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James
climber
My twin brother's laundry room
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Topic Author's Original Post - Dec 29, 2008 - 03:30pm PT
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Imagine a world where others fulfill all your desires. They feed you. They dress you. They even wipe your ass. I was there and let me tell you- it was miserable.
I laid prone as the world took care of me. I slept at the Desert Springs Memorial Hospital, the closest medical facility to Joshua Tree National Park, where I fell a hundred feet climbing without a rope. I spent the first few weeks in a semi-comatose state, sedated by drugs. The hallucinations of my subconscious entertained me. A sequin suited ice skater sashayed towards me delivering me my dinner of crackers, my aunt sat in a casino wooing Sammy Davis Jr., and my immobile body rested on a dock, watching the boats come into harbor, and waiting for someone to move me with the other cargo.
When I finally came to, I wanted to go back. The ice skater never put a tube in my penis, but the doctors did. They spoke stoically when they discussed the operations- the damage to my occipital lobe, the vena cavity filter, the compound fracture of my ulna- I never understood what they had done. Arthur Clarke wrote, "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."
I was Frankenstein’s monster, confused, alone, and sewn back together wrong. I tore the IV out of my arms. I did not want to be there. What did the doctors do to me? Why was I there? I wanted to get out of bed, pull on my jeans, and crawl to the base of El Cap. My identical twin brother held me down and a nurse sedated me while I called her a c#&%.
Eventually, I calmed. The thick calluses of my hand were peeling away, I was losing what identified me as a climber. I had shed twenty pounds off my thin, fit body. The nerves in my right foot had been destroyed and my foot hung sadly. Long rods held my back and ankle together. Pins cemented my elbow. My body was a jigsaw puzzle of welded metal. It hurt.
A constant stream of friends, family, and climbers visited; they wanted to make me feel better. I did my best not to spill my urinal on the bed. An ex-girlfriend held my hand, and watched me puke in a napkin. John Long, the climbing legend, visited. A notable encounter only in that he was a regular guy who wanted to talk about his family. He gave me some meditation tapes that helped him recover from some of his injuries. A Yosemite climbing friend, Sanam, brought Lisa Rand's climbing movie Hit List. Before she left, she did the sweetest thing. She brought her lips close to my cheek and kissed me. I did not wash my face for a week. I was immobile in a bed; I could not clean my face if I wanted to. Other visitors came and sat awkwardly. They never knew what to say or do so I put the twenty minute Hit List on repeat. Eventually, my twin- my most consistent visitor- complained.
“I have never been to Black Mountain. I have never been to Bishop. I have never even been to Yosemite,” Matt told me. “And I still know all the moves to that dumb Thriller problem.” For him, there was nothing different about me.
At a stroke and spinal care facility, my roommate was a former Los Gatos school district super-indent named John. His wife came in to take care of him after his stroke. Most of the time she was nice but sometimes she yelled. He was a sixty-year-old infant, a former man who had become helpless overnight. His wife struggled with John’s transformation to infancy more than he did. He wore a diaper and the room often smelt like sh#t. One night, John left his bed and wandered around the room, mumbling about the bathroom. Unable to find the door to the toilet, he came closer and closer to my bed. My biggest fear in life is that someone is going to sh#t on me and I will not be able to do anything about it.
“John, the bathroom’s over in the corner,” I wanted to help him. Give him some direction. He ignored me.
I stabbed the red button on the white caller, trying desperately to call the nurse. My nightmares were coming true. I was paralyzed, I could not get out of bed, and John was going to crap on me. The nurse came in as John stood at the foot of my bed. Literally, it was all pretty funny.
After a few more weeks of laying in bed, worrying that John was going to sh#t on my chest, I was transported to a physical rehabilitation center where I would learn to walk. My first physical therapy session, I stood. Seven seconds passed on the watch. It was awesome. I wanted to put it on my 8a card. I sat, rested, and then tried again. My legs wobbled precariously at five seconds. I felt uncertain at six. Was I going to fall? I bore down and fought through the crux of it, watching the clock tick off a long fifteen seconds. I onsighted the extension. The technology of the fusions was magic. Later, I tried to brag to my twin. Matt sat in my hospital room playing Fable on my Xbox-a gift from my oldest brother, Chris, a dorky guy who loves video games. As I sprayed about how hard it was, how exciting it was, how it made me feel like I was climbing again, he looked at me and asked, "How do I get the combat multiplier up for my hero?"
My parents had six children. Their first came when they were barely old enough to take care of themselves. They divorced when my youngest brother was 10. My father needed a break from the overwhelming amount of work. He needed to work on himself. He still barely had enough money to fly out and visit. My mother spent a majority of her savings on the transportations costs of moving me from a hospital near Joshua Tree to a stroke center near my home of Santa Cruz. She sat by my bedside praying for me fanatically. I had spent my last bit of savings to go climbing in Joshua Tree for winter break. The majority of the hospital bills were being paid for through the mandatory insurance I had as a University of California. I could barely stand up, working was out of the question. Going back to school in Santa Cruz was my only option for fiscal support; I needed the financial aid.
My occupational therapist explained the importance of maintaining neutral spine precautions to me. "You have to keep your back straight at all times. Your knee can not bend to ninety degrees. That means no stairs."
So what? I could never scramble around in the boulders. I shrugged. Lifting my feet high over the talus always annoyed me anyway. He droned on about the correct way to move my body and how to deal with my physical handicaps.
"I do not know how you are going to ride the bus," he said.
What was he telling me? How would I get to campus?
"I have to go to school," I said. For the first time since I fell, I cried. How could I take care of myself without financial aid? He kicked my only crutch.
"You know, you can still have sex." He said meekly. "I can explain how to do it while maintaining neutral spin precautions."
I shuffled my ass to the side of the hospital bed, tentatively swiveled my hips, and fell into my wheel chair. I wheeled my way back to my hospital room and stared out the window, dreaming I was climbing.
I stood on the sidewalk of Highway 1 on Mission Street in Santa Cruz. A few days earlier I had been walking along the same road wearing a new t-shirt. A friend had ironed on a picture of a walker and a caption reading, “Walkers are Irresistible.” A random girl drove by and waved at me. I felt tough. So I stood on the sidewalk again. Both the northbound and southbound cars sat at a stop light a quarter of a mile away. I had two minutes. I prayed that the magic in my body would make me move like lightning. I put my walker down off the curb, shuffled my right foot forward, weighted it, and matched it to my left. Then I advanced the walker again, shuffling, and matching feet a thousand times. As the cars barreled towards me, I focused on the repetitive motion, and climbed El Cap in a day.
Slowly, very, very slowly, I learned how to walk without assistance. After more surgeries and more physical therapy, I shrugged off most of my handicaps. 381 days after my fall, I climbed again. My life as a 23-year-old baby sucked. People always ask me what I learned. It annoys me because the experience merely reiterated things I already knew about myself.
I want my independence. I want to do things for myself. I have a hard time asking people for help. The hardest part of the whole experience was dealing with those basic things. This was just a huge cry for help. Some days I feel like it is unanswered. On the better days it feels like I am answering it myself.
I posted this the other day for two hours and totally blew the chance of getting it published in Rock & Ice. Oh well. It's like Stephen Wright said, "I once went to a premature ejaculator's meeting. I left earlier." Anyway, I wanted to share this. I hope it helps some people out.
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Nohea
Trad climber
Aiea,Hi
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Dec 29, 2008 - 03:55pm PT
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Damn James, I remember reading about your fall here at the tacostand. It was something to read of your recovery,and get updates on your progress, good on you, I am sure it was not easy. Took me 20 years to graduate and I am glad I did, I wish you well on finishing yours!
Aloha,
wil
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Jaybro
Social climber
wuz real!
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Dec 29, 2008 - 04:10pm PT
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Lightning strikes again.
Good work James, thanks.
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rhyang
climber
SJC
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Dec 29, 2008 - 04:30pm PT
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I hear you James. Congrats !
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Barbarian
Trad climber
all bivied up on the ledge
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Dec 29, 2008 - 04:53pm PT
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James,
I was awed to read of your struggle and how you worked to recover from your injuries. I hope that you continue to use your climbing experiences to overcome the other obstacles you face in your future.
You fell and you got back up. Bravo! You totally rock!
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Jaybro
Social climber
wuz real!
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Dec 29, 2008 - 04:55pm PT
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are you still local, James?
going to wide tuesday tomorrow?
still have that yellow metolius for sale?
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Clint Cummins
Trad climber
SF Bay area, CA
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Dec 29, 2008 - 04:59pm PT
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It's not about the fall, but what happens when you are hurt bad and have to rely on others to help you heal back up.
It is a tough transition from being able to float up climbs to not being able to move or take care of yourself. I've been there, too. I realized at one point that one of my "coping mechanisms" was to be mean to the people working in the hospital, and create my own problems to solve. I was used to dealing with challenges, not sitting passively.
One thing that surprised me was that people spent so much $$ just to fix up me, an idiot who fell off while fooling around. I felt like I hadn't earned it. So I vowed to get more serious about school - I even considered a change of career for awhile. I also tried to give up climbing, thinking I could simply replace it with chess or something. But that didn't work - my best friends were climbers, and chess is missing a lot of things that climbing has.
One of the entertaining scenes in my later rehab was when I was starting to heal my broken leg, but was not quite weight-bearing yet. My mom, though, had this idea that I should get out and drive the car (stick shift with no power brakes). I didn't think it was a good idea and said so, but she still thought it was good so I figured I would humor her. So we go out and head down the big hill near our house. There is an intersection at the bottom, though. A car stopped in front of us so I had to brake. But the pain was too great to brake normally with my right foot. So I had to lunge for the emergency brake and swap in my left foot on the main brake. Fortunately this was enough to do the job. My mom understood and drove us back home.
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Tarbuster
climber
right here, right now
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Dec 29, 2008 - 07:27pm PT
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That was a good one James!
I think what really makes it work by and large is that it's not so self-referential. That's hard to do with such a personal topic, but you pulled it off and and made it tick by broadening the reader's focus, framing the experience, drawing us out there just enough, out into other people's trips and reactions.
Isolation can be posited as an interactive experience.
Speaking of self-referential; I'm glad you didn't publish it in Rock and Ice, because I may never have had the pleasure of reading it!!!
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survival
Big Wall climber
A Token of My Extreme
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Dec 29, 2008 - 07:32pm PT
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Wow James, amazing story. Good job on fighting your way back.
How hard was the thing where you fell? Not that it matters much, just curious.
I think you should definitely submit it and then submit it again, wherever you need to. It will get published for sure.
Even Outdoor, Backpacker, or Mens Health would do it I think.
What are your thoughts on soloing now?
Good luck in all you do.
Bruce
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dogtown
climber
Cheyenne,Wyoming
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Dec 29, 2008 - 07:44pm PT
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One HELL of a journey James. Thanks
All the best,Bruce
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Karl Baba
Trad climber
Yosemite, Ca
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Dec 29, 2008 - 07:55pm PT
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Thanks for posting that James
you wrote
"People always ask me what I learned. It annoys me because the experience merely reiterated things I already knew about myself. "
Actually, you should search out your Supertopo postings before your accident and then again after your accident. You might have changed more than you think
peace
Karl
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MH2
climber
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Dec 29, 2008 - 08:03pm PT
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It's always good to hear from the other side of the gurney. In the health care field it is true that an adversarial relationship sometimes works best, for both sides.
"We don't think you'll ever walk again."
"Oh, yeah?"
But plain honesty is usually best.
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Binks
Social climber
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Dec 29, 2008 - 08:03pm PT
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Raises interesting questions about injuries, illnesses etc. Are we better people because of what suffering shows us? My personal opinion: I don't think so. I think I'm at my best when I've been at my strongest.
One thing I've gained from setbacks is a dose of compassion and gratitude for so called "normal" health. I feel silly when I catch myself getting upset by "the little things". I've also gained a great appreciation for the body's ability to fix itself.
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Ricardo Cabeza
climber
Warner, NH
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Dec 29, 2008 - 08:18pm PT
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James,
Thank you. As one who has been with a friend who has suffered a terrible fall, thanks for putting into words what you went through. Be well man.
B-
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James
climber
My twin brother's laundry room
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Topic Author's Reply - Dec 29, 2008 - 08:53pm PT
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Thanks for all the thoughts. Frankly I don't like this version of the story...probably best that it did not get published. It is incomplete, maybe more, a work in progress-like myself. I want to say something about anyone being able to do this sort of thing. Healing begins with a belief in yourself.
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nasagal
Trad climber
South Bay SF
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Dec 29, 2008 - 08:57pm PT
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I'm still sitting here thinking about what you wrote 30 minutes later.
thanks for sharing your painful awareness....
I'm sure your words express less than half of what you really think & feel;
long times alone, isolation, with an imagined future in sharp contrast to the now....layers of fears and what you have to face to have victory through these new mountains and valleys.
I've said to myself, "it won't always be like this...some days are good and some not-so-good" but I have changed through those days, nights, weeks, months and years.
gifts for you this Season,
love, peace, resurrection, (from the old)
hope,
there's more too...
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tradcragrat
Trad climber
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Dec 29, 2008 - 10:17pm PT
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James,
I read about your accident. I also read that you have returned to soloing. Your passion, mental fortitude, and committment are VERY impressive.
You're also a damn good writer. (let's have this piece not be the last you post on the taco, yes?)
cheers
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Ezra
Social climber
WA, NC, Idaho Falls
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Dec 29, 2008 - 11:32pm PT
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Glad you made it back to climb again, best wishes and safe climbs.
A very powerful story!
-e
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maculated
Trad climber
San Luis Obispo, CA
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Dec 29, 2008 - 11:32pm PT
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Great one, J. Great.
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SammyLee2
Trad climber
Memphis, TN
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Dec 30, 2008 - 12:53pm PT
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James,
Nice post. I remember when you soloed Sythe's Sicle (sp) and thought that was a great story. It was more than one of those "sweaty palms" posts. Later I read about your fall. I never said, "He had it coming" or words to that effect. We do what we will and sh!t happens sometimes.
I am glad that your recovery is going well and that you share you great writing skills with us. Please continue.
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