From time to time we will share excerpts from new books so that you can check out a new title before you buy. Below is a preview of “It’s Good to be Alive“ by Jack Rushton. It is used with permission and courtesy of the publisher.
It’s Good to Be Alive: Observations from a Wheelchair, by Jack Rushton
Chapter One
Twenty-one years ago, 50-year-old Jack Rushton was boogie boarding at Laguna Beach with his family when he had an accident that instantly paralyzed him from the neck down. As Jack struggled to adjust to life in a wheelchair, he realized that he could reach out to people through his words. Through his observations, Jack has touched the lives of family, friends, and many others all over the world. It’s Good to Be Alive contains the best of Jack’s insights on topics such as spiritual paralysis, encouragement, death, and happiness. Funny, inspiring, and down-to-earth, this book will ultimately help you realize that it really is good to be alive.
Observation One
I Wish It Was Yesterday
Westside Story has been one of my favorite Broadway musicals and films since 1962. In a rumble between rival gangs-the Jets and the Sharks-the leader of the Sharks was inadvertently stabbed to death by the leader of the Jets. The police came, the gang members all scattered, and later that night two of the Jets met up with one another. They were visibly shaken by what had happened, and in the ensuing conversation, one of the boys said, “I wish it was yesterday!” That haunting phrase, “I wish it was yesterday,” always captures my attention. When I was lying in the hospital bed after my accident, I was not thinking of West Side Story and the phrase “I wish it was yesterday!” However, those words described my state of mind at that time perfectly.
Around midnight the head neurosurgeon sent all of my friends and family home so he could perform additional tests to determine the extent of my injury. I have never felt more alone than I did when my loved ones departed that night. Yesterday had been beautiful as my family and I acted the part of tourists at the beach. Life couldn’t have been better. There was not a cloud in the horizon of our lives, and it seemed like we would live happily ever after.
As I lay alone in the intensive care unit of the regional trauma center that night, I could not believe what had happened to my family and me. How would we ever get through this tragedy? How would we survive financially? If I were permanently paralyzed, how on earth could I ever endure living this way? Those kinds of questions ran through my mind the entire night, and from the depths of my tortured soul, my heart cried out, “I wish it was yesterday!” I am sorry to report that I cried, “I wish it was yesterday” much longer than I would like to admit.
But the day finally came when I understood I could not be at peace or have a productive, meaningful life, unless I eliminated the phrase “I wish it was yesterday” from my vocabulary. That kind of thinking leads us nowhere.
Most of us have done something we have regretted or experienced a trial that has made us wish it was yesterday. How we would like to go back to the good old days before the tragic event took place. It is human nature to have that knee-jerk reaction to the challenges life can bring our way.
It has been so since the beginning of time. I wonder if Eve, as she gave birth to her first child, ever thought, “I wish it was yesterday” back in that beautiful garden.
Lot’s wife was challenged as she looked back at Sodom with longing eyes and was turned into a pillar of salt-an inanimate object that could not act but could only be acted upon. She was unable to move forward; her progress came to an abrupt halt, which happens to all of us who live in the past.
Regardless of what may happen to us, we simply must press forward, never looking back. I no longer think, “I wish it was yesterday,” for today is filled with joy and satisfaction.
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Observation Two
My Name Is Jack, I Broke My Back
I believe one of the most frustrating and terrifying experiences a person can have is not being able to communicate, and as a result, not getting the help or reassurance needed to be comforted. The Lord gives babies the ability to cry, which is the only way they can communicate their needs. Though oftentimes annoying to adults, a baby’s cry eventually gets adults’ attention and is a vital tool of communication. Immediately following my accident, I couldn’t speak at all and wasn’t even able to cry out for help.
I was transported to the Mission Viejo Trauma Center by ambulance just hours after breaking my neck. It was nearly dark when the ambulance came to a stop outside the emergency area. The doors to the back of the ambulance swung open, and I was carefully lifted out on the gurney. As someone pushed, others walked beside me, carrying the apparatus that was pumping air into my lungs. I felt helpless and vulnerable laying flat on my back, unable to move or speak, and only seeing ceilings and faces.
The ICU seemed cold and sterile with all the hospital beds lined in a row, divided by curtains. My ears were sensitive to all the strange noises made by various machines that seemed to echo in the dimly lit room. Of course, the machine next to my bed, keeping rhythm with my breathing, seemed to be the loudest. I wondered how long I would have to be attached to it. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day the tube in my mouth running down my throat to my lungs would be removed and I would be able to talk. Then the thought came flooding into my mind: Will I ever breathe on my own again? If not, surely I will die. How does one live without being able to breathe? How does one live and not speak? Will I want to live if I can’t talk or teach?
Later the next afternoon, I learned the awful truth. I was going to surgery to have a tracheotomy so I could breathe from a machine for the rest of my life. I remember thinking, That surgery is a little different from having your appendix or gall bladder removed. The expression “pull the plug” took on new meaning for me.
Although the implantation of the cuffed tracheotomy tube made breathing much more comfortable, the system had its drawbacks. Neither on inspiration or expiration did it allow the airflow to pass through the vocal cords-thus preventing any vocalization. As needs arose, I tried to mouth words and was grateful when family and friends could understand what I was saying. Before long, my children came up with different eye signals for me to use. Then Ron Wilson, a commercial artist and good friend of ours, devised a series of charts, and using my eye signals I was able to communicate even more.
Because of Ron’s chart, I was able to let Jo Anne know that I did not want to be left alone during the night. There were always people during the day, but at night I would become very anxious. A group of men from our church worked out a schedule so that someone would always be with me at night. These wonderful men would sit by my side through the long hours of the night and read to me when I was unable to sleep. One man, sensing my uneasiness in the early morning hours, had a beautiful voice and would softly sing familiar hymns that I loved so much.
As the days passed, I was not given any hope that I would ever speak again. I wondered if I would be able to deal with this on a long-term basis. How could I possibly live under these circumstances? Although I could not vocally pray as I usually did, my silent prayers were heard. Even though I did not know if I would ever walk or breathe again and lead a normal life, I knew that somehow, ultimately, everything would be okay. I had resigned myself to the fact that the vent and I were like Siamese twins, joined at the hip-or at the throat, I should say. I would never go anywhere without it for the rest of my life.
After two weeks, I was transferred to a rehabilitation hospital. As my health improved, about six weeks after my arrival, they traded out my cuffed trach for a cuffless trach, which allowed the air to pass by my vocal cords. I was finally able to talk and announced, “My name is Jack. I broke my back.” As grateful as I was to use my voice again, it wasn’t a normal speech pattern. There would always be a long pause mid-sentence. It made for bad joke telling because I always had to wait for the next breath to come before I could finish what I was saying. Teaching and public speaking seemed to be a thing of the past.
As I grew accustomed to speaking on a vent, the speech therapist introduced me to the Passy-Muir Speaking Valve. To me it was a miracle. It had been invented only five years before I got hurt by David Muir, a creative young man with muscular dystrophy who was frustrated at not being able to speak normally. This little valve (placed just inside the flex tube attached to my neck) forced the air on its way out past the vocal cords and up through the mouth and nasal cavities. In a sense, my head became a wind tunnel. However, I could now speak on the inhale and exhale. “Jack is back,” I said with great hope. Little did I comprehend at the time that the way was being paved for me to lead a functional and productive life while living on a ventilator.
Another piece of technology that we found useful was introduced to us by our good friend, Ken Rogers. He perceived how dangerous it was for Jo Anne to leave me alone in the van while running into a store, even for just a few minutes. Ken, an electrical engineer, thought about the problem for a day or two and then came to our home with some small handheld radios that transmitted an astonishing distance. We used these for some time but have now replaced them with cell phones and Bluetooth technology. Now Jo Anne can leave me in the van with confidence for a few minutes while she takes care of business in her favorite stores. It is comforting to me to say, “Jo Anne, where are you?” More often than not she replies, “I’m at the return desk!” I ask, “How long will you be there?” She responds, “Just a couple of minutes.” Translation: probably twenty or thirty minutes. We are even getting the hang of radio talk, which we still use with our cell phones. I usually say “ten four.” (I have heard radio people use that phrase; I’m not sure what it means, but it sounds very authoritative and knowledgeable). Jo Anne responds with “seven eleven,” which to me makes more sense than “ten four.” When I am finished talking, I always say, “Roger, over and out!” I don’t know what that means either, but I like Jo Anne’s response better than mine as she counters with “In-N-Out.”
When people who are dependent on a ventilator are unable to speak and are having trouble breathing, they make a clicking noise with their tongue, which is the universal call for help. The hope is that someone will hear and understand and come to the rescue. One afternoon while I was working on the computer in my office, my hose dislodged from my throat and landed on my chest. The machine mistook it as still working, and the alarm did not go off. I began clicking my tongue with all my might. Jo Anne and the girls were cooking in the kitchen and did not hear me. However, our little dog, Poco, who looked like the dog on the Taco Bell commercials, came running into my office. He sensed my danger, ran into the kitchen, and barked until Jo Anne came and saved my life. Ever since that day, Taco Bell has been my favorite eating establishment.
Sometimes in the midst of a heated conversation, Jo Anne has been known to pull my air hose off my neck just as I am about to make an important point. End of conversation . . . end of life? Breathing and speaking are the best!
Dad/Grandpa/Jack
Not being able to speak has been hard for me, but harder than that, is not being able to eat normally. I stick my food into the side of my mouth, crush it against my teeth, and hopefully it’s small enough to go down my throat once I push it behind my teeth! As a child, I was very embarrassed about this and in 4th grade I ate lunch in my classroom at school so no one else could watch me eat. My eating abilities haven’t changed, but my attitude about it has. Other people still stare or move to another table in a restruant. I just smile and keep on eating! If I had another way of eating I obviously would be doing it. I have accepted that I eat differently than everyone else and I am okay with it!