My Gift. Your Gift.

The bear-like snoring coming from the foot of my bed comforts me. A car drones by in the darkness every few seconds. My heavy eyelids put up a good fight. I'm exhausted from another day of rehabbing, but this blog screams at me to write it. The train bellows into the misty night, its empty cars chasing the huffing engine over its long metal ladder. The idea started a few weeks ago, but I didn't know how to write it without sounding like a complete A-hole and it hit me earlier today. Those of you who know me, have heard me talk about my paralysis as a gift. Simply put, I can just go do the things I love and people seem to be stoked in a huge way. My gift. Well, this doesn't just apply to my paralysis. It's a mindset that permeates into everything. Its all or nothing really. For example, the gallons of snot flowing constantly from my nose a couple weeks ago, stirred some frustrations within me. I hate being sick! It sucks! I angrily elbowed the paper towel dispenser in a bathroom after completely emptying my nose and then three seconds later dealing with another snot explosion. Ugh! Then it hit me. "At least you can blow your nose. Be thankful for that." I have a few quadriplegic friends who can't. Not only that but they can't scratch an annoying itch or pop a zit or a thousand other things I take for granted having operating fingers and some semblance of abdominal muscles. Being upset at anything is usually just a matter of perspective...and the American, affluent first world, way is mostly blind of this perspective.

Now, here's the next thing. This mindset is not easy. I'll be honest, it's not fun being a paraplegic sometimes. Let's just say this: it's not just my legs that are paralyzed. Just explaining reality here. This mindset has become survival. The reason it's all or nothing is imagine what would happen to me if I began to dwell on the daily tasks. If the half full glass began to empty. It would cause a catastrophic shift. That's the alternative and, for me, it's not worth it. Feeling sorry for myself would make my life suck. So, when I'm struck with any type of adversity I can now put this spin on it: It makes me better. Because what is the most important thing in life? Having fun? Enjoying yourself? Not in my opinion. I say building character is the reason I'm here. Looking back, what do I remember most? That perfect surf session? That unreal powder day? That night I laughed so hard with my friends my abs hurt the next morning? NO! It's the times I was broken. Those are the memories sitting starkly in my memory, as a gift reminding me of who I am, shaping me into the man I want to be.

I'm going to take this a step further and say that you probably expect this of me. You expect me to be that kind of positive guy. Well, why do I need to choose this and sit back while others squander their gifts? This means you. If I am going to find the light in every "difficult" thing, day in and day out, even when I don't feel like it, then why can't you? I'm talking about everything from spilling coffee all over the counter to your phone breaking to sitting in traffic to loosing your dog to catching your spouse in bed with someone else to being paralyzed from the neck down. Everything...little and large. Adversity is an opportunity to choose your highest path. It is why you are here. Your opportunity to face the darkest parts of yourself head on. Your Gift. All it takes is teaching yourself to see this while in the middle of it all. That's the hard part, but I believe in you because the human will is a very powerful thing.

Fighting Back

The admitting physician asks me, "Can you drive independently? Can you go to the bathroom by yourself?" Something deep inside wants to say "Google me, bitch!" but i bite my pride and respond appropriately, letting him examine me with his chubby fingers. I'm not the usual patient here and baffled nurses scuttle out of the room, agitated that i refuse their pink plastic water pitcher and choose to use my own glass bottle.

It's been a long battle, these last three months. Somehow, someway, a Staph infection made its home deep in my spine and moved quickly. It literally ate one of my vertebrae and part of another. How does that happen? I mean, exactly how does an infection find a vertebrae and eat it so quickly? One MRI showing nothing and then another three weeks later corralling all types of doctors into urgent action. I've never heard of anything like this and the doctors have no clue how it came to this, but here i am, two major surgeries later, healing, fighting back, as my beside lamp from home softly illuminates this white stale room.

Rewind three months.

Water (sweat) fills my ear and i awake in total panic. I'm under water! I fight to breathe and swim, but realize i'm in a bed. Confusion. I don't know who or where i am. Delirium. Complete amnesia. I'm scared. "Somebody help me!" Expletive after expletive, i scream into the salty darkness. Soaking wet and freezing, survival mode takes over and i tear off my shirt, burrow into the wet blankets and cry myself to sleep.

That's what the fevers did to me and when they started, my appetite stopped. Five days with no food and a good friend, fed up with me, bought me a thermometer. This was the thing that finally told how high my fevers actually were and when the 105 degree crash landing into the ER happened.

My spine needed to be rebuilt and the surgeon needed to gain access through the side of my chest, remove a rib and detach my diaphragm to remove the leftover fragments of bone, crumbs from the table, and the other infected vertebrae. Cadaver bone was put in place, but during surgery i lost too much blood so they had to stop. Waking from that surgery was a nightmare. Fear. Claustrophobia. Pain. Unable to move. Every breath excruciating. And you can count out sleeping too. I think I went five or six days without sleep.

The next surgery was seven days ago and the surgeons are amazed at how fast i've recovered. The stationary bike, resistance bands, weights, stretching, and throwing the medicine ball around all have me exhausted and it feels good. I was sick for so long. My appetite returned a few days ago and now i can't stop eating. I'm pale and thin, but my resolve feels strong as ever. The next few months of rehab will be very difficult, but i'm fighting back.

This has been the biggest mountain i have ever had to climb.

Life Lesson: We manifest what we want for our lives, but getting there might not look like what we expected and most likely is very painful and difficult. Relish the journey no matter how difficult it is. There is beauty in the struggle.

Descending Bloody Couloir

The knot in the rope reached the pulley at the top and we were there. I collapsed in exhaustion. Lead climber, Charlie Barrett, who rarely shows emotion, jumped on top of me, his tears raining, his voice quivering, "We made it. We're here." My emotions broke into a thousand pieces as my body refused to maintain any sort of balance after what it had just been put through and i sobbed uncontrollably, convulsing with huge gasps, face down in the snow. My arms and shoulders screamed, seemingly hissing at me like a cat recoiling in fear. To get here, took reaching deep and strangling my soul into submission, to find a realm beyond physical possibility where pain has no meaning. This resolve got me up that mountain, but completely destroyed my body. I was done...or was i?

Expansiveness. Dramatic snowy mountains forever. Scores of untouched pristine golden blue lakes. Towering peaks dwarfing this mountain, which dwarfed others below. Seeing the other side for the first time stole any words. Surreal. But thankfulness consumed me, as i sat on top and i struggled to seem interested as Charlie pointed out various lakes and peaks, rattling off names...so full of knowledge. All i could do was look at him and think what an incredible man he is. His light out shining the unreal scenery before me. Looking around at the crew, it was all i could do to hold back my tears as i considered what all these people had gone through to fulfill a dream of mine. Each one of them, now my friend for life.

Leading up to this expedition, the thought that turned my stomach into knots was the consideration of skiing this thing. Stories coming back of steep treacherous rocky no-fall zones, scaring the most expert of skiers, and it was this thought that now began to creep up my throat. I was scared. Did anyone notice the deep breaths i was taking or my hands shaking? Climber Matt Waugh made the announcement i was dreading, "OK guys. We gotta start thinking about the descent." Instantly, in hearing those words, i almost threw up, my stomach tightening up with a gag reflex i did my best to hold back. My mouth tasted pasty. My eyes welled up.

Everyone rose to the occasion, bustling about, focusing on getting me all together. Could they see what a wreck i was? I was doing my best to be brave. The crew cut a ledge in the snow on the steep slope for my sitski and three grown men braced me so i wouldn't tip over as i followed my very meticulous system of getting all strapped into this crazy metal contraption. I refused to look down, the lump in my throat growing bigger with every difficult swallow. When i was ready to go, i got my balance and told the boys i was good. "Are you sure?" "Yup," trying my best to be brave and they let go of me. When they cleared out of the way, i could see down this thing for the first time. It was so steep that i could only see to the first pitch, the snow rolling over into nothingness, how the first explorers imagined getting to the end of the Earth was like. I looked around and got approval from everyone that it was time to go and the moment that tormented me for so many months came to fruition. Never mind my body in a state of depletion, i had to pull myself together because there was only one way down. It was time to let go and drop in, so i turned my head downhill, took a deep breath, leaned into gravity and let my ski lead me...well outside my confort zone.

Instinct took over and i immediately arced a turn easily in the smooth spring corn snow, edging to a stop and falling over into the hill, my ski barely holding onto the steep pitch. Everyone cheered! I did it! It actually wasn't that hard. I could totally do this. We all had agreed that i would ski with a rope attached to me so that if I did take a fall, i would not go the distance. Charlie would need to let out enough slack for one turn at a time so i had to come to a stop each turn. That's not so bad, except that when skiing steeps, the first turn is the scariest. Every time, i had to take a deep breath and lean into my instinct. Slowly but surely we inched down the face. I got a little frustrated with myself at one point because i knew i could do this but faced difficultly overcoming my fear a few times, taking a long time to initiate the next turn. I lashed out at myself, immediately apologizing, feeling embarassed for not being positive and thankful.

Eventually, we came through the rocky areas where the couloir opened up and i felt comfortable coming off the rope. With approval from the crew, we took the rope off and i skied that thing, seemingly bending my ski in half under the force of my turns, sending huge waves of snow into the air. It felt SO good, skiing with my friends in the backcountry. Just writing it brings me to tears. I guess my one thought is that we spend so much time making our lives as comfortable as possible. Well, what if life's not supposed to be comfortable?