Blindsided - Page 3


In June and early July, a series of complications developed that, in retrospect, were milestones on the path to catastrophe: weakness in both legs, numbness in my left groin and fingers, and problems with bowel incontinence. By mid-July, I was too weak to walk without a walker and was losing the ability to urinate. On July 18, I was up all night with a painfully distended bladder. The next day, I went to the ER and was catheterized. I was given a transfusion because of low blood counts and deemed ready to go home. When I attempted to get up, I collapsed in a heap and couldn't move, precipitating yet another hospital admission. To be suddenly incapable of doing things I'd done all my life, like urinating and getting to my feet, was unspeakably terrifying and bewildering.

I recovered sufficiently to be discharged on August 8, able once again to get about on a walker. My symptoms were presumed to be part of a severe peripheral neuropathy involving my legs, bladder, rectum, and anal spincter that would resolve itself with recovery from the treatment. Faye and I hoped that walking with a walker was the foundation from which we'd build toward a return to normal functioning.

I awakened on August 16 unable to feel any sensations in my buttocks. I was so used to setbacks that I didn't panic at first. But as the morning progressed, I lost movement and sensation in my feet, legs, and torso. Whatever was happening, it was beyond anything I'd experienced, and I was terrified. I was rushed by ambulance to the ER and admitted to the ICU. The events of the next 24 hours were the most surreal and frightening of my life. Myelitis, an inflammation of the spinal cord at one level that blocks neurological function everywhere at that level and below, was ascending up my spine with the lethal potential to reach my brain stem. With megadoses of intravenous steroids the doctors eventually were able to halt the myelitis and even gain a little ground. However, when the dust cleared, I was paralyzed from the sternum (T7) down. The explanation that eventually emerged was that my spinal cord had probably been injured at multiple levels by the methotrexate injections.

Initially, Faye and I simply couldn't accept that I'd never walk again. I was told that failure to have any sensation or movement below my chest after six weeks would be conclusive that the paralysis was permanent, so each day included tests of sensation by pinprick, a finger, or a pen at various points of my body. I often had dreams in which I discovered that I could walk. Others in the dream didn't seem to notice the significance of my walking, and I had to call their attention to it. Then we'd all rejoice. These dreams stopped when the six weeks were over and my hopes of walking were extinguished forever.

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