Service Tails Page 6

  By her eightieth birthday, frustration had set in. Oz was a walker. It was her nature to constantly keep moving, but now she had no depth perception and very limited forward vision. So although she had the physical health and endurance of a woman a generation younger, her failing eyesight was causing her to trip and fall on curbs and uneven sidewalks. Still, even though she was often bruised and battered by the experience, she continued to do her own shopping until the day she walked head first into a metal sign. Bleeding and a bit angry, she crept along, moving cautiously back to her home. It seemed that her blindness now gave her no options other than to spend her life trapped inside walls.

  While the world was writing her off, a stubborn Oz, not ready to give up, did some research. She discovered there were thousands of blind people in her state being guided by dogs. She had known about service dogs for years, but she had never considered what one could do for her. Could the dogs that were taking kids to college and adults to work also fit into her world? Conven-tional logic screamed out no. After all, she had no experience with dogs and had never even had one as a pet. And this was a minor issue when compared to her age. Oz was eighty-two. She was at a point in her life when most believed she no longer had the physical skills needed to work with a guide dog. So now she was not only battling the perceptions created by her blindness but also facing a growing problem in American society—age discrimination. People doubted her because they considered her too old. So would anyone give her a chance to knock down the walls that were now completely limiting her life?

  Guide Dogs for the Blind offered Oz some hope when they agreed to meet with her. Representatives from the school came to her home, did an interview, and put her through a series of tests to evaluate her abilities to use and take care of a dog. They also asked her why she wanted a canine companion and how she planned on using her guide. Once the representatives got a feel for her specific needs, they spelled out what she would have to do to obtain a dog. It was not going to be a cakewalk. They were not going to cut her any slack because of her age. She would have to go through the same training as younger candidates. She would have to leave home; stay on their campus in Boring, Oregon; and be willing and able to do a lot of walking. As they described the physical toll the experience would take, it seemed as if they were almost trying to dampen her resolve. Yet, as walking was a part of her Norwegian heritage and she wanted to try to knock down the walls her blindness had built around her life, she was more than willing to make any and every sacrifice. In her mind, she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. With a smile, she all but told them to “bring it on.”

  As she counted down the days until her trip to Oregon, Oz’s apprehension grew. This was something brand new to her. She had no parameters on which to draw. Yet her fears could not cancel her resolve. Just like her father had left behind everything to come to the United States just because he believed the move would allow him to give his family something better, Oz knew that a dog was the only option she had to escape a life that lacked adventure. She wanted once more to be that little girl from Michigan who walked out the gate and explored fresh new places.

  As Oz walked into the training school, she, like the others of all ages around her, had no idea the promise offered by this marriage of dog and human. Their hopes were tempered by a natural tendency to limit the animal’s potential. Each was falling into the same trap that had once caused society to lock those who were men-tally challenged behind walls. Yet in the first meeting with the gentle yellow Labrador assigned to her, as he leaned his body against her and stood confidently ready to lead the woman into the world, Oz felt she could overcome any obstacle placed in her path. And though those first few steps were not steady or graceful, she immediately sensed an independence she had all but forgotten.

  Oz’s dog was named Riddler. From the moment they first met, he was more than willing to lead, but it took a while for Oz to fully trust him to be her guide. Naturally, like most of those placed in this new position, she wanted to be in charge, to lead him rather than allow him to do his job. Yet as the woman and dog bonded, as Oz learned how to use the harness and the commands needed for the dog to work with her, she found herself moving at a pace she hadn’t achieved in more than a decade. With each new session, there was more bounce in her step and confidence in her gate, and, within days, she had no fear of tripping on a curb or running into a stop sign.

  Like every student working with a dog, Oz was given the task of navigating Boring by herself at night. An instructor dropped her and Riddler off, and they were forced to rely on teamwork to return to the school. This was a final exam, and neither of them was going back to California until it was completed. Suddenly being alone with the dog offered a challenge unlike any she had ever known. There was no one to ask for help and no way of knowing which direction was which. As Oz listened to the sounds of night, as she gathered her wits and focused on the task at hand, she realized that for the first time in years she didn’t feel like a vision-impaired senior citizen. Suddenly she was that little girl exploring every path and meadow in and around Plymouth, Michigan. And though she didn’t know where she was at this moment, she was free! As she ordered Riddler to move forward, it was as if Joshua was once more blowing his horn and the walls were coming down. Using her senses and trusting the dog’s training, she passed the final exam with flying colors.

  As wonderful as the experience at the school had been, it was when Oz returned home to Tulare, California, that her life really opened up. The uneven sidewalks that had once brought her to her knees were no longer a challenge, getting to the bus stop was easy, and trips to stores were a breeze. As the weeks went by, she grew in courage and fortitude; and with Riddler leading the way, she pushed farther into her community. She went to programs, club meetings, and social outings. She joined a gym and started to work out. Her world was bigger than it had been in decades, and like a road map, it just kept unfolding. As an added bonus, people’s curiosity about the beautiful dog presented her with opportunities to make new friends and provided outlets for growth. Yet maybe the best part of her guide-dog experience took place behind the walls of her home.

  Riddler quickly became more than Oz’s eyes; he became her friend. When the harness was off, the dog exhibited loyalty and devotion unlike any she’d ever known from her family. He was her companion and confidant. As a deep love between the two bloomed, so did an even deeper layer of trust. When she laid her hand on his broad head and the Lab’s wagging tail gently tapped her leg, Oz realized that as Riddler had reopened the world, he had been given a great gift as well. He was serving a purpose and living for the greater good. He seemed to understand that, too. He simply thrived on his service to her.

  Riddler guided Oz for seven years. During that time, the two were inseparable. When his step finally slowed, he was retired and became the family pet for her grandchildren. Though it was tough not to have the incredible dog in her home, the woman found another set of eyes in the form of a black Lab named Eddie. The new arrival was more laid back but every bit as loyal.

  Eddie’s training and adaptive nature allowed Oz to keep her independence well into her nineties. He accompanied her to the hospital for two hip replacements and got her up on her feet again to make sure she completed her therapy. Their hearts all but beat as one, as together, one step after another, they faced Oz’s challenges of both blindness and advancing age. And when the woman decided it was time to go into an assisted living facility, the dog went with her.

  It took almost no time for Eddie to map out their new home, and within a few weeks, he also discovered a new calling. With no guidance, the Lab stepped beyond his training and became the facility’s morale director. When he wasn’t guiding Oz, he somehow sensed when residents were depressed or lonely and spent time with them. This time the wall being broken down by the guide dog gave lonely souls something to look forward to each day—a wagging tail and a head to pat. Eddie grew into the new role of joyful guide and companion to those who had all
but given up on life. He was the brightest spot in the day and the sunshine behind the wall. He was the reason many still wanted to live!

  While visiting a neighbor, Oz fell on a patio. She broke her pelvis and several ribs and split open her head. As her host had recently left on an errand, she and Eddie were completely alone. With blood gushing from her wound, the dog jumped to the rescue. Barking at the top of his lungs, he alerted everyone within a hundred yards that something was amiss. If he hadn’t voiced his concerns, Oz would have bled to death. He then frantically waited for more than a month for her to heal and work her way back to health in a rehab center. As much for her dog as for herself, Oz pushed herself to the limit so that Eddie could once more return to what he loved to do.

  As Oz and Eddie embark on their new adventures, the woman has come full circle. What she knows now, she wished she could have appreciated while growing up at the institution for the mentally impaired. Everyone—no matter their visible limitations—has potential. They just need the opportunity to grow and explore. If they can’t do it on their own, then they need a guide to move beyond the walls. And sometimes the best guides are those who never judge and show approval with a wagging tail.

  Down but Not Out

  Determination gives you the resolve to keep going in spite of the roadblocks that lay before you.

  Denis Waitley

  There is a claustrophobic fear that accompanies paralysis. That fear goes beyond not being able to defend yourself; it digs deep into your mind and screams that there is no longer a place for you in the world. The isolation of being so different brings on unimaginable loneliness.

  The small raft was slowly drifting out toward the middle of Lake Powell. Within minutes it would be so far from shore its owners would have to secure a boat to retrieve it. As sixteen-year-old Tim Daynes watched the small vessel continue its uncharted journey across the waves, his friends debated about what to do. As he continued to silently study the scene, Tim sensed the wind picking up and the raft moving more quickly toward the open water. The raft was not his so he had little stake in this small life episode. Whether he acted or not, someone would eventually get the raft back. But, as he had been a competitive swimmer for most of his life, his retrieving it would seem to be the easiest option. Besides, it was in his nature to do good deeds for others. He had always been that way. He was the kid who would carry in groceries or mow a family friend’s yard. So here was the opportunity for him once more to do a selfless favor for someone else.

  Standing in waist-deep water, he took a few steps forward. As was usually the case, the lake floor edged down a bit, and the warm water rose against his body. A few more feet and he would likely be in over his head. Turning, he waved back to his friends, tossed off a big smile, took a deep breath, and executed a perfect racing-style dive into the water. It was a move he’d done a hundred times, with many of those dives performed in Lake Powell. Yet this time things went horribly wrong. Just in front of him, hidden by water reflecting the bright sun, was a sandbar. He met the obstruction head first with the entire momentum of his powerful action compressing his neck and shoulders. For a moment he was stunned. A few seconds later, when his head cleared, he realized it was time to act and get to the surface, but his body wouldn’t comply. It was as if he were glued to the bottom.

  Logic told him his life was now measured in seconds. As time slowed to a crawl, Tim’s brain screamed at his arms and legs to move, but the athletic body that had never failed him now seemed deaf to his urgings. He was completely helpless, and his breath was slowly giving out. His lungs began to ache, and his mind was caught in a web of both panic and acceptance. During those moments, the irony of facing death by drowning in chest-deep water did not escape him.

  There is no way to scream for help when you are underwater. And when you can’t move your arms, there is no way to signal that you are in trouble. As Tim attempted to will his body back into action, he wondered if those on the beach were watching for him to surface. If he couldn’t manage to move, how long would it be before one of them sounded the alarm and raced out to find him?

  As one minute became two and the last of his breath drained from his lungs, Tim heard muffled voices followed by the sound of bodies rushing through the water. At that same instant, he broke free of the sand and somehow bobbed to the surface. Someone reached him a few seconds later and turned him over. As they did, he grabbed what was at that time the most precious thing in the world—a mouthful of air.

  There is something about being so close to death that makes you deeply appreciate everything, including the bright sun shining into your eyes and the breeze on your cheek. Tim was alive, and for a few moments, that was all that mattered. Then the horror of not being able to move flooded his senses. Something was very wrong, he was sure of that; but as he grabbed another grasp of sweet oxygen, he figured that when the shock subsided, movement would return. He just had to wait a little longer.

  The world that Tim could see but could no longer touch seemed blanketed in a strange fog. It was as if he was somehow no longer a part of it. He could see the concerned expressions on his friends’ faces and could even hear their prayers, but he could no longer connect with them. Those who had rescued the young man quickly assessed that while he had been saved from drowning, Tim still had some serious issues. When they brought him out of the water and onto the shore, and it was discovered he couldn’t move, an ambulance was called. After what seemed like an eternity, a team of EMTs stabilized his vitals, assessed his issues, and made their report. After an ambulance ride, the East Salt Lake High School junior was evaluated at the local hospital, where the full depth of problems was revealed. Unable to properly treat such horrific injuries at Lake Powell, a helicopter was summoned, and Tim was flown to the University of Utah Medical Center.

  A long helicopter flight was followed by more tests. His mother and father were then called in and given the grim news. Their son had broken both the C-3 and C-4 vertebrae. If he managed to avoid an infection or pneumonia and live through the next few days, the best the family could hope for was that Tim would spend his life as a quadriplegic. In fact, his injuries were so severe it was doubtful that he would ever be able to even feed himself again.

  The news was devastating. In an instant, a healthy, athletic teenager was facing a life without movement and at the moment was fighting just to live. Unable to breathe on his own, he had been placed on a ventilator. When he was finally stabilized, the surgeons inserted a metal plate into his neck. Then came even more bad news. The accident had not only left Tim unable to move from the neck down but also left him unable to speak. It was sobering to consider a vital, young teen unable to move or talk, but for the time the goal had to be keeping him alive.

  If Tim had not been so strong, he likely would have died during his first month in the medical center. Several times his lungs collapsed and his vitals coded. It seemed that he was being revived from the dead about as often as his lungs were being suctioned out. He was constantly on the edge between life and death.

  Though praying for a miracle, Tim’s parents and brother and sister readied themselves for a funeral that they were told would surely happen soon. The young man they so dearly loved—the one with the wicked sense of humor and cutting wit—was fighting a battle he couldn’t possibly win. When his weight dropped to eighty-five pounds, it seemed the end was drawing near. Yet amazingly Tim kept fighting. After several months, his voice came back, as did very slight movement in his arms. Along with those positive signs, his appetite returned. Finally, more than six months after he had made the dive that so severely changed his life, Tim was dismissed from the hospital. It was the answer to his family’s prayers, but it also offered them another major hurdle. The Daynes’ home was simply not equipped for a person who could not walk. As Tim moved back into his bedroom, a team went to work remodeling the house. As the world around him was turned into a place where a quadriplegic could function, the boy worked on creating his own miracle. He was determin
ed to do the impossible and walk again.

  Physical therapy gave him some strength back. In time he was able to sit in a wheelchair and even move it forward with his arms, but his fingers would not work and his legs were useless. That meant having to adapt to special tools that allowed him to feed himself as well as realizing that if he dropped something, he would have to ask someone to pick it up. He was completely dependent on others.

  As he slowly learned to adapt to his new normal, he was confronted with something he hadn’t antici-pated. His friends were uncomfortable with him. Though they visited when he first arrived home, in time, they found excuses not to come over. In their minds, the young man they had loved was gone. So the teen’s next battle would be convincing those around him that while he couldn’t move, he was still the same person.

  After making up a half a year’s worth of classes, he returned to school determined to graduate with his class. This meant learning more new skills and dealing with a building that was not set up for a kid in a wheelchair. Sensing the best way to handle things was with humor, Tim poked fun at himself in a fashion that he hoped would ease people’s sense of discomfort. To further push himself out into the public eye and convince his friends he was still the same kid, he ran for class vice president using the slogan “Roll with Tim.” He won that election, but still, his world was a lonely one. Not many teenagers had time to include someone with a severe disability in their activities. His life was therefore little more than school and home.