Wrestling with the Devil

by Lex Luger

  I’d begun to feel a slight, intermittent burning sensation between my shoulder blades after my workouts. But I wasn’t worried. I figured it was just a pinched nerve my chiropractor could work on. No pain, no gain.

  I was booked on a red-eye flight to San Francisco for the autograph show, so I had the entire day to get things ready. I was glad that I could get in one more early-evening workout at the gym before I left. There would be time for me to come home, shower, grab my bag, and then head to the airport.

  My bilateral hip surgery was ten days away. A number of my friends and family wanted me to cancel the trip, stay at home, and rest. I assured them this was going to be quick—I’d fly out, do the show, catch a red-eye back, and meet my friends on Saturday for our favorite breakfast buffet at the Golden Corral. It was going to be easy. I would be in San Francisco for less than twenty-four hours.

  Everything was going smoothly. I got my errands done, then had an intense shoulders/traps/neck workout. When I got on the plane, my body was still settling down. My muscles were pumped, but that was normal after such a heavy workout. I was ready to kick back and relax.

  Once I settled into my aisle seat, I began conversing with the young woman to my left in the window seat. There was an empty seat between us. She had just graduated from the University of Georgia and was heading to California for her first job. I could tell she was very excited. Not wanting to dampen her enthusiasm, I let her tell me all about it. The conversation that I thought would be a couple of minutes long turned into a couple of hours.

  Finally, as I attempted to face forward and lean back in my seat, I felt an intense burning sensation down my neck and between my shoulder blades. It took a couple of minutes to subside. But I figured it was just a kink in my neck from my head being turned to the left for so long.

  I arrived at my hotel around 2 a.m. By the time I checked in and got to my room, I was ready to crash. I was exhausted. I thought I’d catch a few hours of sleep, get up for my devotional time, have breakfast, and then head to the Cow Palace for the autograph session.

  I looked at the clock. It was about 3 a.m. Because of my hip pain, the best way for me to sleep was on my left side with a pillow between my legs. I grabbed a pillow, but when I tried to lift my right leg up, it was like lead. It wouldn’t move. I had to physically lift my leg with my hands. That’s weird, I thought. But I was so tired that I just closed my eyes and fell asleep.

  Suddenly, I was jolted awake by the same unbelievable pain between my shoulder blades that I had felt on the airplane. This time something was different. I couldn’t move anything except my head and shoulders. Terrified, I tried to rock myself over to the edge of the bed so I could reach the telephone on the nightstand and call for help. Instead, I fell to the floor, doubled over. My chin was pressed into my chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

  I cried out, but my voice was faint and raspy. I could barely breathe, let alone speak. Feeling absolutely helpless, I began to panic. If someone doesn’t find me, I’m going to die.

  Right then, I felt the presence of God envelop the room. The pain instantly subsided. I became calm, my breathing became regular, and I knew everything was going to be okay. I was not alone. It was supernatural.

  I wasn’t sure how much time had passed before there was a knock at the door and I heard the sound of a piece of paper being slipped under it. A thought flashed through my mind: If someone is still standing at the door, that person might be able to hear me.

  I forced my words out. “Help! Who’s there? I need help!”

  “Is that you, Lex?” Miraculously, the person had heard me!

  “Yeah, I need help!”

  “Well, open the door.”

  “I can’t.”

  The man in the hallway was involved with the Malice in the Palace fanfest that weekend. He had been distributing the itinerary to the participants’ rooms. Fortunately for me, he had once been a first responder, so he acted quickly.

  As I had been lying there, I realized I hadn’t hydrated myself much after my workout. Maybe that’s why my entire body has shut down. So as soon as the paramedics broke into my room (I had fastened the dead bolt), I said calmly, “Do you have any Gatorade and bananas? I think if I get something to drink and get some potassium in me, I’ll be fine.”

  They gave me a funny look. “No, Lex, you need to go to the hospital right now.”

  In the ambulance, the paramedics admitted they were huge wrestling fans. “Don’t worry, Lex. You’re going to be all right. We’ll get you to the best place possible.” They began bouncing hospital names off each other, finally agreeing that Stanford Hospital, forty miles away, was where we needed to go. I don’t know whether or not they were overstepping their bounds in making that decision, but either way, I was along for the ride.

  In the hospital’s emergency room, a male nurse asked, “Lex, when was the last time you went to the bathroom?”

  “Last night,” I said.

  “In that case, we’re going to have to catheterize you.”

  That concerned me. As much as I was attempting to remain positive, I began to realize that I wasn’t going to walk right out of the hospital this time.

  I still had no idea what had happened to me, and no one was able to give me information. They were running a battery of tests and had to wait for the results.

  Finally, on Sunday, the entire neurology team came to my room to talk to me. “From what we can determine so far, you’ve injured your spinal cord. There is a lot of swelling from your C5 vertebra down to the T5 vertebra. We have to do a lot more testing, but for now we’ll give you an anti-inflammatory to help alleviate the swelling.”

  I couldn’t believe it. How in the world did I do that?

  From the looks on their faces, I could tell this was a real serious deal.

  Before I had time to dwell on it, I received a phone call from Sting—the first person to track me down. It was comforting to hear his voice.

  “What happened?”

  “I did something to my spinal cord, but they’re still doing tests.”

  “I can fly out there right away,” Sting said.

  “I appreciate that, but there’s nothing you can do at this point. I’m where I need to be, surrounded by great medical staff.” It was truly a blessing to be at Stanford. They ran every test known to man; they were professional and thorough. With the information I had given them and the results of the tests, they hypothesized what had probably happened: the combination of my heavy workout before my flight and sitting on the plane with my head awkwardly turned had set my neck up for the “perfect storm.” I had cut off the blood flow to my central spinal cord, which caused bruising and massive swelling. We’ll never know how long the blood flow was cut off. Once that occurs, the damage to the spinal cord is done. It doesn’t matter how it happens. The result is the same: paralysis.

  On Monday, Pastor Steve arrived to spend a few days with me. I could sense that my family was panicking. But I could feel God telling me to be upbeat and positive and to reassure them that everything was going to be okay.

  Over the next ten days, other friends flew out to California to be with me. My doctors told me that we would have to wait for the swelling to recede. It was unclear how much function I would ever regain—if any. The Stanford medical staff told me that I would need to begin physical therapy immediately. The neurology team said that there were only a few facilities in the country that they would recommend, other than Stanford.

  “There’s a place in Denver and then another place called the Shepherd Center,” the doctor said.

  “The Shepherd Center. Where’s that?”

  “Atlanta, Georgia.”

  “That’s where I live!”

  “The Shepherd Center would be our first choice, but it’s difficult to get into; there is always a long waiting list.”

  I knew it would be better to be closer to my family and friends. The Shepherd Center told me there were no rooms available, but I would be put on
a waiting list. The following day a room miraculously opened up, but they could hold it for only forty-eight hours. We couldn’t arrange for a medevac that quickly, so I flew on a commercial Delta flight with a nurse and a friend. We took up two rows. I was strapped in, but my traveling companions had to hold me up the entire flight because my body kept sliding down in the seat.

  When we arrived in Atlanta, an ambulance was waiting on the tarmac at the bottom of the stairs that were rolled next to the plane. I was getting door-to-door service. The owner of the ambulance company, who was a huge wrestling fan, had pulled some strings. She called to make sure everything was being taken care of. I smiled when she introduced herself. Her name was Faith.

  We arrived at the Shepherd Center around 6 a.m. to be admitted. I couldn’t see much from my position lying on the gurney as I was rolled through the entrance, into an elevator, and then down the hall to my room. Everything was happening fast. But I did catch my room number when we made the turn. Room 316! Unbelievable. John 3:16 is probably the most quoted verse in the Bible.

  Inside the room, two nurses were waiting for me. I read their name tags: Comfort and Grace. Right then I knew that I was in the right place and realized once again that God was totally in charge of my situation.

  My sister, Barb, came in a few minutes later. It was definitely good to be back in Atlanta.

  In the next few hours, I was introduced to my entire medical team, led by Dr. Bilsky. Everyone was so positive and caring.

  During one of my first days in therapy, someone said, “There’s Mr. Shepherd.”

  “There’s a Mr. Shepherd?” I thought it was just the name of the facility. In 1973, twenty-two-year-old James Shepherd, a recent graduate from the University of Georgia, suffered a spinal cord injury while bodysurfing. He was paralyzed from the neck down. After a five-week hospital stay, he was flown to the Denver rehab facility that I had first heard about when I was at Stanford. The Shepherd family wanted to establish a similar facility in the Southeast, and in 1975 they opened a six-bed unit in leased space in an Atlanta hospital. As the need grew, so did the Shepherd Center. It is now one of the premiere medical, research, and rehabilitation facilities for people with spinal cord and brain injuries.

  Within approximately a week, my Shepherd team was ready to meet with me, Barb, and Pastor Steve.

  They laid out their plan. “Lex, our goal is to prepare you to become as self-sufficient as possible. You are a C5-C6 quadriplegic. There’s always hope; however, realistically, there is very little chance of you regaining any significant movement whatsoever from the neck down.

  “We’ll be fitting you for a power wheelchair. We’ll be checking out where you live to determine whether ramps are necessary, to see how the bathroom is set up and if you will be able to get in and out of a shower, etc. Once home, you will need round-the-clock care.”

  “For how long will I need that?”

  “Permanently.”

  From the moment it happened, I’d had a sense of foreboding that this was a very serious injury—more than something that could be repaired with surgery. My fear was now confirmed.

  From the looks on Barb’s and Pastor Steve’s faces, I could see how devastating this all sounded to them. But God continued to give me a real peace about the entire situation. I had a lot of confidence in the staff and the facility I was in, so I told them, “It’s all going to be okay.”

  I incorporated my devotional time into my new routine at the Shepherd Center. Early in the morning, the nursing tech on duty would prop me up in bed, open my Bible, and lay it on top of a pillow placed across me so I could see it. I spent most mornings meditating on Proverbs 3:5-6, which I had highlighted in yellow prior to my injury. The words in these two verses had been going through my mind over and over again ever since I had been lying on the hotel room floor in San Francisco. “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths” (KJV).

  One particular morning, a couple of weeks after I had arrived at the Shepherd Center, during my devotions I became completely overwhelmed with emotion and began to weep uncontrollably. Up until this point, I’d been able to hold it together with God’s help. I began to cry out to Him. How could You let this happen to me? What am I going to do? What good am I now? I can’t do anything for myself—I can’t feed myself, I can’t bathe myself, I can’t even go to the bathroom on my own. I felt like a totally useless blob of flesh lying there on that bed. How could I spend the rest of my life like this? I thought You wanted me to go out there and share my story. What kind of story do I have now? Some warrior for Christ I’ve turned out to be!

  I was angry at God. Darkness and self-pity were gaining a foothold.

  But as He often does, God responded to me through a friend’s wise counsel. Ken, the hospital chaplain I had met the day I arrived, visited me regularly. We had become good friends. He noticed that I wasn’t being my usual upbeat self and knew something was wrong. Instead of pitying me, he actually called me out on it.

  “Lex, about 80 to 85 percent of the spinal cord injury patients here are young men who have grown up watching you on television. They idolize you. They are observing your every move in here, to see how you are handling all of this. They are playing off you in that physical therapy room. You’ve been an inspiration to them by the way you’ve conducted yourself. ‘If Lex can do it, we can do it.’”

  Ken’s words sunk in deeply.

  Okay, God, I get it. It’s not about me. There’s a purpose and a plan for everything, even this. I can be used right here, right now, to encourage others.

  From that point on, I was determined to be a bright light to everyone there—to be positive with the other patients and the staff. I had a renewed purpose. God wasn’t making any promises to me about my recovery. He just wanted me to trust Him one day at a time—to embrace what did work, not what didn’t. I began approaching every day with a spirit of thankfulness.

  One day I turned to God’s words to the apostle Paul in 2 Corinthians 12:9 in The Daily Walk Bible. Paul had been struggling with a longtime physical problem and had begun questioning his effectiveness. As many times as I had read it before, now it was like I was seeing this verse for the very first time. “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.”

  I was incredibly moved. God was showing me how our greatest adversities in life are bridges rather than burdens. When we are broken and truly surrendered, we are more useful for God. No more self-reliance. Weakness allows us to turn it all over to Him.

  I was beginning to make gradual progress, like a steady drip of water from a faucet. First, I was able to lift my left big toe, then my left index finger; and later my left leg, then my right leg. Everyone was very encouraged.

  I received so much support from family and friends—stacks of cards, well-wishes, and a whole lot of prayer, as well as a constant stream of visitors. My dear friend Nikita Koloff would drive all the way from Charlotte, North Carolina, and back the same day to pray with me. Sting would fly in as well. My orthopedic doctor, Dr. Terrell, and Liza came on different nights just to sit with me. Dr. Terrell hadn’t abandoned the possibility of bilateral hip surgery for me. “If you can put any weight on those legs, even with a walker, we can go ahead and do it. It couldn’t hurt.” I loved his optimism.

  After three months, I was released from the Shepherd Center as an inpatient and began the day program with the help of Pastor Steve’s sister, Vickie, who volunteered to be my caregiver for two months. I was very thankful for that.

  When I was able to stand with a walker, Dr. Terrell and Dr. Swayze thought it was time for my hip surgery. “No one knows if you will walk someday, but let’s do it anyway. If you walk, it will be taken care of.” We went ahead and did the surgery.

  I continued my rehab every day at the Shepherd Center for the remainder of 2008, leasing a condo across the street for easy access.

  My rehab was progressing incre
dibly well. I was now able to do things that the doctors had believed would never again be possible. I had gone from needing a walker to using two walking sticks with cuffs around my arms, then just a cane, and finally being able to walk short distances unassisted. It was truly a miracle of God.

  I relearned how to feed myself, bathe myself, brush my teeth, go to the bathroom, do my own laundry—all things most of us take for granted. I had a completely new outlook on life. I was so thankful. By God’s grace, in a year’s time, I was able to live on my own!

  Psalm 118:24 says, “This is the day the LORD has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it.” I have wholeheartedly embraced this verse since my spinal cord injury, and I would never want to start my day without it.

  In 2009, I renewed my lease at the condo across from the Shepherd Center for a second year. I started doing outpatient therapy from 6 a.m. to noon, Monday through Friday. I’d motor across the street in my power wheelchair before the sun came up, ready to go to work. After a shower back at the condo, I’d return to Shepherd for lunch in the cafeteria and visit with families and patients in the afternoons during the week and on weekends. It was a privilege to serve in this way, to give back to my Shepherd family.

  As the months passed, I began to gain strength in my upper and lower body and had more flexibility. My endurance was improving, along with my ability to walk and stand on my feet for longer periods of time. I even began to navigate some stairs. Some of my biggest thrills may seem like the smallest of accomplishments—like opening up a soda can, unscrewing a lid off a jar, plugging in my cell phone, and eating with regular silverware.

  My next big step was beginning to drive a car again. I felt like a sixteen-year-old getting my first driver’s license, only this was more exciting! Once I got comfortable enough, I started driving around in a parking lot first, then down the block and around town. Soon I felt ready for my first big solo road trip—a four-hour drive to Charlotte, North Carolina, to visit my good friend Nikita Koloff.