The Power of Faith When Tragedy Strikes

by Chris Norton

  Whenever I went out in public, to a restaurant, the mall, or a concert, I attracted a lot of unwanted stares, which stunk because I just wanted to blend in. I didn’t want to draw attention because I was different, although I assumed some of the gazes I received were because of my age. Having to sit in a specified area at a movie, concert, or ballgame felt very isolating, although sometimes I got the best seat in the house.

  By late January, my sensations continued to slowly return. I could tell, for example, when my sweatpants weren’t on just right, or I’d feel uncomfortable when my shirt wasn’t pulled all the way down. I knew if my shoes weren’t on right or if my sock had rolled down. I began to realize I was hungry and could tell when I was full—something I hadn’t experienced in months. I felt grateful to recognize those feelings and be able to respond.

  Returning to Luther in the fall was my ultimate goal, but my first time back on campus after my injury was to attend the football banquet in February 2011. It was interesting to drive back and look at my surroundings because I didn’t have a good sense of where Rochester was in respect to Luther, and I had no concept of the route my friends took going between the school and the hospital.

  I never thought about attending college anywhere else, and I was excited to be back on Luther’s campus for that event, but my life began to feel like it had two stages, pre-injury and post injury. Viewing the campus through the post-injury lens felt disorienting and made me wonder about the logistics of my return. I didn’t feel sentimental or emotional about being back, but it was good to see everyone again and be a part of the banquet.

  By early March, I began going home to Bondurant on the weekends. It had been over six months since I’d been home, and I was beyond excited to be back at my house, see my dogs, and see all my friends from home again. Fortunately, a number of my friends either worked right after high school, took a break before going to college, or went to school really close by and were around for the weekends. On my first weekend home, my friends had a little get together for me at my buddy’s house.

  As soon as I got home, I wanted some freedom, so I asked my family to teach my friends how to transfer me in and out of the car. My friends wanted to help, were strong enough to help, and the only way to learn was by trying. I was kind of nervous and uncomfortable about asking, but I longed for alone time with them. Besides, if my parents and my family could transfer me, my friends could too. There was a learning curve, but we got it worked out, and the more they did it, the more comfortable we all became. When I had to leave to go back to Rochester on Sunday, I didn’t want to go.

  I celebrated my nineteenth birthday with family and friends on a weekend home from the Ronald McDonald House. The night before my birthday, I went to my friend’s house and hung with my buddies from high school. On my actual birthday, Richie came down from Luther and a group of us went out to eat for a birthday dinner.

  When leaving to go to the restaurant, Shawn transferred me into the passenger seat and his butt hit the lock button. His keys were inside the car, so when he shut the door, I was locked inside the car. As I attempted to unlock the door, they cheered me on, but I couldn’t reach the unlock button, and he didn’t have a spare key with him. Embarrassed by my predicament, I got frustrated with my situation because I couldn’t unlock the door. We were already running late for the reservation and a friend at the restaurant was waiting for us to arrive.

  * * *

  “Here we all were trying to navigate the first stages of adulthood and independence with our bodies fully intact, and he now had to do that with a 3 percent chance of ever regaining any feeling below the neck.”

  ~ Rich Holton, Luther classmate and friend

  * * *

  I couldn’t stay aggravated long when Richie made a joke out of it by looking through the window, bugging his eyes, and saying, “Conserve your oxygen. You only have five minutes to live. Slow your breathing.”

  We made the most of a bad situation, and I realized it was useless to get upset. Friends took another car to get the spare key, and forty minutes later, we were on the road.

  My family and I made sure to celebrate each improvement, no matter how small. It was too easy to look ahead and become impatient with my progress. During my time in Rochester, whenever I’d get frustrated, I’d remember my initial prognosis and how much progress I’d made. Taking stock and realizing it could be worse—that it had been worse—helped the bad days not seem so bad. Not only did looking back lessen my frustration, but it definitely made me feel good about where I was and how far I’d come.

  As the weeks passed and I got mentally prepared to move home for good, my biggest concern was getting new therapists and going to a new rehab facility. I had such a close relationship with the people around me day in and day out. The PT, OT, Gym Tech, and nurses were like family, and I couldn’t imagine not seeing them every day, but I was ready to go home. I wanted to be near my friends and family, I wanted a permanent spot, and I felt physically ready to leave. I didn’t necessarily need Mayo’s specialized equipment, and that made the transition easier to stomach.

  I was nervous about leaving, and I didn’t know what to expect, but the rehab facilities we talked to in Des Moines seemed like good replacements. I’d still get the care I needed. The transition would be hard at first, and I knew it would take time for my new therapists and me to figure each other out, but like my move to outpatient, the timing just felt right.

  But going home was only a temporary stop, as my ultimate goal was to get back to college. My parents and I talked about how I’d go back to school, but I couldn’t imagine making that happen when I still needed so much help. Alex was about to graduate with her RN degree, and she was ready to move on to the next chapter of her life, but she didn’t know where she was going or where she wanted to live.

  As we discussed the future, one day she said, “I can help you go back to school. I can live in Decorah, get a job there, and continue with some school and help you out.” She was ready to do something different, she didn’t want to live at home, and she knew it would make me—and our parents—feel more comfortable about me returning to school.

  I was totally blown away by her offer, and it released the pressure valve of anxiety that tightened whenever I thought about or we discussed me going back to college. Suddenly, going back to school didn’t seem like such a dilemma with her by my side. The best part was that it was her idea; she wouldn’t have volunteered if she wasn’t willing, and I don’t think going back would have worked if she hadn’t. Finally we had a plan, now all we had to do was put it into place.

  * * *

  I have learned many things through all of this, but two I want to share right now. 1. God is great. Through Him all things are possible. 2. People are good. Do not let what you see on TV, read in the papers, hear on the radio, etc. bias you. We have received love, support, prayers, help, kindness, and caring from literally thousands of people.

  ~Terry Norton, CaringBridge, January 3, 2011

  * * *

  THE HOLIDAY season brought many blessings and ushered in a flurry of new experiences. In December of 2010, we took a big step forward when two of Chris’s close friends stayed with him overnight. Alex and Katie had stayed with him, and we all knew the routine—the nurses coming in and out of the room and the multitude of things Chris needed help with—but no one outside the family had ever stayed with him before. It was like watching him go off to school for the first time and being forced to let go of the reigns, but it also helped us realize he could survive under someone else’s supervision.

  I was petrified of him returning to school. I took care of him constantly, opening doors, fetching water and ice, getting him snacks, turning on the TV, and a million other things during the day and night. I thought there was no way he could go to college when I couldn’t be there with him. I just stewed about it all the time, but when his friends stayed with him overnight, it proved that he could go back to college and a normal life. His friends did want
to help, and it wasn’t a burden. People felt good about helping, especially when that friendship was already in place. He didn’t have to have his family around all the time; we could eventually pass the torch to others.

  After only three months of inpatient therapy, Mayo planned to move Chris to outpatient, so I pushed hard to get his stay extended from January into February. I wanted him to get as strong as possible and have as much recovery as possible before we went outpatient. I felt relieved when they agreed to the extra four weeks because I knew another month would mean greater gains for him and an easier transition for us. For example, transferring Chris into a vehicle was easier as his legs got stronger because he could use those muscles to help. Fortunately, Mayo cooperated with us and really helped meet our needs.

  Four weeks went by fast, but before Chris was ready for outpatient, we had to find an accessible place to live. Fortunately, Chris was still eighteen when the accessible room at the Ronald McDonald House opened up. I loved it there. The people were phenomenal, and the concept of the Ronald McDonald House and the benefits they provided to families in need were innumerable.

  Although Chris was more than ready to get out of the hospital, I was nervous about transitioning to outpatient care. It felt similar to when we took Alex home from the hospital after she was born, and we realized we were all alone. With Chris living in the hospital, we had support services, and then all of a sudden, there was no call button. If we needed some help, we were on our own. I was scared and wondered if I knew everything I needed to know to be his sole caretaker.

  While grateful to be out of the hospital and continue with outpatient care, there were a number of challenges, some unforeseen, when we moved into the Ronald McDonald House. His room was tiny, even with a laundry area, a kitchen, and a small den. It felt claustrophobic for us because it was essentially a place to sleep. When we were at the hospital, if we got bored, we went down to the gift shop, the chapel, the cafeteria, or the sixth floor lobby where we had a great view of Rochester. Mayo was huge and there were many different places to visit, including some common areas with ice cream machines. We never felt penned in or trapped because all areas of the hospital were accessible.

  At the Ronald McDonald House, we only had our room. We couldn’t just go down the hallway and talk to other patients because the other families were coming and going at different times, dealing with different issues, and a lot of them had younger kids. That, and the fact that Chris was the only eighteen-year-old patient at the Ronald McDonald House (he was grandfathered in when he turned nineteen), was why we never really made any connections with the people living there. We missed the nurses who’d pop in on a regular basis and the doctors we’d see in the hallways.

  My biggest challenge when we transitioned to outpatient was the additional responsibilities that fell on my shoulders. Without the nursing staff at the hospital, we had to use home healthcare. The initial home healthcare worker wasn’t qualified, and Chris didn’t trust him not to unintentionally hurt him, so we called the company and asked for a new worker.

  I organized Chris’s medications for each day and made sure his prescriptions were filled. In the morning, I woke him up, got him out of bed, and moved him into his chair. If he had nursing care that day, I got him ready before the nurse arrived. After she left, I’d finish getting him dressed and brush his teeth, and then off we’d go to get breakfast. In the afternoon, if he was worn out and wanted to take a nap, I transferred him to the bed and later back into the chair. I had to make dinner and then get him ready for bed, which was a long and laborious process.

  At that point in his recovery, Chris’s arms would get locked around his face when he slept, and they’d be really tight in the morning. He wore braces at night on his arms and feet, and loading him up with all the gear was like getting him ready for combat. The arm braces held his arms and fingers straight during the night while he slept, while the foot braces kept him from getting what’s known as “foot drop” by keeping his heels prone.

  If I had any type of issue during the night, I had to deal with it on my own, unlike when we’d been on the rehab floor. There, we’d hit the call button and a couple of nurses would quickly appear ready and willing to help. When we first moved into the Ronald McDonald House, Chris fell to the floor and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get him up because his legs weren’t strong enough to assist, and I didn’t know the proper technique. I had to use the Hoyer lift. With extra time in rehab, his leg strength increased, and I learned how to position him so he could help. I wouldn’t have learned any of this if we’d been in the hospital because I’d have pushed a button and the nurses would have taken care of everything. Needless to say, the adjustment from hospital care to outpatient made for a tough few weeks, but it was an essential step in preparing us for life at home.

  When Chris’s friends from Luther visited, Deb suggested they go to the mall after looking at the bus routes. The recreation therapists encouraged using public transportation, and the boys really wanted to get out and have some fun, but we were nervous. I’m sure his friends thought we were crazy for talking them through everything, including having the right change for the bus and making sure they were on the right side of the street. The outing provided a good view into the future for him in using public transportation and another cutting of the apron strings for us.

  * * *

  “Every chance I had, I traveled to Rochester so he knew we were now on the same team.”

  ~ Joe Gilson, Lifelong friend

  * * *

  I peeked out the window because the bus stop wasn’t far, looking down the street to make sure everything went okay. The trip was a pivotal step forward for his friends to use public transportation, and it was good for them to understand the whole accessibility issue. Every outing Chris and I took opened my eyes to the many challenges people in wheelchairs faced on a day-to-day basis.

  Once we’d settled at the Ronald McDonald House, I started back to work every other week. I’d been gone from my job for a long time, and we’d reached a point where it made more sense for Deb and me to alternate weeks. Deb was able to work remotely from Rochester with a laptop and Internet access, and my job required more face-to-face interaction. I started earning a much-needed partial paycheck and got back into a work routine, while Deb took a more active role in Chris’s rehab. Chris and I had spent a lot of father-son time together, and we’d reached a point where we’d discussed every subject, rehashed every story, and relived every sports memory, so having his mom around seemed to lift his spirits.

  While ready to earn a paycheck and spend more time with Katie, I underestimated how hard it was to leave Chris behind. I ridiculously assumed nobody could take care of him as well as I did, worrying that Deb would get too tired to scratch his itches, make his food, and make him comfortable. I went overboard telling her everything he liked, and she indulged me because she knew how hard it was for me to leave. Of course everything got done, and she and Chris did great, but I still had trouble letting go.

  Once home, I thought I’d regroup and catch up on some sleep, but I felt guilty for not being there to help. I also let my guard down and started thinking about the future and all the ways life had changed. My emotions bounced from anger that Chris wasn’t able to use his upstairs bedroom to fear over the challenges we faced ahead. I finally understood what it was like for Deb when she was at home alone.

  Deb used to get upset with me because in Chris’s hospital room and in the rehab rooms where he had PT and OT every day, we got terrible phone reception and my texts wouldn’t go through. In the midst of getting through the day, I was too busy to call and text frequently. I finally understood her frustration with being left in the dark when I wanted constant updates but they hardly ever came.

  Working every other week presented a unique set of challenges, and the hardest part was not giving 100 percent to either job. I felt partially present in both worlds, but not immersed in either one. Each week it took time to refocus m
y mind and get back into the swing of things. Toward the end of the workweek, I’d return a call or ask somebody to call me back knowing I wasn’t going to be around the next week. Both at work and in Rochester, I was left wondering who was going to be responsible to make sure things got done when I was gone, forgetting that I’d been gone from work for months and that Deb could handle things in my absence.

  I was grateful for the weeks at home alone with Katie. It was nice being together and having time to reconnect away from the hospital. Because I found it hard to come home from work and cook, we ate out quite a bit. I gained a lot of respect for Deb and felt blessed to have a spouse with whom to share my burdens.

  One of the reasons we stayed so long in outpatient rehab in Rochester, even though the living conditions and being away from home was difficult, was because I was worried about what life would be like once Chris was out and we were on our own. Even though it wasn’t convenient being away from home for an additional three months, I wanted to make sure he had the best equipment, the best therapy, and the best therapists working with him for as long as possible. Mayo’s rehab facility and staff were the best available, so as long as he was improving and we were able to make it work, we stayed.

  It wasn’t easy. I started reaching out to friends and asking if they could come and help. We had another bed in the room for friends to stay and help me get Chris ready for bed, or run out and get us food, or more importantly, help me get him in and out of a regular vehicle so we could go somewhere. We didn’t have a handicap vehicle, and I couldn’t get him into a regular vehicle by myself. We needed two people in order to transfer him so we could go to a movie or go out to eat. When friends were around, we didn’t feel so trapped and bored. I had to push Deb because she wasn’t comfortable asking for help, yet I knew how critical it was to have support. I started contacting her friends and asking them to go up and stay with her and Chris.