too. But you can’t fight Him on it.”
“But I’m making progress in physical therapy. Why should I learn how to write with my mouth? I expect to get the use of my hands back!”
“But,” Diana paused carefully, “what if you don’t get your hands back?”
I didn’t answer right away. The possibility was not even an option as far as I was concerned. I thought, I can give up a year or more of my life to lie here paralyzed. I can even sacrifice my legs and spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair. I won’t complain. But, God, You wouldn’t keep me from getting my hands back and leading a fairly normal life! You wouldn’t leave me like this forever, would You?
“Joni—”
“Yes?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t think about the future just now,” said Diana softly, as if reading my mind. “Let’s just take it one step at a time, like you said.”
“I guess I haven’t been setting my mind toward getting out of here. After all, this is a rehab hospital. I should be concentrating on being rehabilitated, huh?”
The next day, I told Chris Brown, my occupational therapist, that I wanted to learn how to do things using my mouth.
Chris was every bit as pleasant, cheerful, helpful, and encouraging as Joe and Earl, my two physical therapy aides.
“My job,” she explained simply, “is to help you learn how to function out there, in the world.”
“That’s all, huh?” I kidded.
“Well, you’ll be doing all the work. So my job is easy.”
“What are you going to teach me?”
“Well, first, how about learning how to write?”
“Okay, Chris, what do I do?” I asked.
“Hold this pencil in your mouth. Grip it with your teeth, like this,” Chris explained. She held a pencil in her own mouth to demonstrate and placed one in my mouth.
“Okay. Good. See, it’s easy. Uh—not so tight. Don’t clench it in your teeth, or you’ll get writer’s cramp in your jaw,” she joked. “Just hold it firmly so you won’t drop it—tight enough to control it. See?”
“Mm-mff,” I mumbled, meaning I understood.
Chris taught me how to make lines, circles, and other marks. At first these were squiggly and wobbly. But after many hours of practice, I began to have more control.
Finally, I was able to make letters. With determination and concentration, I wrote a letter to mom and dad. It was brief, and the letters were still big, awkward squiggles, but it was writing!
This sense of accomplishment gave me a more positive attitude, and I began to enjoy my therapy, reinforced by the encouragement of a staff and patients who cheered every fragment of progress.
In September, I was taken to Kernans Hospital for a second back operation. I didn’t really want to go, but my protruding backbone was still making it impossible for bedsores on my back and bottom to heal. This hospital was only a mile away from our house in Woodlawn, so it was difficult for me to deal with the emotions of being so close to home, yet knowing I couldn’t return there.
This time the operation was successful, for which I thanked God. However, I still faced fifteen days of lying face down in my Stryker. During this time of recuperation, I had a bout with the flu and did a lot of reading. To balance all the negative, agnostic, and atheistic books I had read earlier, I now turned to the Bible and helpful Christian literature.
Mom patiently held the books for me for hours as I read. Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis was a refreshing change and gave a beautiful balance to all that I’d been reading before. It helped my spiritual outlook tremendously.
On October 15, my birthday, I received a most welcome and appreciated gift—I was finally turned face up! It was a grand occasion. Diana, mom and dad, Jay, and Dick all visited me. While there had been a transition in our relationship from sweethearts to intimate friends, Dick was just as faithful as ever in coming to see me.
Back at Greenoaks, things began to look brighter for me. Because the
“But I’m making progress in physical therapy. Why should I learn how to write with my mouth? I expect to get the use of my hands back!”
“But,” Diana paused carefully, “what if you don’t get your hands back?”
I didn’t answer right away. The possibility was not even an option as far as I was concerned. I thought, I can give up a year or more of my life to lie here paralyzed. I can even sacrifice my legs and spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair. I won’t complain. But, God, You wouldn’t keep me from getting my hands back and leading a fairly normal life! You wouldn’t leave me like this forever, would You?
“Joni—”
“Yes?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t think about the future just now,” said Diana softly, as if reading my mind. “Let’s just take it one step at a time, like you said.”
“I guess I haven’t been setting my mind toward getting out of here. After all, this is a rehab hospital. I should be concentrating on being rehabilitated, huh?”
The next day, I told Chris Brown, my occupational therapist, that I wanted to learn how to do things using my mouth.
Chris was every bit as pleasant, cheerful, helpful, and encouraging as Joe and Earl, my two physical therapy aides.
“My job,” she explained simply, “is to help you learn how to function out there, in the world.”
“That’s all, huh?” I kidded.
“Well, you’ll be doing all the work. So my job is easy.”
“What are you going to teach me?”
“Well, first, how about learning how to write?”
“Okay, Chris, what do I do?” I asked.
“Hold this pencil in your mouth. Grip it with your teeth, like this,” Chris explained. She held a pencil in her own mouth to demonstrate and placed one in my mouth.
“Okay. Good. See, it’s easy. Uh—not so tight. Don’t clench it in your teeth, or you’ll get writer’s cramp in your jaw,” she joked. “Just hold it firmly so you won’t drop it—tight enough to control it. See?”
“Mm-mff,” I mumbled, meaning I understood.
Chris taught me how to make lines, circles, and other marks. At first these were squiggly and wobbly. But after many hours of practice, I began to have more control.
Finally, I was able to make letters. With determination and concentration, I wrote a letter to mom and dad. It was brief, and the letters were still big, awkward squiggles, but it was writing!
This sense of accomplishment gave me a more positive attitude, and I began to enjoy my therapy, reinforced by the encouragement of a staff and patients who cheered every fragment of progress.
In September, I was taken to Kernans Hospital for a second back operation. I didn’t really want to go, but my protruding backbone was still making it impossible for bedsores on my back and bottom to heal. This hospital was only a mile away from our house in Woodlawn, so it was difficult for me to deal with the emotions of being so close to home, yet knowing I couldn’t return there.
This time the operation was successful, for which I thanked God. However, I still faced fifteen days of lying face down in my Stryker. During this time of recuperation, I had a bout with the flu and did a lot of reading. To balance all the negative, agnostic, and atheistic books I had read earlier, I now turned to the Bible and helpful Christian literature.
Mom patiently held the books for me for hours as I read. Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis was a refreshing change and gave a beautiful balance to all that I’d been reading before. It helped my spiritual outlook tremendously.
On October 15, my birthday, I received a most welcome and appreciated gift—I was finally turned face up! It was a grand occasion. Diana, mom and dad, Jay, and Dick all visited me. While there had been a transition in our relationship from sweethearts to intimate friends, Dick was just as faithful as ever in coming to see me.
Back at Greenoaks, things began to look brighter for me. Because the
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