Paralyzed get message of hope

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Greg Anderson zipped along in his motorized wheelchair through a hallway and into a resident's room with the words "Faith Hope Love" painted on the wall.

Anderson's message of hope has credibility on QLI's northwest Omaha campus, where spine- and brain-injured people live, rehabilitate and strive to regain some portion of their lives. He's been where they are and is still there in many ways.

His life flipped upside down in 2008 when he fell over his bicycle's handlebars and into a ditch on the Wabash Trace trail in Iowa.

Anderson, who landed headfirst, suffered a severe spinal cord injury and paralysis in his arms and legs. Three and a half years later, he uses a walker and wheelchair and plans to drive again soon with a retrofitted van.

He wants to walk without a walker, a goal that has proven tough to achieve.

After almost a one-year stay at QLI, formerly known as Quality Living, Anderson returned to the campus for a short time as a volunteer. So impressed was the staff with the way Anderson, 52, related to the residents that they gave him a 10-hour-a-week job.

"I love it," he said of his work. "I wish I had the endurance to do this every day."

He recently drove his wheelchair into Michele Meadors' room in House 6 on QLI's campus, near 72nd Street and Sorensen Parkway. "Hey, buddy, how's it goin'?" Meadors asked while Anderson situated his wheelchair. They talked about her rehab effort as Dr. Phil prattled on the television.

Meadors, 44, had been on a two-lane highway, driving from work to her home in Corydon, Iowa, last March 17. Having grown up in Indiana, she's a Big Ten basketball lover, and she was excited about watching the NCAA basketball tourney on TV that night.

She drove too fast, hit some gravel, missed a curve and her Toyota 4Runner flipped. The vehicle's top collapsed onto her.

"No bruises, no cuts, no black eyes," she said in an interview. "The only thing that was damaged was the fact that I broke my neck."

Meadors, who lay in bed as she talked with Anderson, reached for the television clicker and struggled with uncooperative fingers and hands to point it toward the TV. Anderson stood, balancing himself at the foot of her bed.

"Can you throw the remote over this way?" Anderson asked her.

"Let's see," Meadors said. "Maybe."

Anderson turned down Dr. Phil and listened to Meadors discuss her goals for life after QLI. She hopes to raise funds for special-needs people. She longs to play golf again.

Anderson began to drive his wheelchair out of Meadors' room to have dinner with other residents in the small dining room in House 6.

"I love you, Greg," Meadors said. "Nice to see you."

Many residents of QLI arrive after an accident, a moment of carelessness or a split second in which circumstances align for a horrific result. Others have had strokes or heart attacks in which their brains were deprived of oxygen.

Some 160 people live on the 60-acre campus, most residing there for the long term, but close to 50 strive to rehab and move on.

Anderson had worked a hard day in the heat as a UPS driver on July 10, 2008, but he did the "taco ride" anyway with a buddy that night. He was tired, dehydrated. The taco ride, a round trip of 20 miles, leads to the Minneola Steak House.

Anderson said he had two beers and a margarita at the restaurant. He had no light on his bicycle, so he followed his buddy, who did have a light. At the very end of the ride, Anderson relaxed and failed to steer clear of a ditch. He crashed headfirst into it, evidently hitting the top of his head on a discarded chunk of concrete in the ditch. He had a helmet on and suffered no brain injury.

He blacked out briefly, then awakened.

"I knew I was paralyzed right away," he said. "I knew I was done."

Dr. Charles Taylon, chief of neurosurgery at the Creighton University Medical Center, assessed the severity of Anderson's injury and concluded that he had less than a one in 20 chance of achieving any significant recovery, such as being able to use his hands and get around on his legs.

Transferred to the Immanuel Rehabilitation Center, Anderson learned to swallow again, moved small blocks around a table to regain dexterity and, buoyed by the water, stood at the side of a swimming pool.

His wife, Terri, an educator in Catholic schools, coped with the ordeal, parented their three boys and handled complex insurance matters.

"She's been through more than I have," Anderson said. "Because I was pretty much out of it for the first six months or so."

He transferred to QLI, a post-hospital rehab provider, in October 2008. The milestones were tiny. He moved Girl Scout cookies from his lap to his mouth. He put his socks on. He walked with a special walker as staffers lifted his balky right foot for him.

He climbed the steps from QLI's first floor and said he felt like Rocky when he reached the second floor.

He took MOBY, the public transit service for the disabled, by himself to Rockbrook Shopping Center. A QLI staffer met him there and they had coffee and cookies. It was a crucial moment in his effort to achieve independence.

"After that, I knew I could do it," he said.

Anderson tries to stay in shape, riding a stationary bicycle and sometimes a bicycling machine that, through wires attached to his legs, uses electrical stimulation to make his muscles fire at the right moment. He lifts five-pound weights, wrapping his fingers around them with the same concentration with which he holds a glass of water.

His appendages and muscles don't respond automatically to what his brain tells them to do. He said his body tingles all the time. Dr. Taylon said the spinal cord is the origin of the nerves, and in Anderson's neck, ligaments were torn, bones shifted and the spine was severely bruised, leaving him with spinal-cord malfunction.

"It's like a motor that's sputtering," Taylon said. "It's sending incorrect messages. It's like static on a wire."

Many people helped the Andersons.

Relatives put on a huge fundraiser in October 2008 at the Omaha Fire Fighters Union Hall. Mount Michael High School, which the Andersons' sons have attended, helped raise money. About 30 friends volunteered to build the Andersons a new, handicapped-accessible house near 56th and A Streets.

Anderson's family members don't minimize how hard the ordeal has been.

"For me the word that comes to mind is tragedy," his wife said through an email. "As I write this, I can't help but cry, and Greg has rarely seen me cry about the accident. I think that Greg has done a better job of dealing with everything than I have. He is truly amazing and so inspiring to me and to everyone that meets him."

Steven Anderson, their oldest son, said he had told his dad to put a light on his bicycle. It angered the young man, who is a junior at Nebraska Wesleyan University and the place-kicker on the football team, that his dad failed to do so.

Steven Anderson was amazed by the physical therapists' work at Immanuel and QLI and now hopes to pursue a doctorate in physical therapy.

"He's come a long way, and a lot farther than anybody thought he would," the son said of his father. "Going from an active lifestyle to where he is now, I feel really bad for him. . . . As much as the whole situation really does stink, he's made the most of it."

Greg Anderson, who is a lean 6-foot-3, was a longtime UPS driver, lugging packages and making friends with his customers. He retired from UPS when it was obvious after a year of healing and rehab that he wouldn't be able to resume the tasks required.

He grew depressed over that fact and for a time took anti-depressant medication. "The doors all closed on me," he said. "I had to find new doors to open up."

Anderson credited his family, his attitude and his spirituality with getting him through. A Catholic, he watches a range of religious programs, from priests on the EWTN television network to the Rev. Curt Dodd of Westside Church of Omaha over the Internet.

He routinely had family members, relatives and in-laws visiting him and taking him places.

Many QLI residents are from outside Omaha, he said, and don't have families nearby to take them into the community.

Anderson said it's crucial that QLI residents and those who have recently been discharged not isolate themselves. The temptation to hide is powerful.

"You think everybody's looking at you," Anderson said.

"There's definitely a hump there that you have to get over," said 35-year-old Jon Schuetz, the second former QLI resident who has been hired to work closely with spine-injured people on the campus. "It's different when you're sitting this low if you're going to be in a crowd."

There's not only self-consciousness to overcome, but concern about wheelchair accessibility. Anderson said the bumpy brick streets of the Old Market are a strong disincentive for people in wheelchairs.

Schuetz, of Sioux City, Iowa, cannot stand. Despite his paralysis, he has had two sons with his wife since his motorcycle accident in 2007.

In his part-time job, Anderson has helped organize trips for residents and staff to the Bob Kerrey Pedestrian Bridge, the rodeo in Sidney, Iowa, a camping trip to Woodbine, Iowa, and a wiffle ball game on campus. Staffers have family ties to Dinker's and Malara's, two Omaha restaurants, and residents go there with staff.

Frequently Anderson visits residents in their rooms and simply shoots the breeze with them.

David Basaraba, 24, had an auto accident in 2008 that left him profoundly paralyzed. He cannot feed himself.

The North Dakotan's room is covered with Green Bay Packers posters and pennants. A Packers blanket covered his bed and another covered Basaraba as he sat in his wheelchair.

On Basaraba's message board, someone had written: "David Packeraba!"

Defense, Basaraba said to Anderson. "That's what they need to draft this year," he said, referring to his Packers.

The TV was tuned to ESPN, and Basaraba wanted to talk about football.

Anderson asked who he was picking in the Super Bowl.

"I think New England's gonna win it all," the young man said.

"I think the Giants are gonna win the whole thing," Anderson responded.

Anderson told Basaraba he'd make him a Husker fan yet.

"I'll stick with the Packers," Basaraba said.

Later at dinner, Anderson introduced Basaraba to a young woman who had just moved into House 6.

"Dave is a Chicago Bears fan," Anderson joked. "Anything Chicago Bears, he loves."

Anderson doesn't dispense encouragement carelessly. Although he likes to say, "A miracle takes time sometimes," he traffics in hope, not false hope. Not everyone will have the comeback he has had.

Dr. Taylon marveled at what Anderson has achieved. "He's doing ellipticals, he's doing biking," Taylon said. "The guy is pretty awesome."

If he gets no better, Anderson said, it's OK. But he still has hope. He feels water drops from the shower on his back now, he said, and that wasn't the case a few months ago. He feels adhesive tape when it's pulled from his leg. That's new.

He wants to walk without a walker. "It may not be purty," he said, "but it would make life easier."

Tragedy can lead to opportunity, he said. It's about continuing to battle, continuing to work. Your progress peaks when you quit. As he preaches faith, hope and love to paralyzed kindred spirits, he demonstrates it.

He's been there. He's there now.

Contact the writer:

402-444-1123, rick.ruggles@owh.com

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