Buy Kenwood, they make good stereos.

I was to my Grandpa's house from a tavern on a lake near there.  I was extremely tired and was going to go to bed fairly early.  I pulled out hung a left on the highway.  The last thing I remember is slowing down because I was speeding.  I woke up when they were cutting me out the truck (oh, my poor truck).

This is what actually happened between those two fleeting moments.  I fell asleep, for how long I am unsure.  The road curved off to the left, I went straight off the curve and ran into a big dirt embankment at about a 45 degree angle.  My body flew forward and my head hit the radio, my head stuck to the radio and my body kept going.  This caused my neck to snap like a toothpick. My head catching on the radio knobs tore the back of my head (picture) and almost tore my left ear off.  My neck was broken at the c5-c6 level.  I laid on my side on the floor (because I couldn't move) from 15-30 minutes.  It took another 20 or so minutes for the ambulance to arrive.

The next thing I remember is about 20 seconds of the ambulance ride.  I also remember a portion of the medivac ride from the emergency room to the next hospital.  I remember it because I was freezing the whole time I was awake.

The Hospital & Rehab
The first week I remember very little except my hallucinations.  The hallucinations were from the morphine they gave me for pain. Don't ever let anyone tell you that morphine is fun, because it ain't.  It is now six and a half years later and I still remember my hallucinations, and they are not good.

The first thing that I really remember is hearing a song on the radio called "Baby Likes to Rock It" by The Tractors.  The first sane thing that I said was - "where's Clyde Travolta when you need him."

My dad and step mom upon hearing this, about fell out.  The nurse that happened to be in the room at that time did not think it was humorous at all.  She did not appreciate my folks laughing at what I had said.

Sane, you ask? To answer your question, yes.  I have a good friend who likes to dance.  The song "Baby Likes to Rock It" happens to be one of his favorites.  Every time he heard the song, one of his feet would start tapping.  Then he would slowly start dancing.  John Travolta was a dancer; therefore we picked up that part of the name.  My friends' name is Clyde.  Therefore, Clyde Travolta.

The nurse thought I was crazy, but upon hearing this, my folks knew that I was going to be okay.  As they were wiping the tears of joy from their eyes, they took the nurse out into the hall to explain why they were laughing.  No more angry nurse.

You've seen the picture of the back of my head.  That is just a small portion of what my head used to look like.  I'm going to make a wild guess here, about how many stitches I had.  My left ear was almost cut off, plus the near scalping, I'd say about four zillion.  They thought for a long time I would be brain damaged.  I went through the whole battery of tests and they found out I was okay.  Yes, I was this warped before my accident.

As beat up as I was, even at that time, in the back my mind, I had a feeling I was never going to walk again, my only worry was my truck.  It was a nice truck.  A classic, more horsepower than you could shake a stick at.  Those fine lines, it was beautiful.  I had built it myself, now it was toast.

I do have a recommendation from this though.  Buy Kenwood.  1965 is when they built vehicles.  The dashboard of my truck was solid metal.  The stereo was mounted in the dash.  It wasn't going anywhere.  When I hit the big dirt embankment, my body flew forward, and my head hit the radio.  My head stuck and my body kept going.  Needless to say my neck didn't like it very much and it broke.  The radio knobs are what tore my head up.  Clyde pulled the radio out and had a new rod put in it and used it for three more years until he sold his car.

I spent my first three weeks at a hospital in Marshfield, Wisconsin.  My first two weeks were in intensive care.  

After I got out of intensive care, they tried to work out what minimal muscles I had in my shoulders and my right bicep.  With all the bruising in my spinal cord it sure wasn't much.

After I was stable enough to transport, I was moved to the veteran's hospital in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.  When I arrived there I was stabilized even further.  They went from a simple neck collar to a Minerva jacket.  This was basically like a big turtle shell.  I wore this for about two months.  It was kind of difficult to do any kind of physical therapy.  I did do some though.

I did have a good physical therapist and she got me started right away.  Because my hands don't work they were strapped to a pull down machine and that was able to work out.  At this point in time my left bicep was just kicking in, but my shoulder barely worked.

After about a month they started setting me up a little at a time.  The first couple of times I sat up all the way I passed out.  When I was able to sit up for more than an hour I was able to get into a power chair.  Because my shoulders were so weak I could barely drive the chair.

After I got out of my turtle shell I was able to sit up most of the day.  Then I could run around in the power wheelchair.  To get on and off the elevators I had a Futura cuff I wore on my right hand with a pouch sewed on with a pointy thing sticking out the front with a rubber thing on the end.  The only reason I wore this was to push the elevator buttons.  My room was on the tenth floor.

After my turtle shell was removed I wore a soft neck collar for another two months.  I was never so glad to get rid of that turtle shell because the stitches were still coming out of my head and they were rubbing on that shell, and it hurt dammit.  So did everything that I could feel.  Especially my left shoulder.  The whole time I was in the hospital and for the first six months I was home I was taking narcotics for the pain.

At my six-month check up I tried a TENS unit.  I used it real heavy for the next six months.  Until I finally became accustomed to the pain.  Then I just used it when the pain got real bad.

Even though I wasn't able to push a manual chair yet, my PT would put me into a chair and I would make my arms go through the motions.  Once I was able to push, my whole time in PT would be pushing my wheelchair.  Do you realize how many hills there are in a smooth hospital floor? I had to use my hill climbers to get up some of them.

Once I was able to make it from PT to my hospital room I stayed in a manual chair.  In the beginning it would take me anywhere from 20 to 30 minutes to get to PT or occupational therapy.  Sometimes I would have to wait for three to 5 elevators before I could get on one.  They were way to fast for me.  By the time I left the hospital I could get there in about five minutes.  The only time I got back into the power chair was when we went on outings (hockey or baseball games) or when I had visitors and we went to Taco Bell about a quarter mile away.

From this point on physical therapy consisted of learning how to transfer from my bed and into my chair and vice versa.  And strengthening the few muscles I do have that work.

Everything that I do now did not just magically occur, it came with months and years of work.  My life is easier now because of that effort.  I am able to get some exercise by going outside and pushing my chair all over the place.