One Year Ago—by Denise

One year ago. It has echoed in my head and heart all week. I’ve recalled the everyday things we did with such ease. How our life was suddenly divided between before and after.

Did I even say goodbye that morning when he left for work, hurrying to beat the heat and rain? In the land of before, I wasn’t always up as early as he left. I often packed his lunch the night before so he could grab it after a hurried bowl of cereal and get going faster. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple and a granola bar. Often it all came back home with him—he’d get so busy working, he’d forget to eat. He had a lot of tree jobs so he was moving through them as quickly as he could. There were several cabinet jobs awaiting his attention as well. He was working long hours in both areas in an effort to pay off our home equity loan. It was the summer we would finally be debt-free!

I had my day scheduled—a stop at the hospital (not the one we would gather at later) to sit with my daughter while my grandson had knee surgery. Then a run past an estate sale before a lunch meeting with my writing group. After that, I was going to go shopping and use my birthday coupons, then meet up with a former writing student who was in town for the week. I’d planned to pick up a pizza on the way home and enjoy a quiet evening with my tired husband.

I only got as far as lunch before receiving a phone call. I texted the caller, one of the tree cutting ground crew, saying I was at lunch and couldn’t answer, asking what he needed. He responded quickly: "Call me. 9-1-1." I excused myself to make the call, retreating to a nearby doorway at the restaurant.

“Are you sitting down?” he asked.

“No, I got up to call you, what’s going on?” I demanded.

“Gilbert is on his way to the hospital. He fell. It’s bad.”

“I’m on my way.” I hung up and quickly retrieved my things from the lunch table, telling my writing friends that my husband had fallen on a tree cutting job and was on his way to the hospital. (I found out later that they stopped right then and prayed fervently for our situation. Precious!)

I prayed all the way to the hospital. I didn’t have much information, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. When I got there, I had to wait to see him. Meanwhile, a financial officer sat down with me to ask questions about our insurance and payment plan. I was not happy to have the first conversation once I arrived at the hospital be one about finances – before I even knew of my husband’s injuries.

The rest of the afternoon I moved in and out of the examining room as they x-rayed every part of my husband’s body. He’d fallen about 50 feet, landing on his feet. He had no recollection of the fall—in fact, he still doesn’t. They determined that he’d blown out lumbar 1, fractured a rib and his sternum, broken his legs at the ankles (dislocating the joints) and broken numerous bones in his feet and right shin. As one doctor said, “He is basically Humpty Dumpty, and we’re going to try to put him together again.”

The kids arrived throughout the afternoon and evening—coming from nearby in town, Cleveland and Buffalo. One actually got there ahead of me, being told to leave work since she couldn’t focus anyway. That would become a 3-week habit during Gilbert’s hospital stay—she would go in early, get an update, then inform me once I arrived. I have some awesome kids!

A neurosurgeon was about to go home for the night, but when Gilbert was brought in the surgeon stayed and headed back into the OR shortly after 6 p.m. to repair Gilbert's back injury. This involved building a new “cage” and securing it above and below the injured portion. There were bone fragments near the spinal cord causing concern at that point, later to find it caused his nerve damage. When my son saw the x-ray, he cried. He understood what the picture showed. I didn’t yet realize how seriously hurt Gilbert was. Nor did I realize that first surgery was probably more of a life and death situation than I was aware. I would cry later.

My prayer on the way to the hospital and throughout the day was multi-faceted. First, of course, for him to survive. I told God that I didn’t think our story was complete, so I asked for his life to be spared for us to finish our journey together. I also wanted him to have greater resolution with a couple of family issues. I closed my prayer with these words: “May You be glorified in every aspect of this accident: in our time together, in the operation and in all that comes next. Whether he lives or dies, he is in your hands. Have your way. And help me be the caretaker he needs, if that is my lot.”

I still pray those words a year later.

And what a year it has been. We’ve come through additional surgeries, at least two serious infections, countless appointments and physical therapy sessions, and so much more. He came home after seven weeks (three in the hospital, then four in rehab), and we began to measure progress by the equipment he “outgrew.” First the hospital bed, then the back brace, then the electric wheelchair. We also celebrated his progress—literally his first steps, and every other new movement or ability.

These days he gets around mostly on his scooter, using a walker at times. The last doctor we saw encouraged him to walk more, so that is his new goal. But it’s hard to walk when you can’t feel your legs and feet. His lower extremities have varying degrees of feeling—from numbness to hyper-sensitivity (for example, the weave of the blanket and his socks irritate his skin). So, while it’s easier to scooter about, he’s trying to get up and be more mobile.

He’s back to work part time, modifying things as needed in the truck and at the shop. His helper, Scott, assists in the efforts to keep him moving forward on jobs. His clients have been understanding and have worked with him to accommodate his scooter in their homes. It’s really amazing what all he has been able to do. As Scott says, “I feel like I’m living in a Hallmark movie!” If his story ever becomes a movie, it will be called “Unstoppable” because that’s how he has approached his recovery. He just keeps doing the next thing, never giving up.

But we’re not back to “normal” yet. In fact, I’m not sure we ever will be. These days we focus on what we have. First, he lived. Second, he wasn’t paralyzed. Third, there wasn’t brain damage. Fourth, the nerves are still healing. So we press on.

Adjusting is hard. Acceptance is hard. But the alternative wouldn’t be any easier. Giving up isn’t an option, so we keep rolling and moving forward. Sometimes there is great progress, such as when he first walked. Sometimes it’s hard to tell that anything is any better. Sometimes it seems that there’s no progress at all or he’s regressed. It’s all part of recovering. It’s hard work. And it’s discouraging sometimes.

A year ago I never suspected my life could change so much in a matter of moments. Nor did Gilbert. What seemed like a routine job ended his career as a tree cutter when a piece of his equipment broke and he rode a rope to the ground, slowing his fall enough to save his life.

"The Fall Guy," someone dubbed him at the hospital. Everyone knew him as “the guy who fell 50 feet—and lived!” We recently got to meet the EMT team that transported him when the hospital hosted a reception for trauma survivors. The chance to thank them for their part in his recovery was significant not just to us, but to them as well. When I asked if they remembered him, they responded with a quick, “Yes, absolutely!” They shared that it's rare for them to hear anything about a patient's case or outcomes since their contact ends after dropping people off at the hospital. They were happy to know he had lived since not many people who fall that far survive, and more than that, that he has been able to mark such milestones in his recovery. We hope to also meet the first responders from the fire station.

We are blessed. Our story isn’t over. Humpty Dumpty is back together and continuing to recover—by God’s grace and for His glory.