The year was 2004. Mark had experienced occasional days of back pain while working in the shipping department of Action Lane Furniture. He was responsible for catching furniture as it dropped off the conveyor. Sofas, love seats, recliners. Heavy objects. All day. Every day.
The sofas and love seats would be stood up on end and moved aside in preparation for the next guy to come along, scoop it up with their cart, and haul it into the trailer to be shipped. Recliners were a little trickier. They came off the conveyor in boxes. Many weighing over a hundred pounds. He would place his fingers in the holes cut into the sides of the box, prop the box against his knee, and then heave the heavy box into the air with the momentum of his leg. Three recliners high, retrieved by the next guy, then disappeared from his drop zone, and were wheeled into the trailer.
No wonder he had occasional back pain. This was grunt work. Heavy grunt work. From time to time he would have to be put on light duty, because the pain was just too much to bear. His fellow workers would pick on him. They would accuse him of faking an injury just to get out of work. It was all in good fun, but Mark wasn't laughing. He wasn't faking either. Sometimes these innocent ribbings would hurt. He didn't want anyone to look down on him for not doing his job. To make matters worse, his "light duty" was what was known as "pushing a button." The name was pretty self explanatory. He would literally sit in a chair, directly across from those men he worked with every day, pressing a button to make sure the furniture came off the conveyor in the correct zone.
There he would sit, watching them sweat. He would watch them struggle to do the job that was normally done with an extra man....him. As if the back pain wasn't enough, now he was relegated to sitting in shame, because he was making life harder for his coworkers. It was awful!
After a few months of back and forth from the grunt work to the button something changed. His problem went from mere back pain to tingling in his legs. Now, he was no doctor, but even he knew that couldn't be good.
His wife talked him into seeing a real doctor. Like most smart husbands, he listened. Better safe than sorry. He made an appointment to see his family doctor, Dr. Michael Richards. No, not Kramer from Seinfeld. This was a different Michael Richards. He did some simple tests. He felt Mark's feet. He banged his knee with that little hammer thing. He pressed around various spots on his back to see if it caused any pain. After a thorough examination, Dr. Richards decided it was best to send Mark to see a specialist.
Enter Dr. Louis Rosa, neurosurgeon. Bedside manner...eh. Was he the friendliest guy? Not so much. He was small in stature. He was a little rough around the edges. He usually looked like he was mad at the world. Mark liked him! Dr. Rosa was quick to the point. He pulled no punches. He told it as it was. When the appointment was over, Mark knew exactly where he stood, and it wasn't the answer he had hoped for.
Turns out Mark had some disc problems. Dr. Rosa suggested that he change jobs. He told Mark that if he continued to do the heavy work that he had been doing that his problems would probably progress, and that he could cause some serious damage to his back.
Much to his chagrin, Mark put in his notice at Action Lane, and prepared to take things a little easier for a while. He quickly realized that desk jobs aren't that easy to come by. Especially without a college education or experience. He ended up jobless for a while. Unemployment was not a fun thing. After about six months without an income he decided it was time to get a job. Any job.
Thankfully, He did have some experience and skill. During high school, and his short stint in college, Mark had worked as a butcher. Although it had been a while since he picked up a knife, he called up an old friend that was managing a local meat market. Thankfully, there was an opening, and Mark was hired on the spot.
Butchery was a more strenuous job than he remembered. Of course, the last time he worked as a butcher was at the age of nineteen. Apparently age does make a difference. And then there is the fact that he had a bad back, and butchers stand on their feet all day. Also, meat is heavy! Sure, when you buy retail meat it comes to you in a small package, but that small package started out as a huge slab of heavy meat. Standing all day. Heavy meat. Bad back. Things were bound to get worse.
He had trouble seeing things getting worse, though, because life was getting better. His buddy, the manager, had decided that he was going to open his own butcher shop. What he was leaving behind was a management position. Mark was definitely management material. It did help, of course, that he was the only other butcher in the meat department at that time.
So Mark quickly eased into the role of manager. It was awesome. With the promotion came a pay raise. A salary, no doubt. He had never worked on salary before. Six hundred dollars a week...after taxes! That was nearly double the highest paycheck he had ever taken home in his life! He was so excited. Life was looking up. But....
Four days into his new position, on January 5, 2006, Mark had put in a rough day. He was tired. He was sore. He was ready to get off work and get to his couch. Toward the end of the work day, he had noticed a slight pain in his lower back. No big deal. It just felt like a slight catch or a muscle spasm. No more than he had ever dealt with before. But things were different. Much different.
He arrived home from work, laid down in the floor, and stretched out in the hopes of easing the stress on his back. Nothing new. He had done this many times. However, as he rolled over to spring back to his feet, there was no spring. There was nothing. His legs didn't seem to want to work. As his wife likes to describe it, his legs were like wet noodles. He was able to pull himself up, but his legs were so weak that he could hardly stand on his own.
He and his wife, Tanya, decided it would be best to go to the emergency room. She helped him load up into his truck and away they went. As they sat in the waiting room, anxiously waiting to be called back, the pain grew ever more excruciating. He couldn't get comfortable. Every move caused more pain. Finally, a nurse arrived to wheel him in to be seen by the doctor on call. Once the doctor heard that Mark had been seen by a neurosurgeon, he basically prescribed him some pain pills, sent him home, and told him to call Dr. Rosa. After a night of writhing in pain, Tanya called Dr. Rosa's office early the following morning and they were quick to get him in to be seen.
Dr. Rosa was baffled. From Mark's previous history, the symptoms he was showing didn't make much sense. Rosa quickly admitted Mark into the hospital for further tests. Day after day. Test after test. Dr. Rosa was finally able to find the source of the problem. He had ordered a myelogram test to be done. A dye was injected into the base of Mark's spine. He was then strapped to a table by his hands and feet, as the table stood him up and then flipped him upside-down. X-rays were done as he was flopped around. Normally, the injected dye would flow up the spinal column as the patient is flipped upside-down. Mark had never been described as normal. There was no movement. The dye did not flow anywhere. His spine was too narrow.
Dr. Rosa diagnosed Mark with a form of Spinal Stenosis and Congenital Spine Disorder. Layman's terms: his spinal column was too narrow to house his spinal cord. This was causing pressure on his spinal cord, which caused him to lose the use of his legs. Surgery. The only option. Problem? It was a 50/50 chance of him regaining the use of his legs. He didn't really have the use of his legs at that moment, so he figured there was nothing to lose.
January 11, 2006. The day of the surgery. The procedure was supposed to take around four hours to complete. It was a rough day. Family and friends waited together to hear how things were going. Many prayers were offered up on Mark's behalf. Hour five passed. More prayers. Hours six and seven. Still praying. Eight hours later, the surgery was finally over. Dr. Rosa shared with Tanya, and the rest of the family, what he found once he opened up Mark's back.
He had to gently raise Mark's spinal cord away from the column and chisel out a channel the length of his spine to make room for the cord to move without constriction. He also found something he had not expected. Mark had six calcified discs that were crumbling. He had to chip them away, remove a portion of his pelvic bone, and use the bone to replace the discs. Rosa then bolted two titanium rods to Mark's spine for support and closed up the twelve inch incision in his back.
The surgery was over. All was well, right? Wrong. Mark woke up on the bad side of the 50/50. He had lost total use of his legs. He awoke from the surgery paralyzed from the waist down and in extreme pain. He laid in an intensive care hospital bed and stared at the large digital clock on the wall. Day in and day out. He had been given morphine for the pain. The morphine kept him from sleep. He would close his eyes to attempt to doze off. When his eyes would reopen the harsh reality of the clock let him know that only five or ten minutes had passed. Life was slowly changing, just like the numbers on that clock.
Nurses would tend to his wounds. They would periodically roll him from his right side to his left side, stuffing a pillow under his back to hold him in place. This was to keep bed sores from forming. After all, it wasn't like he was going anywhere. He was poked and prodded daily. Draw blood here. Take blood there. As if things weren't bad enough, while he was in the hospital, it was determined that he was a diabetic. Within one week, Mark had gone from one of the highest points in his life to the absolute worst. One thing that he did realize, however, was that since he was stuck lying flat on his back he only had one way to look, and that was up. He looked to God to help him through this. Mark knew that only God could give him the strength he needed to face the challenges ahead.
Mark spent the rest of January in the hospital being watched to be sure that he was healing properly. Near the end of that month things were changing again. He had been lying in the hospital bed for too long. It was time for him to get up. He was fitted for a full form back brace. It was an ordeal every time the nurses tried to put it on him. They would roll him to one side, place the back of the shell on the bed behind him, and then roll him back into it. After some painful, jerking adjustments to get the shell in line, the front portion was then strapped to the back. Finally that ordeal was over, but the real pain was only about to begin.
Physical therapists entered Mark's room one day. One grabbed his feet while the other one grabbed his shoulders. They quickly spun his limp body around until his legs fell lifeless off the side of the bed, and then lifted up his torso to a sitting position. This was the first time he had sat upright in nearly a month. His body was not prepared. His blood pressure suddenly dropped to a dangerous number. The room began to go dark. His head began to swim. His breathing quickened. His body slumped in the therapist's arms as he passed out on the side of the bed.
What happened next? He isn't really sure. He just remembers opening his eyes to see Tanya sitting in the corner of the room, her face lost of all color. It was at that point that he really realized he wasn't in the fight alone. She was experiencing her own kind of pain. The pain of seeing her husband in pain. The pain of seeing her husband completely helpless. The pain of knowing their lives were probably never going to be the same again. For a brief moment, Mark's physical pain didn't exist. His heart was broken for his wife. At that moment his fight truly began.
After many attempts, the therapists were able to get Mark in a sitting position. Eventually, they hoisted him to a contraption that held him upright, in a standing position. When he thought he had experienced every pain possible, the therapists proved him wrong. Being stood up by the power of others, not able to do anything himself, was one of the lowest points for him. Was it painful? Definitely. But it was the overwhelming surge of uselessness that hurt the most. Men are supposed to be strong. At this point Mark was the antithesis of strong.
February rolled around and it was time for a another change. Mark was moved to the first floor of the hospital. The rehab section. He was blessed with the opportunity to be placed in a special room by himself. That room was set up similar to a small apartment. It had his bed, of course. It was equipped with small kitchen and dining areas, as well as a private bathroom. Other than constantly being bugged by nurses, it was a pretty sweet setup.
The very first day in the rehab wing showed Mark exactly what he had to look forward to, though. Rehab. Rehabilitation. It's a big word that can be summed up by a smaller word: WORK! There was no longer the gentle pampering by the nurses. Mark had barely gotten settled in his bed before someone came busting through the door of his room. Lisa. Physical Therapist. All business. Things were about to get real. Really real!
Lisa forced herself through the small crowd of family that had followed Mark down to his new room. She was a presence everywhere she went. She was a tall, stocky woman. The kind of woman you took one look at and knew you didn't want to mess with her. She was boisterous. She was demanding. She scared Mark to death.
Lisa walked right up to the side of Mark's bed and said, "You ready?" He wasn't. He didn't know what he wasn't ready for, but something told him he wasn't. "We're gonna get you outta that bed," she said, with a smile that said she really enjoyed her job. Mark let her know about the blood pressure problems he had had while sitting up. Without missing a beat she exclaimed, "Well, if you pass out you pass out. We don't know until we get you outta that bed."
She raised the head of Mark's bed, shoved one of her arms behind his back, and grabbed his legs with her other hand. With one quick motion she swung his legs around, and yanked his torso up to sit on the side of the bed. Mark started to get dizzy and let Lisa know that he felt like he was going to pass out. "Aww, don't be a baby! You gotta push through it!" She wrapped her arms around his limp body, and hoisted him up onto her shoulder. She turned quickly around and gently slammed him into the wheelchair by his bed. Mark's head was spinning. He fought to catch his breath. Yet, the longer he sat there, the better he felt. Progress. He was making progress.
Lisa wheeled Mark down to the rehab room to introduce him to the therapists that would be working with him. As he rolled by the large, padded tables, the exercise equipment, and the various toy-like apparatuses hanging all around the room, he became increasingly anxious. Then his eyes locked onto the other patients scattered about the room. Some had minor injuries. There were others with amputations. A few were elderly. To Mark, the saddest part was not the various injuries, but the overwhelming look of defeat on the patient's faces. Apparently this was the place where people come to give up. Mark wasn't going to let that be him.
Rehab began. One of the first things that he learned how to do was to transition. Chris, one of Mark's Occupational Therapists, walked into his room carrying a wooden slat. Mark wasn't quite sure what to expect by this. He had previously met Chris, after all, and he was a bit of a character. So, he really could have had anything in store. Chris moved the wheelchair to the side of the bed, helped Mark raise up, and then placed the board on the bed next to him. He slid the board underneath Mark and positioned it toward the wheelchair. He then showed Mark how to slide himself from the bed to the chair using his arms and the board. It was tough. It was scary. Yet, as is the case with most things, once he figured out how to do it right, it started to get easier. Mark felt very accomplished. He knew that this was the first step, or slide, toward making more progress.
After a few days, Mark's therapists saw his commitment. Each morning the therapists were responsible for making sure their patients were awake and ready to come to therapy. They would have to help them out of their beds, wash and clothe them, and then push them in the their wheelchairs to the the rehab room. They stopped coming to Mark's room after a while. They didn't need to. He was getting himself up, transitioning himself to his wheelchair, and wheeling himself to the rehab room. They knew, at certain times of the day, they should keep their eyes open, because Mark could be soaring down the hallway in his chair.
After spending over a month in the hospital, Mark experienced something that made him realize that he was going to be OK. February 14 rolled around and he wanted to do something special for Tanya. She had been through so much during his down time. She was working everyday and driving seventy miles almost every night to come be with him. Plus, she had completely taken over the responsibilities at home, cleaning, taking care of the animals, making sure the bills were paid, etc. He was so proud of how strong she had been and he wanted to show his appreciation.
During his therapy session, Mark pulled Chris aside and asked if he could do him a favor. He wanted Chris to pick up something special for Tanya since he was stuck in the hospital. Mark just knew that Tanya would be surprised if she got to the hospital to find flowers, balloons, a card, or anything waiting for her. Chris had something better in mind. That afternoon Chris rounded up a couple of the other therapists, Jana and Christy, to help with a special mission. Jana and Christy were both students. Jana was from Louisiana. Christy was a Tennessean. Mark had gotten to know them pretty well, as they were the ones who worked the closest with him. Between them and Chris there was never a dull moment. They were about to take Mark on a mission that would boost his confidence in his independence.
Chris and the other therapists took Mark outside. It was one of the few times he had breathed fresh air since entering the hospital. Chris pulled a car around and they taught Mark how to transition from his wheelchair to a car. He was so excited. He was going somewhere! Chris drove to a nearby store and they all filed out of the car and headed inside. When they entered the store, Chris grabbed a shopping cart and wheeled it over to Mark. It was a special cart that was designed to be easily pushed by someone bound to a wheelchair. Mark thought it was amazing. Not just that that kind of cart existed, but also that he had never noticed them in stores before. He realized that there are so many things that people overlook and take for granted. His world had become so much larger from the view of his wheelchair.
He sat there behind the cart waiting for Chris to lead the way. Chris looked down at him and said, "You better get going. We don't have all day," while smiling from ear to ear. Mark couldn't believe it. FREEDOM! He felt like an uncaged bird flying up and down the store aisles. He knew he had to make this opportunity count. He picked up all the ingredients to make Tanya's favorite meal, spaghetti, and tossed them in the cart. He scooped up a box of Tanya's favorite candies, picked out some balloons, flowers, and a nice card, and they loaded up and headed back to the hospital.
When they returned, Chris took all the food to the kitchen in the rehab area while Mark, with the help of Jana and Christy, wheeled all the Valentine goodies down to his room. Mark set up the balloons and flowers in the little dining area of his room and then speedily wheeled back to the rehab room. Chris showed him where he could find all the pots, pans, and utensils he would need to prepare the special meal and then he just walked away, leaving Mark to do everything by himself. He stood only a short distance away, talking to the other therapists, but he was keeping a close eye on Mark just in case he needed help. Mark filled a pot with water to boil for the noodles, and crumbled up the meat to start frying. Chris was a good therapist. He knew what he was doing. Mark was quickly learning that he would be OK with his new life. If he could cook spaghetti, then he could do anything.
Mark took the plates and utensils, placed them in his lap, and wheeled them down to his room while Chris and the others followed with the food. They set everything up in a hurry, because they knew that Tanya was on her way and could be there at any moment. Chris looked at the plates of food and thought it needed something. He ran to the rehab room fridge, and grabbed a block of fresh parmesan cheese that he had used with his lunch earlier that day. As he sprinted back, he was shocked to see Tanya down the hall in front of him, walking toward Mark's room. He blew past her, ducked into the room, quickly grated the the parmesan over the spaghetti, and darted back out of the room just as Tanya was about to open the door. She was surprised by Chris's quick exit, but not nearly as surprised as she was by all the gifts she found as she entered Mark's room. It was the best Valentine's surprise ever, and Mark would probably never be able to top it. Better yet, Tanya was able to see that Mark would be able to take care of himself, and she didn't have to worry anymore.
Toward the end of February Mark had another breakthrough. About two weeks before he was scheduled to go home, during a regular rehab session, one of Mark's therapists, Lisa (a different Lisa) had him lay flat on one of the exercise tables. She asked him to try to move his foot. He laid there for a moment trying with all his might to make his foot move. It had been so long since having mobility in his legs that he wasn't even sure if he knew how to make it move anymore. But then it happened. The big toe. That fabulous big toe! It moved. It barely moved....but it moved! All hope wasn't lost.
Mark's therapy regimen changed after that. Rather than just teaching him how to live independently with his disability, they began working toward helping him walk again. They hoisted him into a another contraption that would stand him upright to help get blood flowing to his extremities. Then he was placed in a large mechanism that looked much like an adult baby bouncer on wheels. It was designed to help him slightly move his legs while being held up. There was movement. Slight...but movement.
The day came for him to finally go home. It was bittersweet. He was excited to go home. He was excited to get back to his wife. But he had grown pretty close to all his therapists. The hospital had been his home for two months, and they were all like his roommates. Before leaving he wanted one thing to happen. He wanted a picture of him with all the people that had helped him. It was an awesome moment. He wheeled over to the parallel bars. He didn't want to be sitting in that chair when the picture was taken. Two therapists on each of his sides braced him as he pulled himself up by the bars above his head. He stood there, struggling to hold himself up between those bars, as his new family huddled around him to have their picture taken. It wore him out. It took all he had to do it. It was worth it. He wanted the therapists, Tanya, and especially himself to know that he was going fight this and he planned to win.
The work didn't end after arriving back at home. Rehabilitation = Work. He had home health therapists that would come work with him. It was actually fun. After a few weeks they had him standing and they helped him stumble across the house. They drove him to do more, and so did Tanya. His home therapist made the mistake of telling her that she needed to push him. She took it quite literally. Once Mark was able to stand, wobbly on his own, she would nudge him from time to time just to see if he would tip over. She wasn't being mean. She was doing what needed to be done to help him stand on his own again.
One of the things that his home therapist helped him to do was to transition from his chair to his truck. The tricky thing was that his truck seat was on eye level when he was in his wheelchair. He would have to pull himself up by the door and seat, then turn his back to the seat, and pull his body up into the truck with his arms while grasping the door and the handle above it. By this time his upper body had become pretty strong. Once in the truck he would reach down and disassemble his wheelchair, one piece at a time, and pull them up into the cab of the truck. He would then reverse this process to get back out. After a few tries he was able to do it pretty well on his own.
This new independence brought about the next phase of his journey. His truck had been equipped with an apparatus that would allow him to work the brake and accelerator with his hands. Now that he was able to pull himself up into his truck, and drive himself, he no longer needed home health to come to him. He could take himself to therapy.
He began to work with outpatient rehab in his hometown. Their main focus was to help Mark walk. They pushed him. Even when he didn't think he could handle any more, they gave him more and more. Leg stretches. Exercise bike. Treadmill. Free walking. From wheelchair, to walker, to cane, to using only the power and support of his own two legs, Mark was mobile again. Seven months of immobility had been wiped away with hard work, dedication, and most of all, the grace of God. Mark knew that none of these things would have been possible without God's help.
A few months after the surgery, having moved up to walking with only the support of a walker, Mark went back to see Dr. Rosa. Dr. Rosa shared something with him that he had never shared before. He looked Mark straight in the eyes, with a look of overwhelming amazement, and told him that, medically speaking, he never expected him to walk again. He expected Mark to be wheelchair bound for the rest of his life. Turns out God and Mark had other plans.
The picture above shows what God can do. He took Mark from his lowest of lows and lifted him up again. It has been ten years since all of this happened. Today, Mark enjoys life with his wife, his cats, and his mobility. I have taken up photography and writing and I am enjoying every minute of it!
Now you know this picture's story.
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