The Power of Faith When Tragedy Strikes

by Chris Norton

  During that time I learned the true meaning of friendship. It was easy to tell people I had their backs and I’d be there for them if they ever needed me, but that typically never happened. My friends came to Rochester when we were closing in on seven months away from home, we were tired, it was a lot of work, and we were worn down from the whole experience. They came when I asked, and they had our backs. I’m sure they had things going on at work and with their own families, but they dropped everything to be there for my family and me. Through the hardest times, our friends were there and saw us through.

  Despite the monotony, I felt blessed for the time Chris and I got to spend together, time I wouldn’t have had otherwise. He was right in the heart of what would have been the best years of his life where so many of his independent views were shaped. If not for his injury, I wouldn’t have had his attention or the time to talk to him about faith, goal setting, character, and things I’d read that held meaning for both of us. Those definitely weren’t the circumstances either one of us would have chosen, but I did the best I could to be there for him, support him, and use that time to reinforce our values.

  We attended the Luther football banquet—Chris, Deb and I—in February 2011. Chris wanted to go, but I had mixed emotions about attending. On the car ride down, I felt better than I’d felt since his injury because he was riding in the front seat with me and sitting upright as if the accident hadn’t happened.

  We arrived at the football banquet, and my emotions took over. Chris received a tremendous reception, and then I got up and said a quick thank-you to everyone for all of their support. Despite the warm welcome, the event was emotionally taxing.

  One hundred young men. Every college in the nation has one hundred young men. Why, out of this one hundred, did our son have to be the one who got hurt?

  Chris’s football career was short-lived whether he got hurt or not, as he only had four years of college left to play regardless. The other guys at the banquet would be done after four years also, but they’d go on and live the rest of their lives no worse for the wear. Our son came into Luther just like everybody else—to have fun, make new friends, play more sports, and experience a little competition—but everybody else was going to walk away with their lives intact. Chris’s college football experience was going to impact him—and us—for the rest of our lives.

  The beautiful part was that Chris never looked at it the way I did. His perspective was completely different from ours in that it didn’t seem to bother him. He liked going to the banquet, seeing his friends, and being around the guys. If it didn’t bother him, I shouldn’t have let it bother me, but I couldn’t control my reaction. Face-to-face with what was taken away, my emotions were raw, and all I felt was the hurt.

  We returned to Rochester, life got back to “normal,” and I was able to focus on the bigger picture. If Chris hadn’t gotten hurt, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to make an impact on people we didn’t even know.

  While Chris was doing outpatient therapy and living in the Ronald McDonald House, we started bringing him home on the weekends before he officially moved home. He was so excited to see our golden retriever, get back in his own house, and see his friends, but once again my emotions took over. In the hospital, I came to accept his injury because that was all we’d known there, but reality hit when we brought him home to a place where I had memories of the past. I’d clung so tightly to the idea he’d walk out of the hospital, that coming home with him in a chair felt like a blow. For his sake, I curbed my unease, let his excitement take over, and looked forward to the day when our family was back together under one roof.

  * * *

  “As Chris neared his dismissal from the rehab unit and then ultimately back to the Des Moines region, I did worry that he wasn’t going to cope with being in real life very well. Not because he showed signs of struggle, but mostly because that is a common occurrence for those who have suffered such a severe injury.”

  ~ Megan Gill, PT, DPT, Clinical Lead Physical Therapist for Spinal Cord Injury, Mayo Clinic

  * * *

  Never one to sit home for long, Chris immediately asked us to teach his friends how to transfer him in and out of a car so they could go to the movies. My nerves went into overdrive thinking of all the things that could go wrong because they didn’t know how to handle him safely. So much of it was technique that involved using the legs and the correct positioning of the body.

  His PT, Megan, was a little bitty thing, but she moved Chris around like he weighed nothing, proving a transfer required more than brute strength. Transferring correctly was like a finely choreographed dance where one misstep ruined the whole performance. Deb reminded me that we were in our fifties, but his friends were young and strong, so lifting him up and getting him in and out of a car was no big deal for them, especially after I’d spent a long time showing them how to do it correctly. If the transfer didn’t go quite right, they’d all think it was funny, Chris would think it was funny, and no one would suffer.

  Getting him out the door was only the beginning. Chris and his friends would go out late and stay out even later because they were young and that was normal, but Deb and I were struggling. We went to bed knowing that at two or three in the morning we’d get a call and have to get up and get him ready for bed. We didn’t sleep well before the call, and then once we were up, it was hard to get back to sleep. Exhausted by the weekend routine, we finally decided to teach his friends how to get him ready for bed and then have them stay with him until morning. It was a workable solution that helped his parents and eased his eventual transfer home.

  I wasn’t able to post every day on CaringBridge while staying at the Ronald McDonald House, mostly because we were so busy and our access to a computer was limited, but also because I started to feel ambivalent about CaringBridge and what I termed the “CaringBridge Syndrome.” While I thought it was important keep our posts positive, as time went by, I started feeling as if it masked reality. Everything with Chris wasn’t always wonderful, and his day-to-day challenges were daunting for all of us. There was a fine line between appreciating how far we’d come and facing the reality of what he had to deal with for the rest of his life.

  I don’t know why it started to bother me, probably because I was so worn down. Without the support of the hospital staff, providing most meals on my own, feeling confined to our small room, and going back and forth on the weekends, my energy lagged. Writing things out on CaringBridge had always been good for me because it allowed me to process everything that had happened, step back and look at the big picture, and share some life lessons along the way, but I’d lost my zeal to post. I never wanted to focus on what Chris couldn’t do because that diminished the miracles that had taken place since his injury, but never discussing our daily struggles felt a little disingenuous. Posting less frequently helped lessen my anxiety over the “syndrome.”

  Throughout Chris’s recovery, Deb and I couldn’t have been more proud of our girls. I think part of why Alex and Katie rallied around their brother so much had to do with how I was raised and how we chose to raise our kids. My older brother, Randy, was a tremendous athlete, and growing up, he was always one of the “captains” for any of our neighborhood or school sports teams. It was telling to get picked on a team and just as telling to get picked last.

  One day I came home from a neighborhood game in tears because my brother hadn’t picked me on his team. My dad pulled Randy aside and bent down so they were eye to eye.

  “Your brother will be by your side for the rest of your life,” my dad said. “He’ll always have your back, and you need to always have his. Other people will come and go, but family’s always there. You pick him first.”

  My brother picked me on his team from that day forward all the way through college.

  Deb and I raised our kids using the same philosophy, and the girls really stepped up their game when Chris got injured. We were proud parents watching how they cared for and nurtured their brother, and
by how much they sacrificed, even though they didn’t look at it as a sacrifice. Katie gave up basketball and left every Thursday, missing time with her friends to be with Chris over the weekend. Alex’s breaks were no longer spent at home but in the hospital. I think Chris saw his sisters in a different way because they became partial caregivers.

  Growing up, Alex wanted to go into nursing. I always pictured her doing something where she gave back or did something for others, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when she brought up the idea of moving to Decorah with Chris to help him go back to school. She’d been thinking about it for a while, and when she first floated the idea I wasn’t sure it was necessary. Although I was scared about him leaving us, I really hadn’t thought through the logistics.

  Her suggestion totally blew us away, and as we talked it through, it really was a brilliant idea. She’d soon graduate from college and didn’t yet have a job. She could use her medical training, she was good at helping him, and she’d been around him enough that she knew what to do. Chris was very independent, but I think he really liked the idea of having Alex as a safety net. He didn’t want to burden his friends, not that they’d see him as a burden, but he liked that she’d be there to take him to appointments and to therapy. We didn’t know what initially prompted her to volunteer, but it turned out to be a crucial step for him to go back to school and another example of how his injury brought our family closer.

  * * *

  Cast your cares on the LORD and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken.

  ~Psalm 55:22 NIV

  * * *

  EVENTUALLY, I reached a point in my therapy at Mayo where I thought, All right, I feel satisfied with what I’ve done here. I feel comfortable transitioning outside of their care. I’m ready now.

  Pulling out of Rochester for the last time was kind of sad. I was comfortable receiving therapy there, and I was nervous about transitioning to a new place. I was ready to move on and it was time to go home, but as I mentioned, my life felt like it was divided into two stages, pre- and post injury. All I’d known post injury was the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, so leaving to go home was like starting a whole new adventure. We thought we had everything lined up ahead of time, but we couldn’t predict every situation.

  Throughout my injury and recovery, pride was a big stumbling block. I had no choice but to let go of my old life where I was a very independent person, made my own decisions, and did my own thing, and accept that I needed help with almost everything. Having to ask people for help was really hard because I didn’t want to be a burden. I also had to swallow my pride after thinking I was going to walk out of the hospital, no matter what everyone tried to tell me.

  I left Mayo with a power-assist chair, but pride tried to stop me from ordering the joystick controlled power chair for home. Megan and I went round and round about her ordering the power chair because I was adamant I’d only need the power-assist chair. She said we should order a power chair “just in case,” because it was her job to make sure I was prepared when I left Mayo. Even if I didn’t use it, she said it was smart to have one on hand.

  She guilted me by saying she wouldn’t have been doing her job if she sent me home without something I might need, and after all the trust we’d built between us, I couldn’t say no. I understood her argument, but at the time I felt she didn’t think I would walk again. Megan also reminded me of the importance of timing. If I didn’t order the chair when I left Mayo and later discovered I needed it, I’d have trouble with insurance covering the cost.

  Before I came home, and before the end-of-spring semester, I made a trip to Luther to register for classes and tour where I’d live in the fall. We met with Luther’s disability coordinator, the academic support office, the residence center, and my academic advisor to devise a plan so I’d be ready for class. It was cool to see all my friends again, and I was excited to see where I’d live on campus with my future roommates. The student who lived in my new room was the same boy who came to visit me a couple of times with the pastor from Luther. He was a great resource for campus logistics.

  On that same trip, I attended Luther’s end of spring football meeting. It felt great to be included, but as they talked about summer workouts and their expectations for fall, I let my guard down and got emotional. I loved working out in the summer and bettering myself as an athlete. The meeting made me think about what the future would have been and how I’d miss out on being a starter the next season. I was living proof that wishing didn’t change a thing, so I tucked the hurt aside and tried to focus on my goals for the summer.

  The best thing about being home was just being back in a familiar place, eating home-cooked meals, going to watch my sister’s softball games, and being around my friends. It provided a sense of normalcy, and I’d really missed our pets. The hardest thing about being home was working with new people and getting used to living life in a wheelchair. Our older home wasn’t wheelchair accessible, and it was hard to get around the small rooms when I’d grown accustomed to maneuvering around the spacious hospital. Being stuck in our family room because I couldn’t get through to the kitchen felt very isolating. It was weird not being able to go up to my room, but we made a new bedroom for me in the dining room and we made it work.

  We had to find a new nursing agency, and the nurse had to figure out my routine under my direction. As we learned in our move to the Ronald McDonald House, the adjustment period was challenging. I was at the mercy of someone else’s schedule. If the nurse didn’t want to work on the weekends, for example, but I still needed care, accommodating my needs took time to coordinate.

  I got so used to asking my family for help that I took them for granted and often forgot to say please and thank you. My parents and siblings wanted to help and they knew the severity of my situation, so in the beginning, they didn’t give me grief for not asking nicely. But now at home, when I got too comfortable with them and forgot to use manners, they brought it to my attention.

  They also began to recognize that I could do more things on my own if I tried. So, when I asked for help, they encouraged me to attempt it first. That was good for me because I discovered that I didn’t always need their help. It was another learning period, because as I got stronger, I was able to do things I hadn’t been able to do before. I was living the cliché, “You never know until you try.”

  While my friends were off for summer break, my parents and sister still had to work. I needed them to help me get ready for bed and put me to bed, but they wanted to end their night by ten. If my friends called and invited me to an eleven o’clock movie, even though I wanted to go, my parents didn’t want to stay up until I got home. They needed their rest, but living by their schedule kept me isolated from my friends. If I did go out, they had to wake up when I got home and get me ready for bed, but that was exhausting for them. I hadn’t thought about our nightlife patterns and how that would affect the family and me when I came home.

  We’d taught my friends how to put me into bed and get me ready when I was coming home on the weekends, but I still needed someone to sleep by me or sleep in the room every night because I needed help with my legs and arms. I’d get muscle spasms at night where my legs would randomly kick up and swing over, and my arms would push against my face. Trying to sleep when my leg was back and to the side, and with my arms right on my face was awkward, uncomfortable, and claustrophobic. I couldn’t straighten my arms and legs without help. Even if I went to bed at ten with my parents, they didn’t get much sleep because I still needed help. Some nights, I woke them every hour, which was tough no matter what time they went to bed. I really struggled sleeping, and it was a job in itself just to care for me at night.

  Alex volunteered to have me as her summer job, take me to therapy, be with me during therapy, and do anything else I needed. We were with each other for long stretches of time and we got sick of each other and got on each other’s nerves. If I didn’t want to be on other people’s schedules, I had to find s
omeone to stay over who could go to bed when I wanted to go to bed.

  The biggest blessing was having my cousin Nolan move in with me and become my personal care assistant for the summer. Nolan and I grew up together, were the same age, and had a really good relationship, so when his family came up to visit and he said he didn’t have a job, he seemed like the perfect solution. At the time, we were trying to find someone to take part of the load off my sister and my parents. I was trying to use some of my friends who weren’t working, but then I suggested Nolan. My parents thought it was a great idea, so we talked to him and his family, and they agreed. Nolan was a lifesaver and a great friend to have around. We were already close, but when he relocated from Iowa City to put up with me for a whole summer, we became like brothers.

  We had an accessible van with a ramp at that time so Nolan could drive me where I wanted to go. When my friends wanted to go to a movie or out to eat, they didn’t have to drive to my house, pick up my van, and go to the theater. Nolan living with me eliminated that time-consuming step, and he and I just met my friends at the restaurant or theater. It was great having him along because I loved hanging out with him and so did my friends.

  Asking for help from my friends was definitely uncomfortable because I didn’t want to be a burden. I had buddies who understood, and I think they knew I didn’t want to ask. I’m not certain, but I think my family may have communicated with them about helping, because my friends were so good about jumping up to help and asking if I needed anything. The more I asked, the easier it got, and I could tell when someone didn’t mind. They stopped what they were doing and did whatever I needed with a smile on their face.