By John E. Smith, Guest Writer, 3-28-07

MY BOYS TOOK unique paths on their way to finding themselves by getting lost. Noah opted to postpone college following high school. Instead, he spent eight months in Africa. First, he visited family in Kenya and then participated in a community service program in South Africa. He returned to the states and enrolled at the U of O to pursue studies in Theatre and Spanish. He spent the summer prior to 9/11 in Mexico in a language immersion program. He was all set to study in Chile for his junior year. I anticipated being there with him if even only through his letters. Then, to put it succinctly, something happened.

Ike’s interests are less cerebral but equally adventurous. He dropped out of college after two terms of idle beer drinking. My wife and I fussed over his indifference to education. Following an indecisive several months at home, he headed to Mammoth Lakes, California. There, he apprenticed as a “park builder” at America’s primo freestyle ski area, Mammoth Mountain. Park builders construct the half pipes, place rails for freestyle tricks, and build ramps and landing areas for the acrobatics of skiers and snow boarders. I might fluff this up a little more, but essentially, he is a ski bum. I say that with great affection and respect. For how can I admonish him for a footloose lifestyle when, secretly, I am jealous? He was enjoying his second year at Mammoth when he got “the call.”

The police report says 1:16 in the afternoon. Noah was returning to school following Thanksgiving. He was on the Delta Highway in Eugene, the 105. Witnesses state that a wheel came loose from a truck heading in the opposite direction to Noah. It struck the median barrier between lanes and launched into the air. The wheel crashed into Noah’s small pickup precisely above his head. Given the speed of these opposing forces, the cab collapsed and broke his neck.

Noah’s truck rolled to a stop without a secondary collision. That fortuitous occurrence probably saved his life. Several subsequent events completed the bad luck, good luck scenario. A police cruiser was on the scene immediately. An out-of-service ambulance responded within minutes. Traction was applied to his neck by an EMT while the “jaws of life” cut away the demolished roof. He had surgery within three hours to relieve the compression on his spinal cord. The other driver was uninsured.

NOAH HAS NO RECOLLECTION of the drama. It is an entirely lost day. Of course, he got whacked on the head pretty hard. Perhaps he should be dead given the circumstances. There were moments in the weeks afterward when he wished death had come to pass. But he didn’t die and he is now glad that is so.

A chipped tooth, a small puncture wound on the back of his left hand, and a burst fracture of the C7 Vertebrae in his neck; these were the extent of his injuries. The wound healed, our dentist fixed the tooth, but the bone fragments compressing his spinal cord were not so straightforward. Though the pieces were removed and the spinal cord decompressed, paralysis from the nipples down resulted, nonetheless.

Noah spent 11 days on the trauma ward at Sacred Heart Hospital adjacent to the University campus. Then he transferred to the Rehabilitation Institute of Oregon (RIO) at Good Samaritan Hospital in Portland, OR. After nine weeks, he was released to our tentative care.

We are blue collar Oregonians. We layer ourselves in fleece, put studs in our tires, and have an inflated “kids in college” mortgage. Professional caregivers were never an option for our family. We did it ourselves because we had to. Ike, who had spent so much of his growing up emulating Noah, was asked early on to help his brother with the most basic of needs related to acute SCI. He never hesitated.

Care giving introduces one to the physical and spiritual details of a broken neck. It is Groundhog Day hospice - the patient does not die, he or she just continues to endure the stasis that is paralysis, assisted by personal care attendants. The routines and procedures of today are repeated tomorrow and the next day and the next. Peer into the kaleidoscope of paralysis and you view anger, boredom, immodesty, heartache, and mercy twirling together in garish symmetry.

Ike’s blithe spirit ventured into this crucible. He brought skills to bear I lacked or had lost under duress. I was the crestfallen father, coping poorly. For him, this was like another daunting slope. You tighten your bindings, snap on your goggles, and head down. All any of us could do was to make Noah feel valued, but Ike did it best. In return, Noah refused to give up on seeing what he could make of this mess.

He progressed over the first 16 months from near total dependence to a Quad capable of living independently. He drives, manages his personal hygiene, and, in a slow-motion way, rolls onward with his life.

In the last four years, I’ve met many families wandering on their own troublesome journeys through the landscape of SCI. Everyone expects parents will nurture their children in such circumstances. But when siblings or friends provide extraordinary support, the love aspires to sacrament.

Noah’s accident gave our family an opportunity to experience stewardship and service. We saw aspects of each other that would otherwise be unknown. None of us wanted this and yet, well - there ya go.

NOAH’S DEGREE is neither an end nor a beginning. Remarkable? Perhaps from the perspective of low expectations that characterize Disability clichés, but a college degree is something less than a fairy tale come true. Noah continues to subsist in the bubble world of fundraisers and welfare. At best, his BA is a handhold on a precipice with the Disability Gulag waiting, should he lose his grip.

Some try to pin the badge of inspiration on us. Fine. Thanks for the compliment. However, I remain suspicious of the “courage in the face of adversity” label. It is a distraction. I don’t doubt the sincerity or the gut reaction of others. But I am wary of the condescension. For not only do the disabled misfit physically, they are also square pegs in the round holes of our emotions. In an attempt to tidy up our confused feelings, we place them on a pedestal. This is a mistake. By tossing them the bone of admiration we assert a bias; the equivalent of telling a woman athlete she is pretty good, for a girl.

Ike, better than any of us, gets it. He knows, intuitively, that high among what his brother misses most is exploration and risk-taking. Accordingly, he insures that his own youthful bravado sometimes includes Noah. They can’t jump off cliffs together, but there are still escapades.

Last summer, they traversed the Columbia River in a two person kayak and toured the coves along the Washington shore. I thrilled at the reckless spontaneity of their caper. The accompanying anxiety reminded me that fragility is a state of mind. I’m not certain what Ike thinks about when he is flying upside down above the ice and snow. The parent in me hopes it is his landing. Yet I would not be surprised if it were something along the lines of, “Next time; higher!”

I salute the self-confidence that allows him to occasionally soar above reason. All the caution in the world would not have spared Noah from the coincidence that changed his life irrevocably. So, yes, I am proud of their pluck, even when it’s escorted by an element of danger.

Ike now plies his trade at Mt. Hood Meadows, closer to home. Whenever possible, he is skiing and stealing scenes in the underground videos so popular to the fringe world of freestyle.

Noah intends to seek his kicks at a yet to be determined law school, preferably far away from our hovering. His need for assistance and the desire for independence are linked until science paves the hostile topography of spinal cord injuries. His self-reliance still comes with an asterisk — but he yearns for the privacy of a personal quest.

Sure, I would choose another course than the one we are on. Quadriplegia does not end with a handshake and a diploma. Long after the applause, the fund-raisers, the sympathy and empathy, the paralysis remains. But I would not choose another son and this is his course.

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"An Oregon Tale", appeared on New West Columbia Gorge.

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John E. Smith, a husband, father, writer, and area postmaster is from Hood River, Oregon. Smith writes commentary on disability issues and scientific research relating to paralysis. He also advocates for the spinal cord injured community and, by Extension, for those living with any neuro-degenerative condition. Smith blogs about his book-in-progress here. Photo Credits: John E. Smith, Joey Gottlieb, Scott Conerly, Nikki Guerra and the incomparable Scott Pruett on the Think Pink pics.