A sense of humor aided his recovery, too, and made it possible not to
be consumed by pain and worry, although there was one thing about which
he had difficulty laughing--his helplessness. He was embarrassed about
being assisted with his basic bodily functions and subjected to regular
enemas to counteract the effects of extreme inactivity. Week after
week, the lack of privacy in those matters became more rather than less
humiliating.
It was even worse to be trapped in bed, in the rigid grip of the cast,
unable to run or walk or even crawl if a sudden catastrophe struck.
Periodically he became convinced that the hospital was going to be
swept by fire or damaged in an earthquake. Although he knew the staff
was well trained in emergency procedures and that he would not be
abandoned to the ravages of flames or the mortal weight of collapsing
walls, he was occasionally seized by an irrational panic, often in the
dead of night, a blind terror that squeezed him tighter and tighter,
hour after hour, and that succumbed only gradually to reason or
exhaustion.
By the middle of May, he had acquired a deep appreciation and limitless
admiration for quadriplegics who did not let life get the best of
them.
At least he had the use of his hands and arms, and he could exercise by
rhythmically squeezing rubber balls and doing curls with light hand
weights.
He could scratch his nose if it itched, feed himself to some extent,
blow his nose. He was in awe of people who suffered permanent
below-the-neck paralysis but held fast to their joy in life and faced
the future with hope, because he knew he didn't possess their courage
or character, no matter whether he was voted favorite patient of the
week, month, or century.
If he'd been deprived of his legs and hands for three months, he would
have been weighed down by despair. And if he hadn't known that he
would get out of the bed and be learning to walk again by the time
spring became summer, the prospect of long-term helplessness would have
broken his sanity.
Beyond the window of his third-floor room, he could see little more
than the crown of a tall palm tree. Over the weeks, he spent countless
hours watching its fronds shiver in mild breezes, toss violently in
storm winds, bright green against sunny skies, dull green against
somber clouds. Sometimes birds wheeled across that framed section of
the heavens, and Jack thrilled to each brief glimpse of their flight.
He swore that, once back on his feet, he would never be helpless
again.
He was aware of the hubris of such an oath, his ability to fulfill it
depended on the whims of fate. Man proposes, God disposes. But on
this subject he could not laugh at himself. He would never be helpless
again. Never. It was a challenge to God: Leave me alone or kill me,
but don't put me in this vise again.
Jack's division captain, Lyle Crawford, visited him for the third time
in the hospital on the evening of June third.
