Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.
~1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 NLT
MY FAMILY was very close and we’d always been there for each other, but going through my injury and recovery together brought our family to a whole new level of closeness. Everything we shared was more emotional and intimate than anything we’d ever experienced before. Seeing how much my family and my sisters in particular wanted to be there for me, and how much they looked forward to being with me on the weekends made me realize how blessed I was to have them in my life. My injury and lengthy hospital stay after the death of a high school friend and during a time when I lost my maternal grandmother helped me recognize the value of all the relationships in my life.
But like a typical eighteen-year-old, I initially took my family’s support for granted, not realizing how vital they were to my recovery and how important it was to have them by my side. I spent most of my non-therapy hours in my room for the first couple of weeks. During that time, the nurses, therapists, and doctors all commented on how great my family was, and what a huge support they were for me because they didn’t see that kind of devotion very often. I’d kind of shrug off their comments because that was just my family acting like my family. If I had a game or a part in a play growing up, they’d be there. If my sisters had an event, we’d go, no questions asked.
Even when I went to college, my parents came to all the home games and the away games if they weren’t too far. I wouldn’t have blamed them for staying home—I wasn’t a starter and I wasn’t on the field very much, but I loved having them there. After home games, they’d take me out to eat in Decorah.
I was so busy at school that I didn’t do a great job of communicating with my family, but that didn’t stop them from driving three hours to see me stand on the sidelines and get into the game for a handful of plays. It wasn’t until further along in the rehab process when I began to see other people—even people around my age—going through therapy with no one there to help or support them that I truly realized how blessed I was to have my family by my side.
For the first two weeks I was in the hospital, having my whole family around meant I never felt alone. I could ask them for anything. I had a nurse, of course, but she wouldn’t sit in the room right next to me like my parents did. If I needed a drink, wanted to watch something on TV, needed food, or anything at all, they were right there. They came to every PT session, helped me get into my chair, and were a fantastic support. They wanted to make my time in the hospital as comfortable and easy on me as possible.
There were some awkward times when I felt uncomfortable having my family around because I was more exposed, like when I had to go to the bathroom or take a shower, but I would have been uncomfortable with anyone at that point. By far, the most awkward part of my hospital stay was being washed by a stranger. The alternative involved transferring to a shower chair, but that process included the uncomfortable and painful lift system. I still had a lot of neck pain, and I didn’t like water touching the surgery site or having my head scrubbed because it was so sensitive, so a sponge bath in bed and all its embarrassment was the best choice.
But that didn’t make it easy to accept. It was just so weird being washed by someone I didn’t know, a strange woman, or worse—a guy. The hospital tried to set me up with guy nurses because they thought that would make me feel more comfortable, but that was not the case. I’d rather have a woman any day of the week. The truth was, I hated every part of personal care. Every. Single. Part. Having a stranger see me naked, wash me down, and touch every part of me caused all of the anger, fear, and disgust over my situation to pool under a heavy blanket of shame. Every time I needed to use the bathroom, shower, or brush my teeth, I was reminded of just how low I’d fallen. And it hurt.
The nurses did the best they could to ease my discomfort. They’d tell me beforehand what they were going to do, and they encouraged me to tell them if they ever did anything wrong or did something that made me feel uncomfortable. In fact, they preached about how important it was to be an advocate for my care. Once I knew the routine, it was easy to speak up for myself, and their attitude and professionalism lessened my anxiety. The level of care and attention I received only reinforced that I was where I needed to be, doing everything I could to get better. The rest was in God’s hands.
After two weeks, my mom and sisters left, which was hard on both my dad and me. I loved having my mom around because I felt so comfortable with her loving support, and my sisters were a great source of entertainment. They’d run to my room and hug me, and their love and the joy they seemed to feel at being with me lifted my spirits. I fed off their energy. We’d laugh together and they’d constantly poke me and rub me, so it was livelier with them around. I wished they could have stayed, but I understood my mom had to go to work, and my sisters needed to get back to class.
One night, maybe a month or two after my injury, it was just Katie who stayed. After the usual where-am-I-touching-you games and talk, she very seriously asked how I was feeling and how things were going. She got really quiet for a minute after I answered, staring down at her hands before she lifted her eyes to mine. It hit me like a punch in the face when I saw the tears glistening in her eyes.
“I wish it was me,” she said, as her chin quivered. “I wish it was me going through this. I would trade places with you in a heartbeat.”
The depth of her feelings, and the sincerity of her words, left me speechless.
“You’re so motivated and so driven,” she continued. “You had so much going for you. I just hate that you’re going through this. I wish it was me.”
I got emotional hearing how much she looked up to me and how much she loved me. She meant every word. She would have traded places with me without hesitation. I was totally blown away by her unselfish display of love, and her admission reaffirmed that despite my circumstances, I was very blessed.
“He is the one person I know that can get through something like this and never lose hope or give up.”
~ Katie Norton, Chris’s sister
Having my dad around was an incredible comfort to me, particularly when the rest of my family left to go home. He and Mom had talked and he wanted to stay, go through rehab with me, and make sure I wasn’t alone. He said we’d beat this—we—because it would never be me on my own. I loved him for that and for his confidence in the outcome. It was awesome that his job allowed him to stay with me so I could just focus on getting better.
My hero and coach never left my side. He gave great advice, and if I ever felt bad about something, he knew the right thing to say to get me back on track. He always pushed me to make the best of myself growing up, and he was able to do the same during therapy. He helped motivate me, he got along really well with my therapists, and he was fun to be around too.
He kept telling me how proud he was of me, and while it felt good to hear him say that, I was still the same person inside. I didn’t feel any different, or think my attitude ever changed. I was just as determined to get better and improve myself after the injury as I was growing up in regards to school and athletics, but this time the goal wasn’t a good grade or a state championship. The outcome meant so much more to my life. With my back against the wall, there was only one way to go—move ahead and get better. I had no other choice. I think a lot of people in my situation would have done the same, but from the outside looking in, it probably seemed like an overwhelming task.
My dad slept over every night. I felt reassured having him right next to me if I ever needed anything or wanted to talk. We really didn’t have much downtime, but at night if we weren’t reading CaringBridge, we’d watch TV, or I’d Skype, or talk with friends. Sometimes, he’d wheel me down to the cafeteria, or up to the top floor of St. Mary’s and hang out, or just explore and get us both out of the room.
My dad and I learned a lot about each other that we never would have known otherwise. For example, he likes to repeat things a lot. I called him Captain Repeat. He’d tell the same story over and over again about something that happened the other day or the conversation he had with someone.
My dependence created some awkward situations and a good dose of frustration for both of us. I wanted to have normal privacy to chat with friends and catch up, and I didn’t want to do that with a parent there. It was weird having my dad text my friends for me, and he wasn’t very good with technology or the computer. He was a really slow typist, which made him a really slow texter.
Whenever he wanted to open up a new tab on the Internet, he couldn’t figure out how to do it, no matter how many times I told him. I swear, I showed him how to open up a separate tab twenty times and he instantly forgot. And don’t get me started on his social media skills. He was just completely oblivious to a lot of technology and social media. It was hard to be patient when I had to explain using words because I couldn’t point. I tried to use my eyes, but that never worked.
It didn’t take much to please me, and it took a lot to make me unhappy, but when I needed other people to help with everything, I realized that everyone had their own routine and their own way of doing things. When I was in control and doing everything for myself, the way I like things done went completely unnoticed. Like brushing my teeth, for example. I brush my teeth really hard, and I brush them for a long time, especially in certain spots. When I tried to explain how to brush my teeth and those helping me didn’t understand, I got annoyed. I just wanted to do it myself so it was done right.
Eating was another challenge. I wanted to eat at my own pace, but because anyone feeding me had a meal at the same time, I had to go with their flow. Sometimes I’d get a bite, and then they’d take a bite, and if they weren’t paying attention, they might get a drink and take another bite before feeding me again. I sat there, trying to be patient. Hello? Is it my turn yet?
I soon realized that my dad was a big sauce person. He loved to drown his chips in salsa or drench his french fries in ketchup. I liked a moderate to a minimal amount of sauce. I kept having to say, “No, too much ketchup.” He eventually learned to ask how much I wanted before dipping anything in sauce. The little picky things I liked doing my own way made me seem very particular and high maintenance.
Frustration at my dad when eating, brushing my teeth, and communicating with friends was a small price to pay for his twenty-four-hour devotion to my care. I love my dad and loved hanging out with him, but it was nice when my family and friends came up on the weekends. It was good to see some new faces and mix things up a bit. He needed a break from me, and I enjoyed spending time with my mom, sisters, and friends.
It was never a distraction having family and friends around. On the weekends, I had an abbreviated therapy schedule, and other people came at night when I didn’t have therapy and they were done with school or work. In the beginning of my rehab, I needed to sleep a lot when I wasn’t in therapy, and sometimes people came during therapy hours and I couldn’t take time to visit. Sometimes my family had to explain that it wasn’t a good time and why. It was a bit of a balancing act where we really appreciated the people who came, but at the same time I needed to do the work. My family did a great job of helping me focus on therapy by handling unscheduled visitors.
“The tragedy of Chris’s initial injury followed by the miraculous surgery that gave him the chance to work towards recovery was only the beginning. The real story began the next day when Chris started down his path to recovery.”
~ Rich Vickers, Chris’s college roommate and close friend
My mom and sisters got super excited whenever I accomplished something new, and although I never got really excited, I liked that everyone else did. My mom was fun to tease and prank because she was so gullible and emotional, so if I got a movement or a feeling back during the week while she was gone, I’d find a way to surprise her when she arrived on the weekends. When I got movement back in my arm, I told her there was something off with my heartbeat and it was making a weird sound. When she leaned all the way over my chest, I pulled my arm up and put her in a chokehold. She started crying and laughing and got super emotional.
When I wasn’t in therapy, eating, or watching movies, Dad and I had a lot of deep conversations about faith and grit that came out of our talks about game planning. We brainstormed things that would help me get better, and then we discussed the importance of following through. We talked about what it takes to get better, what I had to work on, and the plan to get better. It was an emotional time, so it was natural to rely on God and faith and my own determination. It was a very stressful experience, and talking it out helped to release some anxiety and work things out in my mind.
My injury aimed a spotlight on how close my family was in the same way my work ethic and determination was exposed publically following the injury. We were always close, and I was always resolute in achieving my goals, although CaringBridge and the media’s reporting of my accident and recovery made it seem unusual. Our family’s bond remained as strong as ever, and the only thing that changed was my appreciation for my family’s love and unconditional support.
I did worry about the sacrifices my family was making. I worried about my sisters. Alex came up and visited a lot, and I didn’t want to get in the way of her studies and derail her from becoming a nurse. I worried about Katie giving up basketball in order to be with me on the weekends. My mom and dad assured me that their employers understood and wanted them to be with me, so I never worried about their jobs. Family and friends pitching in and making it as easy as possible for them to be away from home so much took a lot of the stress off my parents, allowing us all to focus on my recovery. Every day brought a new blessing, be it a card from a stranger with words of encouragement, a particularly moving CaringBridge post, or a new sensation in my body.
Despite the uphill battle, I felt surrounded by God’s love.