 (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
Beth arrived home to the realities of an inaccessible world. She wasn’t strong enough to wheel herself up the low incline of our new ramp and expended colossal effort to open the refrigerator. Her livable space shrunk without the second floor and basement. I hated our small bathroom and our new shower chair. Nothing was easy. I desperately wanted to make things better and suggested moving to a more accessible home. She insisted that we stay put, and I resolved to try harder. Three days later, Beth’s African Gray baby arrived to stay. The parrot stood nearly a foot high with striking gray and white shading. She named him Timber since he could not perch well, sometimes falling from a hand to a lap (tim-berrrr!), and because she had a crush on Justin Timberlake from N’Sync. A typical fourteen year old in many ways, my youngest wanted to look her best for the start of school. A dentist put a cap on her chipped front tooth from the accident. Beth asked for a haircut and her first highlights. When we went shopping with Maria, a lady asked about her sister’s wheelchair. “Some people assume I’m not intelligent because I am in a wheelchair,” Beth said. “They talk loud and slow when they first see me. When I do normal things such as moving around or crossing a threshold, some people will tell me ‘good job!’ like it is the most amazing thing.” Beth's friend Elizabeth (and Elizabeth’s mom) surprised her with an extraordinary gift, an elegant silver and gold ring with a small diamond, engraved with the word HOPE. Her five closest friends wore identical rings. The friends planned to pay for the rings until the Osterman Jewelers in our small Ohio town, Tiffin, donated them instead. When I dropped off a paper to the high school principal that explained quadriplegia, he offered me a part-time position in a program for at risk students. There wasn’t any other job I could do and be available to Beth, so I accepted. I hurried away, suddenly winded with a tightening chest, thudding heart, throbbing head, and dizzying view. Why did I say yes? I had none of Beth’s courage. How much would she need me? How many school days would she miss? My responsibility had doubled, tripled, without the safety net of rehab nurses. Anything could happen and I worried about everything.
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 (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
Beth decided to cut her stay short at the rehab hospital to start her first year of high school on time. The inpatient stay for those with new spinal cord injuries in the neck often exceeded three months. She would leave her hospital room after two months, giving her two weeks at home to adjust before school started. She refused to weigh the merits of the easier option: tutoring. No matter that she was pale, tired, weak, and susceptible to infection. No matter that she could wheel herself a short distance before her arms trembled and exhaustion set in. "Life is about making choices," Beth said. “At this point, some people may have taken a year off of school to rest and build their strength at home. I wanted to start at Tiffin Columbian High School with the rest of my freshman class.” I was faced with a choice as well. I officially quit my job at the institution for what I thought would be a long-term role as my daughter's personal care assistant. One afternoon in early July, John stayed with Beth while I turned in my keys and set up the literacy program for whoever would replace me. At the center, I ducked into a little-used hallway and closed myself in my office, avoiding the dozens of residents I had worked with. Most had looked forward to our sessions, usually a pleasant reprieve from monotonous days. I justified walking away, since my other option, talking individually with many residents in different locations, would be disruptive and frustrating all around. And with staff quitting regularly for easier jobs, residents lived with a revolving door of workers who cared about them. However, there was no comfort in the fact that I would not be the last to leave. As I left behind a good job where I could make a small difference, I wiped away more tears. Beth's shortened hospital stay added a sense of urgency to the rest of the summer. Extensive preparations had to be finished quickly at home–and at school. |
Cindy KolbeI'm a mom on a mission to share the power of hope and connection! For signed copies of my memoir, click BOOK.
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