Question

David’s Story

“Life is difficult.” I once read these three trivial words in a book, but never knew how true to life and impactful they would be until one fateful fall evening. Before I begin, let me back up and tell you more about who I am and how I got here. I am a Caucasian male raised in a small conservative town in Maine by hard-working middle-class parents. My compassionate mother juggled raising three rambunctious children, me being the eldest, and has worked the same secretarial job since high school. As a young child, I observed my mother selflessly dedicating her free time and energy to those in need. My mother would often bring food to the elderly, volunteer at church, and have children from the children’s home stay with us during holidays. I absorbed my mother’s compassionate nature toward the disadvantaged. My uncompromising father has devoted over half his life laboring for the shipping industry. Even after working all day, he would come home to work in the yard or repair the house. Growing up I spent many of my weekends toiling over a project my dad refused to pay someone else to do. I still remember the words of my dad pushing me to better myself as I helped with his undertakings, “Son, if you’re going to do it half way, then don’t do it at all!”

As a child with too much energy for my size, I incorporated my father’s hard work ethic to my life and found my outlet in sports. All of my dreams and aspirations were encapsulated in being the best athlete possible. Nothing else mattered except for excelling in sports; my drug was sports. I got a rush from the dirt, sweat and blood produced by two rival opponents clashing. I found my niche in hockey because it combined my love of contact sports with a prosperous future I aimed to achieve. My dream was to be a professional player. Of course, life does not always follow along with dreams.

Here is where my story takes a turn of unforeseeable events leading me to never forget that life is difficult. The most significant event impacting my life and cultural identity happened on September 21, 1982. At that time, I was the strong, confident, fearless captain of my freshman high school hockey team. I did not have a care other than playing hockey. I had an adolescent belief I was invincible and that nothing could hurt me. As a 15-year-old that thought he knew everything, my world was turned upside down when I was tragically injured in a hockey accident that left me paralyzed from the neck down. The accident took place when I was flipped head first after trying to steal the puck. In that split second, my life was changed forever! I had broken my neck shattering my fourth and fifth vertebrae while severing my spinal cord. I fell limp like a sack of potatoes face first on the ice unable to move a muscle with my body feeling as if it were on fire. I was awake for every excruciating moment and terrified for my life. I had no idea what was wrong with me.

It took 45 minutes, which seemed like an eternity, for the ambulance to arrive and paramedics to reach me on the ice. As I lie listless on the ice, the paramedics cut off my dirty sweat stained hockey pads. They put an oversized neck brace on me and strapped my body to a loading board to get in the ambulance. I remember crying while telling my mother I loved her not knowing if I would ever get the chance again.

When I arrived at the hospital, I was immediately rushed into the emergency room and put into traction which consisted of metal rods being screwed in my skull. While I struggled in and out of consciousness, the doctor was informing my traumatized parents that if I made it through the night I would never walk or be able to do ANYTHING again. After making it through the first and next few nights in the hospital, I was in total shock. Unfamiliar words like “spinal cord injury,” “paralyzed,” “quadriplegic” and “handicap” kept being used in my presence but never connected with me. It was as if I was watching from afar and emotionally detached. After the shock began to dissipate, the gravity of my situation set in. I had a disability!

Even though I had an unbelievable amount of love and support in the beginning from family, friends, and well wishers, I still felt alone. I thought that no one knew what I was going through. During that solitary time, I had many dark days and restless nights to reflect on who I was and who I would become. I started questioning my worth. I wondered what, if any, contribution I could ever have to society as an individual in a wheelchair unable to walk. I had no real knowledge of individuals with disabilities. I used to feel sorry for and pity people that were different and had disabilities. Now I was one of those people.

During those daunting days of coming to terms with my disability, my faith was my bedrock. For a child raised Baptist and taught that God is an angry God looking for an opportunity to punish sinners, I never questioned why I got hurt or got angry with God. I guess I never believed that I was being condemned or punished for some heinous sin that required God to paralyze me. I also had so many people from different Christian denominations and religions coming to visit and pray for me that the angry God image dissolved. The love and support I felt from these multireligious beings assisted in my initial strengthening of a secure positive outlook as a future disabled person, even though I have had significant life events that challenged my faith and relationship with people that I thought empathized with my situation. I once had a close respected neighbor that I looked up to tell me that if my faith in God was strong enough I would not need to use a wheelchair. After he told me that, I thought that maybe there was more I should or could be doing spiritually to help regain my ability to walk. At that time, I had no idea how to respond or rebut my neighbor’s judgment on my faith. I was still young and believed my elders were always wiser. It took a long time to mentally grasp that there was nothing I was doing wrong that kept me paralyzed

Having a disability, I have come to realize that I am perceived as different and not always in a good way. I came to this epiphany one day while attending a social work class in pursuit of my bachelor’s degree. My professor wrote five labels on the board and asked everyone to stand beside the label they believed would have best chance of getting a job. I was taken aback when the students parted and I could see everyone standing by all the labels except one. The label read “Quadriplegic with Master’s degree.” I was shocked to discover that everyone in the class viewed people with disabilities as a lesser group. Until that time, I did not see my disability separating me from other people. After leaving class, I felt as if I were not equal to others because I had to use a wheelchair to get around. A harsh reality opened my eyes to the fact that I was no longer looked at as a Caucasian male or majority of the population. I was seen strictly for my disability. Therefore, after spending over half my life with a spinal cord injury and using a wheelchair, I have come to identify most with my disability not my race or gender. I identify with my disability because, unfortunately, it is most noticeable to other people. It is difficult to hide a three-hundred-pound power wheelchair. I am not ashamed of who I am because of my spinal cord injury, but I do realize that because I use a wheelchair to get around and do not quite fit the status quo I draw peculiar, sometimes pitiful and many inquisitive looks from others. I have had many occasions when people I do not know come up to me and inquire about my disability. Before even asking, “How are you?” or “What’s your name?” I’ve been asked, “What’s wrong with you?” “Why can’t you walk?” or “Car wreck, huh?” I am often amazed at other people’s reaction to my disability. Though, children’s uninhibited curiosity humors me the most. I remember one young boy asking his mother, “Why is he riding in a big baby stroller?” as we passed by each other in the doctor’s waiting room. Another child once yelled to his mom in amazement in the middle of a restaurant, “Mom, look! It moves!” when he saw my wheelchair rolling. I do not have a problem with curiosity about my disability, but I do have a problem with people judging me and telling me they know exactly how I feel and what I am going through.

Another reason I identify most with my disability is because of how much it consumes my life. From the time I wake in the morning having someone dress me, put me in my wheelchair and prepare my breakfast, until the time I am transferred back into bed at night, I am constantly aware of my disability. It was a surreal and shocking feeling to lose total independence and the ability to walk at 15. I had many psychological battles to overcome in order to rise above my physical losses. Twenty-seven years later and many battles won I still occasionally fight to not let my physical disability turn into a mental disability/crutch.

At times, my disability has been a challenge and made life difficult. Due to my spinal cord injury, I require many unbelievably priced adaptations for daily living. My $16,000 wheelchair has taken the place of my legs because I am unable to walk. I look at my wheelchair with ambivalence. As much as I hate having to use a wheelchair, I have no other means of moving. My wheelchair has turned into my best friend because of how much I depend on and trust it to work for me. Besides a wheelchair, I need accessible transportation to get around. I cannot go and jump in any vehicle because my wheelchair will only fit in a modified van. It cost near $20,000, not including the cost of the vehicle, just to adapt a van for me. I also necessitate a bathroom specially equipped with wide doorways and roll-in-shower. Since I need so much and am dependent on others, it has been a financial, emotional and psychological hurdle to not feel like a burden.

When I first got hurt, I was unable to move anything but my neck. I had to depend on others for the simplest things like scratching my nose or feeding me. Having my independence snatched away from me so quickly was surreal and by far the most difficult part of adapting to my disability. It was the little things I lost that were taken for granted and so devastating to my ego and recovery. Before I got hurt, if I wanted to shave or brush my teeth I just got up on my own free will and went in the bathroom and did it. It was so humiliating and humbling to ask someone to brush my teeth and watch them do it as I stared in the mirror and remembered the young independent man I once was.

The loss of my physical independence left me with two options, give up on life or keep on fighting. Fortunately, I strive for a challenge and chose to keep fighting. I vividly remember when I decided to not let my disability get the best of me. After 4 weeks in the hospital, I was immediately taken to inpatient physical rehab in another state. I had no expectations of what was in store for me or how soon I would have to make a life altering decision. Upon reaching the three-story monolithic rehab that specialized in spinal cord injuries, I was wheeled in on a gurney and taken directly to the room I would call home for the next four months. Before I even reached my room, I was startled by a low painful moan that came from a gentleman I was to know as my roommate. As the nurse’s aides wheeled me into the room, I was shocked to hear that my older rugged looking roommate was repeatedly moaning to his family, “Just let me die, just let me die!” I soon found out that my roommate had a recent spinal cord injury and was coming for rehab just like me. As my roommate continued to moan to his family, my mom had to leave the room to fight back tears. I remained stoic for the sake of my family, but inside of me I was an emotional volcano ready to erupt. I felt so unbelievably hopeless, sad, and confused. I began to wonder, “Is this what I had to look forward to as an individual with a disability? Was I going to eventually follow the path of my roommate and wish for nothing more, but to lie there and die?” After my family and his had all left for the night and all was quiet, I lay in bed and forced myself to make a decision. It was at that moment that I chose to get busy living and make the most of my life no matter the circumstances.

When I initially got hurt, I viewed societal barriers to the disabled as just the way things were. I accepted that I would be limited as to where I could go and what I could do. After a few years, I began to get frustrated and fed up with the injustices I saw and experienced. Such as the time my sister and I tried to get in a popular barbecue restaurant in my hometown. Excited and hungry for the mouth-watering burgers the restaurant was known for I quickly lost my appetite after 5 minutes of being there due to their inaccessibility. After struggling to get up a wheelchair ramp that was too narrow and steep for my wheelchair, I had to have my sister pick up on my three-hundred-pound chair and turn it just to get me in the narrow double doors of the restaurant. I should have known what to expect next from the hassle it was to get in the restaurant. As I got my first glance into the restaurant, I saw nothing but a sea of people and counter tops that rose way above my head denying me access to order my meal. While my sister ordered my meal, an older Caucasian female with a food-stained apron came to seat us. From this incident and many similar experiences, I felt compelled to fight for the rights of the disabled. I have contacted restaurant proprietors, written letters to newspapers and been on local television news addressing the injustices endured by the disabled. I try to let everyone know that our “Separate, but Equal” society is not as equal as it seems if you look hard enough. Though great strides for the disabled have been accomplished with the inception of the Americans with Disabilities Act, there is more work to be done. I realized long ago that change does not take place without breaking the status quo.

Even though I miss walking and the independence I once had, I would not take back the journey that led to my spinal cord injury or time thereafter. I never imagined the way my disability would shape my life and others’. I have been able to touch and inspire other people in a way that I could not have able-bodied. Though it is a physical and psychological climb over the struggles of living with a disability, I have become stronger because of it. In the end, I want to look back at my life and be able to say, “I may have broken my neck, but I did not let it break me.”

QUESTIONS

1. What was it like for you to read this case study? What feelings emerged for you?

2. Imagine that David was a Black football player dreaming of getting a college scholarship when he was paralyzed. What additional themes might have you seen in this narrative?

3. Imagine that David's accident took place when he was 45 years old, not 15. What could be some differences in terms of his identity issues and development?

4. What do you see as the role of a social worker in this scenario? What interventions may be helpful?

Answer 1

1.

This case study has made me empathize with people with disability. We often do not realize the challenges and feeling of being different that the disabled people feel in our society. We also often take others’ disabilities as granted and even though we verbally speak about equal treatment, we do not feel it in our heart. This case study made me understand that we all must agree that we can never understand the struggle of the disabled people in the world.

2.

If David was a Black football player and faced the same situation, we would have likely seen additional themes of racism and reverse racism in this case study. This is because David was Caucasian boy when he faced the disability. As a result, he merely faced the challenges of disability. However, as a Black youngster he would have also faced issue of racism.

3.

When David experienced the accident, he was 15 years old. Since he was young he was able to accept his fate comparatively easily and he was able to devote his life towards raising awareness about the challenges of disabled people. However, if the same fate had befallen on him at the age of 45, he would find way more difficult challenge in accepting his fate and he would have a much difficult time to adapt to the new life.

4.

A social worker may work towards making the life of newly disabled people more acceptable. They may also provide the disabled people to learn with dignity and feel that their life is worth of something important. A social worker may decide to intervene in these situations and provide counselling, support and help to the disabled people.