A few years after my husband’s initial accident, a second freak accident took us by surprise. It happened when my paralyzed husband fell out of his motorized wheelchair and broke one of his legs.
At the time, we lived way out in the “boonies” and wildlife was everywhere on our property. This included armadillos, who were relentless in their obsession with digging holes on our property.
Armadillos holes and wheelchairs are not compatible. We learned this the hard way when the front wheels of his wheelchair chair fell into two perfectly spaced holes in our yard dug by armadillos.
You just can’t make this stuff up!
The crazy part is this: when we started the day, the riding mower’s battery was dead. So, we had to jump-start it using our van’s battery before we could even start mowing. After we finally got it started, my hubby gave me explicit instructions. “Whatever happens while you are mowing, DON’T TURN THE MOWER OFF! We don’t want to have to jump start it again.”
He used to enjoy sitting outside and watching me mow. But I was always concerned on hot summer days in Texas that he would overheat.
The reason for my concern was that quadriplegics – like certain animals – do not sweat. In the case of spinal cord injured people, nerve endings that would otherwise communicate with sweat glands, are dead.
If a quad overheats, it is not an easy task to get them cooled down to the proper temperature. This can cause other serious medical issues.
Also, some of the medications he was on included warning labels about the dangers of too much exposure to the sun. He was also a pale-skinned red-head whose skin did not tolerate the sun’s rays, even before his injury.
As I mowed a sloping part of our yard that led down to our barn, he parked his motorized wheelchair at the top of the hill. I made several broad circles from the top of the slope to the bottom of that section of our land. There was a large oak tree half-way down the slope that provided some shade from the blazing sun. But he remained at the top of the hill where the ground was level and there was no shade to shield him.
Every time I passed by where he was sitting, I observed him getting more and more red-faced. This was a clear sign that he was indeed overheating. This, despite the full jug of ice water on his Lexan lap board and the damp towel wrapped around his neck. As a conscientious caregiver, it was my job to keep him safe.
On one pass at the top of the hill, I waved at him. I gestured that he looked too hot and pointed toward the air-conditioned house. He nodded and started to turn his chair around and head inside. My back was to him as I proceeded to mow in the direction of the barn.
When I got to the bottom of the slope, I looked up and was shocked to see his wheelchair siting there, EMPTY!
In a schizophrenic moment, I froze. Should I turn off the mower, or not before running uphill to find out what happened? This is stupid, I thought. With great haste, I dismissed the thought and threw the mower into neutral, leaving it running.
When I arrived at the top of the slope, I saw him lying face down on the ground, with one of his legs in a very awkward position. It did not look good.
I screamed and ran toward him, falling to my knees. He calmly told me to roll him over on his back and straighten both legs. As I did so, one leg straightened without a problem. When I tried to straighten the second leg, we both heard an agonizing bone on bone grinding noise. He explained to me that that leg had hit his lapboard as he fell out of the chair. It was obvious that it was a bad break. My heart sank.
He assured me he felt no pain. He then instructed me to retrieve his wheelchair and to place the larger back wheels behind him. This would enable him to prop up against it in a sitting position.
The front wheels of his wheelchair were still firmly lodged in the armadillo holes they had fallen into. I wrestled with the 200-pound chair, attempting to follow his instructions. At that time, I weighed in at a mere 115 pounds, so getting his chair out of the holes was a real challenge, even though it was a power chair.
The minutes ticked by, and with them, my anxiety levels grew.
Once he was in a stable sitting position, leaning back on his chair, I ran toward the house to call an ambulance. Covered in grass, dirt and sweat, I grabbed the phone to make the 911 call. I gave the dispatcher directions to our property (six miles out of town).
I told the emergency dispatcher to tell the ambulance drivers that I would stand at the end of our 1/4-mile driveway to flag them down. This was critical because neither our farmhouse nor the barn were visible from the road. I would need to lead them to where my husband was sitting.
I then ran outside to the end of our driveway near the barn where my husband was sitting. I gave him fresh ice water, wiped him down with a cold towel and explained everything to him. I then raced to the end of the driveway to stand there and watch for the ambulance.
It seemed like an eternity before I finally saw the vehicle turn the corner on the county road that ran in front of our property. I started waving my arms and jumping up and down to get their attention.
I was shocked seconds later when the ambulance breezed right by me and disappeared down a hill! Either the driver hadn’t seen me, or dismissed me. If the latter, it was my guess that it was because I looked like some wild and crazy teenager waving as if I were at a parade. I’m quite sure I looked the part, standing at the end of our driveway, dressed in a tank-top, shorts and flip-flops, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.
This happened in the days before cell phones existed. So, if they didn’t realize their error and turn around in the next few minutes, I would need to run back to the house, an 1/8 of a mile trek to call them from our land line again.
Then, I would need to run 1/8 of a mile in the opposite direction to inform my husband of what had happened. I feared that by the time I got back down to the end of the driveway, the ambulance would miss me again. Time was of the essence. I felt like a long distance runner training for the Olympics.
My fear of missing the ambulance almost came true. The ambulance driver did turn around and FINALLY turned into our driveway. I led them to my where my injured husband sat waiting and we proceeded to explain to the paramedics what had happened just under an hour earlier.
By now, I was frantic about getting him into an air-conditioned area ASAP and cooling him down.
The loud buzzing of the motor on the lawn mower was still running. While the paramedics worked to get him stabilized for the ride to the hospital, I ran down the hill and turned it off. I didn’t even have time to change my clothes.
Fifteen minutes later, they loaded him into the ambulance on a stretcher. I took a deep breath, relieved. I jumped in our car and followed the ambulance down the road. We were finally on our way to the hospital.
What started as an average day on the farm turned into a heart-pounding caregiving adventure.
~ END OF PART ONE ~
Check back soon for part two of this incredible caregiving adventure.