Michael exhaled a heavy sigh and said, “Thank you.”
The nurses arranged for them to use the family room during one of Donna’s visits. The two maneuvered around Michael’s limitations and discovered that, yes, various types of sex were possible. This gave both of them a slim glimmer of hope that maybe they might have some type of a life together, but he was saddened to know he couldn’t have children with her.
After two months at Jefferson, it was time to move from the trauma hospital to a much longer and tedious stay at Magee, where the real rehabilitation would occur. Leaving Jefferson for the unknown world at Magee was sad, but Michael understood it was the next step in the journey. So, still in his halo, Michael was transferred by ambulance to Magee Rehabilitation Hospital.
Going into physical therapy (PT) at Magee for the first time, Michael felt like he was being pushed into the Swamp of Sorrows. He could not help but notice the expressions on the patients’ faces. He saw empty vessels of humanity, prisoners of hopelessness, men and women indignant with the fate that befell them. He recognized them easily because he had seen those expressions in his own mirror; they were echoes of his own emotions. Then he spotted a cheerfully colored sign on the wall that read, “THE JOURNEY BEGINS HERE...” It was the three dots at the end that caught his attention. It seemed like an unfinished thought. He started observing two patients: one a double amputee and the other a paraplegic. They stood out to him because they were the only two patients smiling. Throughout his whole time in that PT session, he could not take his eyes off them. Both were men, a little older than himself, and even though they were working just as hard as everyone else, even though they were failing at certain tasks just like everyone else, they got up each time with smiles on their faces. But even through their good-natured demeanor, Michael could see that they were oozing with resilience and resolution.
That night after dinner, Michael thought about those two men. He thought about the other patients, he thought about the sign, “THE JOURNEY BEGINS HERE...” In his mind he finished that declaration: “THE JOURNEY BEGINS HERE...OR IT ENDS HERE.” Michael thought, I have to meet those two men .
Before therapy Michael wheeled himself into the TV room. He saw one of the men and learned his name was Jerry. Jerry saw Michael looking his way and said to him, “So what brings you here, Buddy?”
Michael answered, “Car accident on the Jersey Turnpike. I tried driving on the hood for a while. I don’t recommend it.”
“Me too!” Jerry laughed. “I had a car accident, a head-on with a drunk driver. It crushed both my legs,” Jerry said, tapping his lap to illustrate his point. “This guy,” he motioned with is head towards Bill, “caught a stray bullet.”
Bill nodded, “Yes, I was coming home from work one day when a drug deal across the street went bad. I got it right in the back at the T-10.”
“What is the T-10?” Michael asked.
Bill said, “The vertebrae in your body are broken into four areas: the cervical, thoracic, lumbar, and the sacral. The higher up your injury on your spinal cord, the less control you have over your body. Mine is in the tenth thoracic. I’m a para—a paraplegic, just my legs are affected. You look like a quad—a quadriplegic. I would guess the C-5?”
“C-6, C-7.” Michael corrected him, but he was still impressed. “Are you a doctor?”
“No, I’m an insurance broker. I learned about all the medical stuff the hard way. You will learn it too.”
Amy, the physical therapist, stepped in. “Michael, we have to get started,” she interrupted. “We will see you gentlemen later.”
“See you later, Buddy” Jerry said. “Why don’t you join us at lunch? We can talk more then.”
Michael agreed, and they all started their day. During the rest of the morning, both Jerry and Bill paid keen attention to Michael, giving him encouraging nods and a couple of “Atta-boys” for his slightest improvements. At lunch Jerry said to Michael, “Pretty productive day, huh, Buddy?”
“It took me twenty minutes to pick up a fucking ball.” Michael was not impressed with himself.
“Very frustrating, isn’t it, Mikey?” Bill said empathetically. “A few weeks ago, you were working, making plans, setting goals, living your life, and now you can’t even feed yourself.” Michael let out a frustrated breath of air.
“It sucks, what happened to us,” Bill said, measuring his words. He didn’t want to sound too condescending or too cliché. “But this is our new reality. Now we have to make new plans, set new goals. What is your goal, Mikey?”
“What do you mean?” Michael scoffed. “What do I want to be when I grow up?”
“Whoa,” Bill said, “I am not talking that far into the future. I mean like Jerry; he used to be a marathon runner. He finished in the top twenty percent in the Boston Marathon.”
Jerry cut in and proudly said, “Eighteenth.”
“Jerry’s goal is to run up the stairs of the Philadelphia Art Museum. He has his new legs, and he is getting pretty good at using them.”
“Those are the stairs Stallone ran up in the movie Rocky ,” Jerry exclaimed passionately. “It’s not too far from here either.”
“And I am going to be there to cheer him on” Bill added.
“How the hell do you guys do it?” Michael asked with more envy than anger. “How can you get all excited about running up some stairs after you have run the Boston Marathon? Don’t you guys ever get angry? No one would blame you if you did. You guys have earned the right to be bitter.”
“And you have the right to be constipated too.” Bill’s words were blunt and bold but delivered with a generous measure of tenderness. “It is basically the same thing too. You are miserable all the time, you can’t concentrate on anything, and no one wants to be around you because eventually they will see that you are full of shit. Mikey, we have all been where you are now.”
From the dark shadows of his past, Jerry offered up gravely, “After my accident I tried killing myself.”
Michael could not hide his stunned, wide-eyed expression. Jerry, reading his face, said, “Yes, me. I tried swallowing some pills. They made me very ill and set my recovery back months. But with help from friends and family and a lot of prayer, I am at a good place now.”
“You see, Mikey,” Bill said, taking over the conversation, “we are all going through our own grieving process. It is different for each of us. Some days you will be in denial, other days you will be angry and full of resentment, and maybe someday depressed and suicidal. Yes, you will become bitter if you chose to go down that path, but don’t do it, Mikey. It’s a trap. Wallowing in the pity showered upon you by others is more debilitating than your accident. Granted, there are some things you will never be able to do. Accept the help graciously and gratefully but reject any pity. As a matter of fact, live your life so that people not only won’t pity you, but they can’t pity you because they want to emulate you. Some of these folks here are going to choose the path of bitterness but take the other path, the path of acceptance. And the quickest way to acceptance is through forgiveness. Forgive others who might have put you here but, more importantly, forgive yourself. Forgive yourself for your mistakes, for your failures. Learn from them and strive to be better in the future. ”
Although Bill’s words were elegant in their simplicity, they still seemed to fill the empty spaces in Michael’s spirit with fortitude and forbearance. “Thanks, guys, this has been helpful.”
Jerry then said, “Let’s go over and mess with Nunez. You’ll love this guy, Buddy.” The trio started to push their chairs toward Nunzio Bartolo, a classic Italian Philly native. Jerry continued the story. “Nunez just found out his wife was cheating on him with his best friend. After having it out with his wife, he goes down to the local bar to drown his sorrows.” Seeing that he had Michael’s interest, he continued. “So while he is sitting in the bar telling the bartender his tale of woe, a beam in the roof snaps and lands on his head and fractures several vertebrae.”
“
Talk about having a shitty day,” Bill said with a laugh. “If it weren’t for bad luck, Nunez would have no luck.”
“So how is he dealing with this?” Michael asked.
“Mikey, he is the funniest guy here. Wait until you hear him tell the story. He’ll have you laughing your ass off.”
As they arrived at Nunzio’s room, Jerry announced, “Hey, Nunez, let’s go down to the bar and have a drink. We have a new quad here we want you to meet.”
Nunzio Bartolo turned in his chair and gave the time-honored Philadelphia response, “I got your drink right here, asshole.” They all laughed.
Jerry made the introduction. “Nunez, this is Michael, the new quad. He tried to drive on the roof of his car on the Jersey Pike.”
“How did that work for you?” Nunzio asked sarcastically.
Michael shot back his response, “About as good as a bar falling on your head.” All four laughed .
“These two douche bags told me about you. You’re okay, kid.”
“Thanks, I think,” Michael said, laughing.
Nunzio took the lead. “Come on, guys, let’s go down the hallway. Kelly will be coming out with her walker anytime.”
“Who’s Kelly?” Michael asked.
“Kelly,” Nunzio explained, “is going to walk out of here in a month or so. She was at the Jersey Shore with her boyfriend. They are lying on a blanket and the weather starts to get overcast. Next thing she knows, a bolt of lightning hits their blanket. He dies on the spot, and it leaves Kelly paralyzed. She couldn’t do shit but blink her eyes when she got here. Now two or three months later, she is starting to walk with a walker.”
“That’s quite a story,” Michael said with disbelief.
“There are dozens of unbelievable stories here,” Nunzio explained. “Not everyone leaves here in a chair like you and Bill and me. We all leave here different than when we came. The difference between most of the others here and us is we aren’t going to let this beat us. We are going to make whatever adjustments we need to make and go on with our lives.”
“We’ve been telling Mikey the same thing,” Bill said.
Nunzio asked Bill, “What is it with you calling everybody Mikey or Paulie or Davey? What is this ‘E’ thing you have?”
“I’m from Jersey; it’s a sign of affection.”
“Okay,” Michael said, laughing, “you’re from Jersey. That explains a lot.” This brought more laughter.
Jerry asked, “So, Nunez, is everything okay with you? You haven’t been coming to the TV room the last week or so. Are you having more issues with the wife? ”
“Yeah,” Nunzio replied with great disgust. “When I was at Jefferson, she seemed to make an effort. She would come by every day. I think it was out of guilt or fear. Maybe she thought I would die, and she could collect the life insurance and run off with my asshole former friend. When I got to Magee and started to progress, she only came by every few days, then once a week, then even less. So now that I will be getting out in a couple months, the bitch served me with divorce papers.”
“Oh no! What a bitch!” Jerry said.
“Yeah, tell me about it. She serves me here in the hospital. She couldn’t wait until I get out or get back home. No, this bitch wants the house and issues a restraining order so I can’t even go back to my own fucking house. Plus she is asking for sole custody of my kids because ‘as a physically incapacitated person,’ I am unable to care for my kids. I am so upset, I go from being pissed off to depressed every few minutes.” Nunzio took a moment to regain control. His rich brown eyes dimmed to a tombstone gray. He became cold and placid, like a distant, foreboding sky before a storm. They all noticed a change but could not explain it. They sensed it more than saw it. They sat there in an awkward silence and watched him closely. Nunzio, aware they were all studying him, forced a smile.
“Nunez, I can’t believe this,” Bill said sympathetically. “Have you talked to her?”
“No, I can’t talk to her. All communications go through her lawyer,” he said, his voice now barely audible, as he shook his head. “So my folks are making arrangements for me to stay with them when I get out. They are helping me find a lawyer. I don’t know how much more of this shit I can take.”
Michael finally spoke. “My brother, Tony, found me a good lawyer. I will give you his name. I am so sorry to hear this. ”
“Are you married, Mike?” Nunzio asked with a measure of hopefulness.
“No, we were in the process of getting engaged when this shit happened.”
“That sucks. How is she handling this?” Nunzio asked, almost grateful to change the subject before he lost control over his rogue emotions.
“Well, Nunez, so far she is hanging in there, but I don’t know if she can do it long-term. Plus I can’t ask her to give up on our hopes and dreams to become my caretaker. It’s not fair to her.”
Jerry chimed in, “It is another cross we have to bear, but you can handle this, Nunez. Keep talking to the shrinks here and us. I don’t want you to do anything stupid like I did.”
“I can handle all the physical shit, you know, the surgery and rehab, but this emotional shit with that bitch is becoming too much to handle. Well, enough of this shit, we’re here to support Kelly. Here she comes.” With that Nunzio ended this conversation.
Joan, the nurse, opened the door, and Kelly started to walk out slowly and very unsteadily, using her walker. Joan said, loud enough for all to hear, “Hey, Kel, your cheering section is waiting for you, and they brought the new quad.”
“Oh great,” Kelly said, dripping with sarcasm, “another pervert.”
“You’re looking good, Kel,” Nunzio yelled out, “and I’m not just talking about your walking.”
“Yeah, at least I didn’t fall on my ass before I got out the door.”
“You’ve made great progress, Kelly,” Joan said. “The first time we used the walker, you fell on your ass getting out of the bed.” Everyone, including Kelly, laughed, but she really did appreciate the support from this group. Kelly stopped for a moment, gave everyone “the finger,” and said, “I’m like that Barry Manilow song, ‘This One’s for You,’” she said as she extended her arm to accentuate giving the finger to all of them.
“You know you love us, Kel,” Nunzio said.
“Yeah, I love you when you are not here, like a hemorrhoid, but like a hemorrhoid you always come back.”
The playful banter continued until Kelly finished her short walk and went back into her room. Michael did more listening than talking. He enjoyed what he was hearing and seeing. He enjoyed the attitude of the three guys and Kelly. He thought, I’m going to be okay here.
After getting Kelly back in her bed, Joan came over to the guys and said, “Thanks, guys, you are really helping her. Now it’s time for all of you to head back to your rooms.” Jerry, whose room was next to Michael’s, rolled back with him and Joan. “See, Buddy, it’s all about your attitude. We can’t control or change what happened to us, but we can control our effort and how we react to our situations. You are part of our group Buddy. We all take care of each other.”
As Michael reached his room he said, “Thanks, Jerry.”
“Anytime, Buddy. Good-night.”
Joan then pushed Michael into his room and said, “Okay, Michael tonight is your bowel night.” Joan helped Michael transfer onto the commode chair, inserted his laxative suppository, and then cleaned him when done. Finally she helped him transfer into his bed and handed him his call button. “Michael, the guys you were with are going to leave here and live productive lives. I’ve heard great things about you from the Jefferson people. I hope you become one of the patient leaders here. ”
“I have so far to go. The journey seems hopeless sometimes.” Michael seized the moment to voice some rare and raw emotions. He was a torrent of insecurities and uncertainties. He admitted that sometimes at night fear and panic would catch in his chest and leave him breathless. As he spoke to Joan, he started having palpitations and
tears clouded his eyes. He started shaking and sweating as he poured out his most dreadful anxieties and his most frightful nightmares.
Joan was a great listener. She not only understood his agony, but she actually felt his anguish, and she cried with him. “Michael, you would not be human if you didn’t have these feelings, but you also have an amazing support team and some of the most dedicated people here at Magee. I know this is going to sound painfully trite, but just do your best every day and every day you will get a little bit better. You will get there. And if you ever need to talk, just let me know.” Unbeknownst to Michael, Joan’s shift had ended an hour ago, but she stayed with him until he was calm and relaxed.
Michael was exhausted from his day, but he went to sleep hopeful. I’m going to get through this, he thought. I am not going to be a victim. I am going to survive and thrive.
Chapter 9
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
Bill, Jerry, Nunzio, and Michael had a standing lunchtime meeting, and it was remarkable how well they all got along. Soon, their group grew as others noticed that they were moving ahead and wanted to join. Sometimes the conversations were lighthearted and fun. They would talk about sports, music, and movies. Other times there were profoundly philosophical discussions about life, love, faith, and their futures. These group discussions began to spill over into the therapy room. There were cheers and words of encouragement continually throughout the day. Everyone helped each other, and the acts of encouragement benefited the giver as much as the receiver.
One day Amy came to Michael and said they had a new patient who was really struggling. He was a seventeen-year-old boy who had a C-6 fracture from diving into a shallow backyard pool. “Michael, would you go talk to him? His name is Bobby.”
Michael, who wasn’t too good at wheeling himself around yet, rolled over to Bobby, who was on the other side of the room. He had a chance to observe Bobby and could tell from his body language that he was angry and sulking, full of self-pity and self-loathing. He pulled up beside Bobby and said, “Hey, kid, how you doin’? ”
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