Second Surgery

If I follow my 1973 timeline, today, March 5, was the day of my second surgery. Perhaps my memory exaggerates the exactness of the time spacing, but somehow it’s fixed in this brain of mine that I was in the hospital exactly one month before the second surgery, then exactly one week more till I was transferred to a rehab, and lastly exactly 4 months till sent home. But, even if the exactness is exaggerated, the spacing is probably pretty close.

After the trauma of being shot, and the first surgery to save my life, the doctors expected my body to be in some kind of shock, but they weren’t sure about long term damage. They did a spinal tap, but my spinal fluid was clear, which meant they couldn’t see any damage to the cord. They did x-rays, but there was no bone damage. The bullet had gone clear through me, so my neck was full of scar tissue and bullet fragments. (I can’t have any MRIs because there’s a risk these bullet fragments could be attracted to the magnets and pull themselves out of my neck.) And since the bullet, had at least passed close to my spine, if not through it, they expected the shock alone to cause paralysis, but then with time they expected it to pass. But after 3 weeks I was still not able to feel or move. Daily, they would stick my toes and legs with pins, and ask if I could feel anything, but the answer was always no. So, finally another surgery was called for.

This time they went in my back, to get a closer look at my spinal cord. They removed 2 bones from my spine at the level of injury T1/T2 – really at the top of my shoulders. If you feel your back, along your spine, you feel a ridge of bumps. These correspond to the various cervical and thoracic openings on your spine. 2 of mine are missing now, from the surgery. With these bones out they could see that indeed the bullet had gone through my spinal column, and that there was severe scar tissue and damage. And now, my paralysis made sense, and we knew it was permanent.

I wish I could say I remember the moment I knew my body would never be the same, but I can’t. I suspect that some part of me already knew. One doctor out of many attending me, had suspected all along that I was now a paraplegic, so the seed had been planted, if not watered. The other doctors, being real people with real hearts, and some with daughters or nieces or sisters my age to boot, didn’t want it to be so, and probably were being overly optimistic. But after that surgery we all knew.

Of course, that day, similar to February 5 when I was actually shot, I put my energy into healing. It isn’t like I told myself to heal now, or consciously made some effort, but I know that is what was going on. You fight to live, that is what you do. I think most people have to make a conscious effort to NOT fight to live, if they choose to give up.

I do remember being stuck totally flat on my back, and being very uncomfortable. They didn’t put any pins in my back, just sewed the muscles together. They didn’t remove my whole spine!, just the small parts that stick out at 2 vertebrae, so really my spinal column is still sturdy. I should learn the part names, huh? But those muscles needed to heal, and so I had to lay flat. And now, there’s a flat section on my back there, with a vertical scar down the middle, and I’ve never had any trouble with that spot.

One week later I had recovered enough to be sent to a rehabilitation center. The task of recovery had to shift from healing from injury, to learning to live with disability. I was still weak, and had lost probably about 20 pounds dropping from 115 pounds (approximate guess) to 95 pounds (or possibly a bit less). I’m 5’ 6”, so that’s skinny.

February 5, 1973 was the day I was shot and injured.

March 5, 1973 in a way, was the day I became a paraplegic.

March 12, 1973 was the day I began to learn to live again, with 4 months of intense education in a rehab coming first. And still, every month, if not week or day, there is more to learn.