"THE AGGREGATE EXPERIENCE" 07-09-10

EXTRA!
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MORNING EDITION
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"THE AGGREGATE EXPERIENCE"

07-09-10

The unbelievable has happened! The improbability has occurred! A wondrous event has visited all concerned. A milestone by any measurement, I have lost at total of 101 lbs. in seven months!! I now weigh 202 lbs. or 33.33% of my total body weight. And let me remind the faithful, the weight loss was completed while restricted to a wheelchair while recovering from total paralysis.

To fully appreciate the enormity of the feat, the accomplishment must be placed into perspective.

On Tuesday morning December 8, 2009, I awoke with the usual body tightness and disgruntled attitude from not getting enough sleep. I sat up in bed, not realizing that would be the last time, and stretched out my arms and twisted about my torso at the waste; the usual unremarkable morning routine. Without effort I lifted my heavy frame from the bed and made my way to the bathroom. It was 7:30 a.m.

Almost immediately, I realized something was wrong with my gait. Initially, I couldn't put my finger on the cause of my uneasiness and instability. The only thing clear was a distinct feeling that my lower body wasn’t functioning as usual. I quickly dismissed the event as over-concern: after a warm shower I would feel as good as new.

I was right, the shower did make me feel better overall; in fact, because I did feel better my earlier unease became singularly magnified. Why was I still having trouble walking? As I walked up and down the hallway I realized I was walking flat-footed, similar to walking with swim fins. I stopped in my tracks. I pushed on the balls of my feet and found I couldn’t stand on my tippy-toes. That was the first sign of palpable weakness. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with the problem, no time, so I dismissed it, hoping that it would take care of itself without my intervention. Denial rooted in fear.

That day I was able to work out of my home without having to drive to my office downtown. I sat down at my desk and began typing. All was well. Throughout the morning I was on the phone negotiating several disputes fully cognizant of the details surrounding each situation. After a couple of hours, though, I noticed my fingers weren’t hitting the keys with the same force as usual. Was the weakness in my feet related to the weakness in my fingers? I immediately feared I had suffered a stroke. Mentally, I reviewed my morning’s activities. I was able to think and converse without limitation throughout the morning, impossible had I suffered a stroke. I felt hope even if it was only a glimmer. Denial was fading into fear.

I proceeded head long into my work.

After a short time I stood up to grab some water. Any question of whether something was wrong was put to rest. Not only were my feet weak, my legs were getting weaker. Whatever affected my feet was now inching up my legs and into my hands. There was no doubt now, I was getting weaker throughout my body. I called my lifeline, my son Forrest to put him on notice something was wrong.

It was now the afternoon and my growing concern made it impossible to work. I was definitely having significant problems walking. My arms were now used as guides against the wall to steady my walk. Forrest finally came home where he found me sitting on the sofa. It was the safest place in the house. He wanted to take me the hospital but I refused. He had a college final the next day and needed to prepare. I told him I would be alright. After he left the living room I got up to take a shower. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wanted to feel clean should I have to be hospitalized. Within several steps of the sofa I fell hard into the armoire and crashed to the floor. This would be the first of several falls over the next few hours. It was 5:30p.m.

Forrest came running out if his room visually concerned. I told him everything was alright, “I just lost my balance.” To allay his fears I told him we would go to the hospital after his morning final. I continued towards the bathroom. I now needed to hold the wall as I walked the long hallway. Once in the bathroom I looked into the mirror wondering what was happening with me and whether I was going to be alright. Forrest was on my mind. I looked at my hands and recalled the old black and white movie “The Pride of The Yankees” with Gary Cooper who played the Yankee Ironhorse, Lou Gehrig: he died from Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. Jesus Christ, what was I in for?

Once inside the shower, I realized I had to get out of there soon. Somehow my subconscious became aware of my body’s distress and signaled for retreat and safety. I was overcome with fear of falling. I didn’t realize it then, but my psyche’s concern for my survival and preservation would become more pronounced as my condition worsened. Fear and the attendant survival reaction is a wired response over which we have no control.

Ever so gingerly I maneuvered my body towards the shower door. The problem was this was not a walk-in shower, but a shower/bathtub. I braced my left arm against the wall and firmly planted my left foot against the rise in the tub wall as I slowly lifted my right leg. How I prayed not to fall in the shower. All I could think of was breaking an arm, leg or hip; and what about Forrest, scaring the crap out of him.

I grabbed within me and struggled to raise my leg above the edge of the tub. I didn’t realize how physically limited I had become in less than twelve hours. At least Lou Gehrig had several years before he died. My foot barely breached the crest of the tub; all I had to do was place it on the floor beyond and I would be half-way home, safe. Basic Instinct then took over.

Before I knew it my subconscious reacted to what was going on. My left knee buckled pushing my foot out of position. I heard the squeaky sound of my foot slipping over the tub’s slick wet surface. Meekly, I grabbed for the shower door but was unable to hold up my weight. I was falling. I yelled for Forrest anticipating the worse. All I remember was trying to roll into a ball and land on my back. I collapsed onto my left side with my left arm pinned underneath me and my head just missing the faucet. Forrest came busting through the door looking as scared as I felt. He reached for my hand thinking I would be able to assist in my own recovery. I couldn’t. I was simply without any strength.

It was then that I began to appreciate my overwhelming size. At the time, Forrest was a tall 21 year old strong athlete yet he couldn’t extricate me from the tub. He repositioned himself, legs wide and gave it another heave. I moved. After a few more grunts and tugs he was able to maneuver me to the side of the tub where I gathered myself and took in what had just happened. For a moment I guess we were both in shock. Nothing was said but we both knew then this was serious.

With Forrest at my side I slowly stood up taking care to actively feel my body. I was not going to be taken by surprise again. Forrest reprised his push for the hospital, seeing something in me I didn’t or couldn’t. I told him everything was alright and we would go to the hospital right after his final. He went back to his room not persuaded. I stood for a moment before the mirror thinking about going to the hospital. The thought of being inconvenienced from going was actually getting me upset. Hell, I did not want to waste an evening at some hospital only to be told to take two aspirin and drink plenty of fluids. Maybe, I would feel better by morning. Then it happened, without any forewarning I collapsed right onto the bathroom floor. This fall was different: I didn’t fall over; I collapsed onto myself similar to the way the trestles gave out in the World Trade Center, straight down.

Forrest was quickly in the bathroom, now upset with me for not heeding his advice. I had to accept the facts. I was getting progressively worse at an accelerating rate. Where would it end up if left unchecked? I told him to help me to the sofa where I needed to think through the problem. With my hands on either shoulder I followed him into the living room. Even with him supporting some of my weight I felt extremely weak. In fact, without his support I would have fallen. My dependence on others for my wellbeing began at that moment.

We approached the sofa with caution, by this time anticipating anything. At the foot of the sofa we stopped so I could maneuver onto the cushion. Within a couple of seconds and while still holding Forrest’s shoulders, I fell again. At this point, I was ready for the hospital.

The next problem was how do I get down the stairs? I now couldn’t walk even with support. So I crawled. With Forrest leading the way I crawled out of my home to the descending stairwell. After several attempts we realized he could not safely bring me down the stairs, I was simply too weak and too heavy. I had no choice but to descend the stone covered steps on my butt one agonizing step at a time. Once down the steps Forrest struggled but picked me up on my feet, and with my knees locked, sandwiched me against the wall as we shimmied down the corridor to my waiting car. That would be the last time I would walk.

It was about 11:00p.m when we arrived at USC Hospital. Forrest left me in the car while he sought help. He came back with a wheelchair. I then transferred from my 2006 BMW to the waiting wheelchair. My life, indeed, would never be the same.

Over the course of the next several hours, I was prodded, poked, pinched and pushed. My spine was tapped for fluid two times and I was X-rayed. My blood was drawn on several occasions. Every hour or so some specialist about to discover the cure for cancer would come by and ask me the same questions: If I had been to an exotic locale, eaten any exotic food or had the swine flu vaccination. A series of reflex tests were conducted over the course of the early morning, each one eliciting an ever weaker response.

My poor son was with me through the early morning. I convinced him to go home and get some sleep for at least a few hours so he could study before the final.

I was now in the Intensive Care Unit where I was being monitored for, among other things, respiratory failure. By sunrise the next morning the doctors had preliminarily diagnosed GBS, they weren’t sure, but were confidently comfortable with it.

What movement I had left was quickly leaving. It seemed the physical degradation was occurring right before my eyes. Within hours I was paralyzed from the neck down.

By this time I was experiencing sensory overload. I was being told I had a syndrome, as opposed to a disease, the cause of which was unclear, the cure of which was unsure and how the medication administered worked, was uncertain. I only knew one thing, I was certain to die.

The next five days were nothing more than hellish. My life was a living nightmare punctuated by extended waves of deep rooted fear at levels I never thought imaginable. To suggest I lost my mind, went insane for a time; I don’t doubt. What I didn’t lose, however, was control. By the end of my five day stay I knew I would survive. The question was how was I going to do it on my terms.

From USC I was transferred to Rancho Los Amigos in the City of Downey, California where I’ve been receiving rehabilitation for the past six and a half months. It was during the admission process where I learned my weight, 303 lbs. I don’t doubt I was heavier when admitted into intensive care but for purposes of this book I will use the 303 lb. figure.

Here is where the odyssey begins.

(I have attached a picture of what I looked like one week after I was admitted to Rancho on December 9, 2009 and a picture taken about June 22, 2010, 8 lbs. ago. Truly astonishing. I have 27 lbs. to go to hit my target weight of 175 lbs.)