Happy Birthday Michael.

I spent a lot of time in the car since my last post. 

It is really amazing where your mind goes when you are driving, isn't it?

Of course we go through the day to day, focused and on a mission but it is like we are wearing a patch over our eyes and the patch has the "button's" face on it.

The "button" is everywhere.

I cannot discuss the "button" and his progress or diagnosis.  Funny, but I feel like I am protecting him by not discussing this.  Or maybe, just maybe, I am not there yet.

In the past 19 days, I have been researching, absorbing, reading, processing, digesting spinal cord injuries, Thoracic paraplegics, rehabs (again!) symptoms, reviews, what to expect, depression, case managers, Risk Managers, "advocates", your voice and just going into full time mother mode.

It is apparent when I was reading my MSN Horoscope for the Year 2017, I missed the fine print where it said "hold on with both hands, the ride in 2017 is going to take you places you never imagined.  Most days will suck but there will be light at the end of the tunnel.  Hold on until the ride comes to a complete stop because there will be days when you are not really sure when things are coming to a complete stop, if ever."

Yeah, missed that fine print. 

And as wild and crazy as things have been, I have been blessed.  Our family has been blessed.  Not just with great friends and family and some really good enchiladas and lasagna, but I got to attend an amazing birthday party.

Hours after I arrived at the "button's" hospital, I was whisked away by social workers, case management workers, victims advocates and doctors.  All suggested that I check out the spinal cord and brain injury rehab hospital down the road. 

Ok, sounds like a plan.

But first I had to call.
It was during this phone call that I was told, "wait, you do understand that your son isn't going to walk again, you do understand this, right?"

I have heard the expression, "the air left my body" or "kicked in the gut" but I never knew what that could feel like. 

I do now.  I felt the air from my liver, spleen, gall bladder, whatever, rise and depart.  It lasted a good 18 seconds.  I didn't speak.  I couldn't.  I just sat.

And then I said, "I will be there shortly."

I had no idea what to expect and why should I?  I thought I was going to visit a hospital so they could fix my son and off we would both go.  I didn't comprehend that he was going to a REHAB hospital to learn to get in a out of a wheelchair.

So, off I went.

I walked into the one wing of the building and it was mostly a recreation center.  I went this direction because I was following some young boys.  They seemed much more confident than me so I followed them.

Upon arriving, they turned right and entered the Rec Room.  I looked inside and saw some parents, grandparents and the back of a man in a wheelchair.  I noticed the bags and could tell he wasn't breathing independently.

I just looked at the back of this wheel chair and it all began to penetrate my heart.  And the air started leaving my body again.

I was waiting for my friend to finish her phone call when the group asked me if I had a lighter.  I was shocked they were speaking and even more shocked to tell them that I did indeed have a lighter in my pocket.  I found it on the plane of all places so I walked over and handed the mom the lighter.

It was Michael's birthday.  They lit the candles, 16 of them and sang and then his tearful mom blew out the candles for her son.  Michael turned his wheelchair around and I noticed that he only had use of his left little finger.  His independence with his pinky finger.  Just one. 

And then the young boys did a  roast, "The Sixteen Reasons we Need to Celebrate Michael's Birthday".  While I tried to listen to the roast, I was lost, all inside jokes...but the time and effort his friends put into this was heartwarming.

And then one of the boys mentioned it was Michael's 45th day here at rehab.  I dropped something and bent over to pick it up.  This is when I noticed the ET microphone going to his mouth.

This is when I lost it.  All of those organs in my body that had lost all of their air, they all crunched up into a little ball and sent my tear ducts into over drive.

As the boys finished....for the first time in 45 days, Michael spoke.  In his ET, new mechanical voice, he uttered a simple, "thank you."

His mom and dad, lost it.

I lost it.  I cannot see anything anymore without my cheaters and even I could see the crocodile tears coming from Michael's face. 

I swear to you, I was supposed to find that lighter and crash this party.  Yes, my son was two vertebrae from being Michael.  My son's vertebrae healed.  My son could have been this young man.  Any mom's son could have been this young man.

My son could blow out his own birthday candles.  What a blessing.  He could blow out his birthday candles.  I kept saying it over and over again, "he can blow out his birthday candles".

We toured the facility and walked to the car.  There wasn't a whole lot to say.

I have never been so humbled in my life.  I have never felt so inadequate in my life.  I have never been in a place where there was such a positive, loving vibe in my life.  There were people who had been working there since 1985 helping folks like Michael daily.  I sell commercials that everyone hates.

The only thing missing in the car was Olivia Newton John's "Have you Never been Mellow" playing on the radio.  Olivia sings the one song that just depresses me to no end.  Music to slash your wrists by.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, I looked over and saw about 11 young men, all in wheel chairs, wheeling into a bar dressed in their garb...obviously fans.  I could see them drinking a few beers, eating chicken wings, laughing and clapping, hooping and hollering all confined to their wheel chairs.

I have thought about Michael everyday since.  I think of him several times a day.  I think of his parents. 

I think about the left pinky, his independence.  His spared finger.  His mobility finger.  His lifeline.  I think about how happy he must be with this finger.  This pinky is his WILSON.

I think about my son.  He regained the use of his hands and arms.  He can blow out his candles.  He can speak (goodness knows I wouldn't have been crushed if his larynx wasn't injured for about seven months) and he can go into a bar and cheer on his team. 


Funny, Michael had the party, I received the gift.  I was supposed to be there.  I was supposed to be slapped in the face with what could have been and left with, what was going to be. 

Happy Birthday Michael.