting up. He didn’t think it was likely I would sit up.
I was ignorant of spinal cord injury or even the existence of the spinal cord. I didn’t have a clue. The entire series of events seemed utterly unreal. Over the next few days I struggled to comprehend the enormity of what had happened.
Everyone who visited me over the next months was quizzed as to what they knew about spinal cord injury and/or paralysis. Slowly reality crept in. This was real. I had to deal with reality, not dream of a magical recovery.
I also suffered a head concussion. For a long time I believed it had diminished my memory. The argument continued until recently with my doctors as to whether or not it affected my mind. They think it did not. I’ve come across scientific information recently that supports the doctor’s conclusion. It appears bed confinement for long months affects the cognitive process and memory. When I am living normally with lots of activity I feel very normal, no more forgetful than anyone else.
Stephen Thompson, a quadriplegic, wrote of the first days and months after his spinal cord injury in his book “Genesis: A Portrait of Spinal Cord Injury.” published by Sunstone Press in 2001. On page 9 he says, “Spinal cord injury is a dreadful life changing event, but it is one of uncountable catastrophes that forces you to find out how strong your survival strengths really are — and also which people you can count on for help. We don’t choose to have these disasters, crises, or adversities, but no matter what problems you are faced with you need to rise to the challenge and use what you have to the fullest.”
“And that should be true whether you are the one in need or the one in a position to help. How you respond to differences and changes in life is how you find out your true substance — and that probably determines if you are worthy of the “new kingdom,” ‘… for the kingdom of God is within you.’ (Luke 17:21). If indeed a paralyzed person or any person would truly believe this, then life could be an astounding success, no matter what your status, position, wealth, or personal attributes.”
While I don’t fully agree with Thompson’s philosophy, he expresses it well. Whether you give credit to God or not, each of us has the strength to endure.
As I counted off the long, boring days at Bakersfield’s Memorial Hospital, only slowly did it sink in — the reality that paralysis was permanent with (at that time) no hope for cure. Working through the implications, I struggled for hope. The idea that I might not be able to tolerate sitting up was really scary. I was sure I would find a way to sit up. There was no other way. It had to be.
As it turned out the doctor was wrong.
That doctor and many others thought the intractable pain which remained could not be healed. They were all wrong. After 12 years I found a doctor in North Carolina who performed a surgery which made the pain bearable. He performed what is know as “the Drez procedure.”
Through most of the last (almost) 37 years I didn’t believe I could live to be 70, but I have. It has taken self-discipline, patience and the good sense to follow doctor’s orders. Exactly.
Life, love of family and achievement. That is what has kept me going.
The words “The ability to adapt to circumstances is the best test of intelligence” guides my determination to find a way to live and prosper with this condition. (anonymous)