I was introduced to motorcycles at a very early age. I think I was six the first time my uncle took me for a ride on his Harley. I knew that someday I would have my own Harley. Even at six I knew I could abandon my world and know total freedom as I felt that wind hit my face and it was a feeling I knew I would need in my life. In my late teens I met and later married my first husband. He loved to ride and I was a constant passenger.

I wanted my own ride so very much, but being short (5'1" with my boots on) I was never able to find a bike short enough for me to ride and of course my husband discouraged me in every way. One day while we were out riding, he hit a pothole on a curve and lost control of the bike. We went off the road and down an embankment. I was thrown from the bike and landed face down in a creek. My husband and friends dragged me back up to the street when we decided that I wasn't critically hurt. I remember him running back down the hill to check the damage on his bike. It wasn't until I actually owned my own bike that I understood how worried he was about his bike. Eventually I was transported to the hospital to find out that I had broken my ankle in three places along with some road rash and shredded clothing. That in itself was bad enough. But to make matters worse I managed to get poison ivy on the leg that had the cast on it. Anyway, my husband got rid of the bike and we divorced a year or so later. Being totally discouraged, I didn't ride again until I was motivated by a friend to take the rider safety course in my area. By that time I was 39 years old. I bought my first bike, a Suzuki 450 and rode that around for a few months. I traded that in on a Honda Shadow 650. I put about 15,000 miles on that bike in the next year and a half. But my heart and soul needed a Harley. In September of 1997 I purchased a 1998 Harley-Davidson 883 Sportster in Sinister Blue. It was a dream come true. I went with friends to pick it up on a Saturday morning. Before I left, the salesperson advised me to bring the bike back in at 500 miles for maintenance. I told him I would see him Monday morning. He laughed. Monday I was at the dealership when it opened for my 500-mile maintenance check. When I saw the salesman, he couldn't believe that I put five hundred miles on my bike in two days. This bike was my pride and joy. I customized it, making it into a thing of beauty. I put 20,000 miles on it in no time and was planning a cross-country trip. On New Year's Day 2000, the weather report said sunny, with temps in the mid-50s. I could not think of a better way to start the New Year than to go for a ride on my Harley. So I called my younger sister to see if she wanted to go for a ride. I kept my bike garaged at her house. She lived about 40 minutes away and she said "I'll be ready when you get here." Sure enough when I arrived at about 1100 am, she had her bike in the driveway, her leathers on, waiting for me. So off we went. It had been a few weeks since I had ridden and with that in mind we decided to take a leisurely ride. We putted around in a nearby neighborhood so she could check out a house for sale.

Then we headed out onto some roads that were a little more fun. The kind of roads that we loved - full of twisty-turnies. Beth was riding lead with me following. The sun was glaring in my eyes, but the trees were shading the roadway just enough to make it difficult to see. The speed limit was 45mph though we had slowed it down to about 35mph and then I saw her brake light come on. I realized that we had come into a curve and remembered thinking I was too far into the curve to brake. Sharp curves and leaning hard into a curve was something I was familiar with so I wasn't worried. My foot pegs had seen better days as the undersides were shaved from scraping the roadway in curves. I'm still trying to figure out what happened. As I leaned into the curve I heard my pegs scrape. I felt the bike slide and I impacted with the road on my right side. And as I watched my bike go sliding across the roadway, sparks flying everywhere, I remember thinking that this was going to be hell on my paint job. After impact, my body rolled so I was face down with my arms straight down by my side. I was propelled forward following my bike. I remember watching as the pavement flew by underneath me. It was almost like watching water flow under a bridge. It was all happening so slowly and was very hypnotic. I remember seeing the double solid yellow line and more pavement. I came to what seemed to be a slow gentle stop in a bunch of briars. I later found out that I was in a rather deep ditch. While lying there, I attempted to do an assessment of my body - nothing hurt, so I tried to get up. I was really pissed and wanted to check the damage to my bike. I was so afraid that it was really messed up. I couldn't move. Nor could I feel anything from my neck down. At that point I realized that this was more serious than I expected and I believed that I had broken my neck. About this time I heard my sister yelling for someone to dial 911. Then she was at my side. We are both trained in basic first aid so I immediately told her what I believed my injury to be and not to let anyone move me before the medics got there. I had her clear debris away from my nose and mouth so I could breathe. As she started to do so one of the vines of briars got caught on my lip. As she pulled I remembered laughing and telling her not to rip my lip off which seemed comical at the time due to the fact that she is always teasing me about not having any lips. I have very small lips! In the distance I heard the sirens coming. I don't have much recollection of the medics getting me out of the ditch. But I do remember the one medic apologizing to me that he was going to have to cut my leather jacket off. He also told me that the nearest air transport unit was 19 minutes out; so he made the decision to ground transport me to ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Mary Washington Hospital to get me stabilized as quickly as possible. The only thing that stays with me about being there was that the trauma team kept asking me over and over what my name was and how to spell it. I don't think they ever did get it right.

My hospital armband from that hospital had my name listed as JANUARY DOE! Sometime around 2pm I was airlifted to Fairfax Hospital in Northern Virginia. The trauma team went to work..."Can you feel this? How bout that? Try to move this, Try to move that." They were constantly reassuring me through all the tests, X-Rays, CAT scan, MRI, etc. Around 7pm that night I was moved to ICU and was finally allowed to see my family. The neuro-surgeon was talking to my family while my nurse was fussing over me. I heard him say "She has suffered a contusion on her spinal cord and is temporally paralyzed. She will fully recover. (I breathed a sigh of relief.) But it may take a full year or more to do so. And she will never ride a bike again!" I panicked; I looked at the nurse and started to feel hysteria sweep over me. I was crying as I looked at my nurse and asked her "did you hear that - he said I'd never ride again. I have to ride." She sent the doctor a nasty look. At his statement, I was aware of a commotion concerning my mom. My older sister later told me that mom started to collapse at the mention of me never riding again. I think she must have known what that would do to me. The morphine graciously started to kick in. The first five days were somewhat of a blur. I remember people being there and talking to them, but not much of the conversations. I know that my mom and both my sisters took turns staying with me around the clock. I changed rooms several times. The second room, I believe, was the room with multiple beds. Directly across from me was a man who had suffered a head trauma. He was restrained to the bed because he was behaving violently. He screamed obscenities and shook the bed while yelling that he was going to kill us all. I was so scared. My younger sister stayed with me all night. We didn't get any sleep. The nurse kept saying she was sorry. None of the drugs they were using to sedate this man worked. He screamed all night. A couple nights later, or perhaps the next night – it's hard to remember because the morphine was making me hallucinate, I looked around and saw a woman sleeping in the chair beside my bed. She woke up and looked at me. I didn't remember who I was, or where I was. She explained that she was my sister MaryLou and then went on to explain who I was and what had happened. One day ran into another. I was moved into another room that I shared with an elderly man. With his family gathered around him and me on the other side of the curtain trying desperately not to hear what was happening -- he passed away.

I was moved one more time and stayed there. Friends and family came by. I was still feeling a little woozy from the effects of the morphine and in walks my brother-in-law, Rob. Rob is in the Marine Corps and was stationed in Okinawa. When he walked in the room, my first thought was that everyone had been lying to me -- that I wasn't getting better -- in fact, I believed that he must have come home for the funeral -- mine! But no, he was home on emergency leave to help out. And I was thankful to come to that realization. Your mind reeks havoc on you when your system has suffered a trauma! During the first 10 days, my family spent so much time reading all the cards, letters and emails that arrived. Most were from friends and family. But, mixed in with those were some from people I had never met, or knew only by their emails. They were all bikers or somehow involved in the biking community. I was overwhelmed by their compassion and that they would take time out of their busy lives to write. I always knew that bikers were special and that there was that biker "thing" that can never be explained to the unfortunates who don't ride. I was starting to get more movement on my left side. I could actually scratch my own nose now. On or about day 7, the physical therapists came. They raised me to a sitting position. My world started to spin. Then they attempted to help me stand up beside the bed. My world went black. I was told that this was a very common side effect of spinal cord injuries (SCI). It's called ORTHOSTATIC-HYPERTENSION, and it would plague me for quit some time. On January 10, 2000, I was transported to Mt Vernon Rehabilitation Hospital. The next 7 weeks were spent at Mt Vernon Rehab Hospital where I would learn how to do everything all over again. But first I had to be able to remain in an upright position without passing out. This was partially achieved by binding my legs and abdomen so the blood wouldn't rush from my head every time I was placed in an upright position. My physical therapy started the second day. I was transferred to a wheel chair and taken down to a workout room with elevated mats. There were five mats in this particular room. I was transferred onto one of the mats. As I looked around the room, individuals occupied all the other mats. All of us had one thing in common. We were all trapped in bodies that no longer did what our minds commanded, begged, or pleaded with it to do. The physical therapist would work on my body, stretching my limbs, pushing me to move and rewarding me with cheers when I did. As each day passed I grew stronger. Soon I could be placed in a sitting position and remain there all by myself for a full minute at a time without losing my balance. In time I could move my legs and started doing strengthening exercises. Soon I was standing, which was really strange because I couldn't feel my feet or tell if they were on the ground or not. Within three weeks I was taking steps using a platform walker. My hands were an entirely different story though. Due to the type and location of the injury, most of the nerve damage would affect my upper body with the right side of my body getting the worst of the deal.

Each day someone would have to feed me, dress me and bathe me. (no dignity) One day down in the workout room after a walking session I was lying on the mat while my therapist was working on my shoulder injury. We were talking about how good my progress was going. I told her I was determined to walk out of the hospital. But the walking was the easy part. I told her that I had no doubt that I could walk again, but that I would be walking naked cause I couldn't get dressed without help. I said the movies make this look so easy...you know how that goes...football hero gets injured...paralyzed from the neck down....docs say "oh he'll never walk again".....then numerous scenes of said football hero struggling to walk between the parallel bars...he falls...he gets up...then the happy ending...well how the hell did he get dressed? They never show you all that stuff! My therapist laughed and agreed. One of my favorite activities at rehab was swimming. Once a week, those of us that wanted to go, would load up in the "short bus" and head to the pool. Now keep in mind that at this point I required assistance getting dressed. Even baggy, slip-on type clothing. But I needed to wear swimming attire to the pool. My therapist would come in my room about an hour and a half before time to leave. She would hand me my swimsuit and say "do what you can, I'll be right back." Well she came back about 30 minutes later and there I was with the bottoms pulled up to my knees. The spandex bottoms had gotten all rolled up and wouldn't go any further. I was frustrated beyond belief and tears were spilling out of my eyes. Kathy came back and said "what's up?" I replied, "not my pants...and further more...spandex is not our friend." She agreed, but went on to remind me that the week before I hadn't gotten that far without assistance. She was great at keeping me focused and positive. There are many side effects to SCI's that many people don't know about or at least I was ignorant of until I became an SCI patient. One very common side effect is the loss of bladder function. Many SCI patients have to use a catheter to void for months, years or permanently. One day the nurses came in and told me that they would eventually be teaching me how to perform this vital function. I laughed and said that this should be interesting since I couldn't even get my underwear on by myself. My sister Beth was there at the time and offered to learn the procedure. Did I mention there is NO dignity in long-term hospital stays? Anyway, I had forgotten about this and a couple weeks went by when one of the hospital volunteers showed up with a package for me. So I'm all smiles; thinking someone sent me a present. (I love presents!) I asked her to open it for me. She does. My surprise turns into dismay when she announces - "its a case of catheters!" I just shook my head and to myself I made a silent vow that I would pee on my own and soon. Now this may be just too much information for some of you but if you could have seen the nurses face the day that I announced that I peed myself. She just stared at me and said "what?" So I explained to her again that I had peed myself, I was wet; I needed changing! She pulled back my covers to check for herself and then ran out of the room. I heard her yelling to the rest of the staff that I had voided on my own. Then all the other nurses came in the room clapping and cheering. I felt like I had won an Olympic Gold Medal. March 1, 2000, I was released from Mt Vernon Rehab to go live with my mom. My sister MaryLou lives just down the street. They shared the responsibilities of my everyday care, shuffling me back and forth to doctor's appointments and out patient therapy three days a week. This wreck did not only affect me, but it disrupted the lives of my entire family. I had to retire from my career as a police officer and my sister took care of all the paperwork. My retirement income was so much lower than my regular pay that I could no longer afford to maintain my home. My sister dealt with the realtors and sold my house. She took care of all my financial responsibilities. My mom bathed and dressed me each day and washed my clothes and cooked and fed me. It was like being a baby all over again. On March 16, 2000, I returned to Fairfax Hospital for surgery on my neck. I was told by my neuro-surgeon that I had a pre-existing condition in my neck called degenerative arthritis. Basically this condition causes excess bone growth called stenosis, which caused a narrowing of the canal that the spinal cord passes through. Because of this, my spinal cord was crushed when I whip lashed on impact with the ground. An interesting thing about this condition is that I could have received this same injury by slipping and falling in the shower. I now have this 6-inch scar starting at my hairline going down the middle of my back. I think I'll have a vine of flowers tattooed there to disguise it! After a short hospital stay, I was back at my mom's - bedridden because of the pain for almost two weeks.

We just kept saying that pain was good; at least it's better than no feeling at all. I continued with out patient therapy three days a week until June 1, 2000 when I went to stay at the Woodrow Wilson Rehabilitation Center (WWRC) in Fishersville, VA. I remained at WWRC until July 13, 2000. While there I received intensive therapy in an attempt to get me in the best possible physical shape so I could start vocational training. Along with the physical therapy, I had an opportunity to be evaluated for different types of job training and I have decided to go into the computer field. On September 25, 2000, I returned to WWRC to start vocational training in the field of Desktop Publishing. On December 15, 2000, I made a decision to terminate my program and continue my education at Lord Fairfax Community College. One aspect of rehabilitation that I believe to be most important is to return to as much of a normal life as possible. That is, to live your life much as you did before the trauma occurred in your life. Before my SCI, I worked full time in a position where I was an authority figure. I lived alone, had an active social life and people respected me and my ability to make educated decisions. It was not long after my SCI that I realized people's attitudes were changing. While I was learning to do everything all over again, I noticed that my mom and my sister were starting to answer for me. People would ask me a question and before I could open my mouth they would answer the question. Of course this was an understandable response from them. They did absolutely everything else for me, so why not think and speak for me too. This is a very common problem that SCI patients deal with. But once my family realized what they were doing, they put a stop to that. Now my relationship with my family is very much back to normal in that respect. What really surprised me was that health care professionals and counselors would react the same way. The dorm counselors at WWRC have certain rules they must follow in order to ensure the safety and well being of all the students there. They deal with all types of disabilities there, but Learning Disabled is by far the highest population of disability on campus. The learning disabilities range from minimal to extreme cases where the students cannot function in main-stream society. Because of this the counselors conducted weekly room checks and basically treated everyone as if they were not mentally capable of functioning without being told what to do and when to do it. After living life the way I had, I found this to be tedious an after a while completely unacceptable.

This is the main reason I decided to terminate my program at WWRC. However, as if this wasn't enough, the campus dorms were going to start renovations and I would have to give up my private dorm, my computer and all of my clothes with the exception four outfits because I would now be living with up to three roommates for the next year. So I came home to live with my sister and started the Spring 2001 session at Lord Fairfax Community College. I am thoroughly enjoying my classes and enjoying the freedoms of a more normal life. So there you have it....all and all I would say that the millennium has been quite eventful. As it tuned out, I was not Y2K compliant! I am determined to fight this thing to the end and remain positive throughout. I have so many things going for me. I am blessed with a network of family and friends that have remained constantly at my side. I have, with the help of my friends, been out riding on several occasions. My first time back on a bike was at Rolling Thunder in Washington, DC. I haven't missed a Rolling Thunder in 7 years and thanks to friends I didn't miss it this year either. I spent the whole day laughing and crying and being thankful for the freedoms that I am still alive to enjoy. My friends planned an overnight trip down the Skyline Drive and I rode on the back with the husband of a good friend of mine. Riding in the back is not nearly as much fun as riding your own, but right now I wouldn't trade it for anything. I still have a ways to go to full recovery. Just over a year ago after being totally paralyzed, I am now walking unassisted, dressing myself (still no spandex), doing a little cooking and feeding myself, doing my hair and make-up. It just takes me a little longer to do things...you adjust and get on with life. I have goals to educate myself with marketable work skills so I can get back to work as soon as possible. Then I hope to get financially and physically able to live alone again. I try to live each day like it's my last and I appreciate the little things more. And when the time is right I will accomplish my main goal to ride my own Harley again. NOTE: If you visit My Space you can see that I have realized my dream of riding again. I have also posted sume updates there about starting to ride again. I currently ride an HD FLH with a Champion Trike conversion.

Jeanne,

I would like to thank you for your support for " Bikers Accident Survivor Forum " and including such a moving story as is " Broken Wings ". This story Jeanne caused me hold every sense through out my mind and in my heart, very moving indeed.

Sister Jeanne, don't be a stranger here, our welcoming embrace will always be here for you....

With greatest respect

Garry Van Kirk

I saw so many familiarities in your story about your accident and your injuries, rehab etc in my husbands story. He bought a 1942 harley kr750 race back last year with the plans of racing in the vintage races. The 2nd time out on this bike, he got too high in a turn, ran out of turn & crashed over the top on the high side of the track. He landed face first (luckily he was wearing a race helmet) but as he landed on his face, it pushed his head backwards and damaged his C3-C7. It didn't sever the cord, but like you, it squished it. He was careflighted from the track to Miami Valley Hospital in Dayton, Oh. His accident was Sept 27, 2006 (so it's been over a year now). On Oct 4, 2006 he had surgery to relieve the pressure from his spine. He had a laminectomy and his surgeon said he couldn't tell us how much (if any) of his functions would come back. Oh, get this, 2 days after his surgery, and while he was in ICU, they managed to drop him on his head while they were transferring him back to the bed from a stretcher chair!! Talk about mass hysteria! He was in their Rehab unit for 3 months and when he left the hospital Dec 20, 06, he could move one finger on his right hand. He has no control over his bladder or bowels, so he has a foley cath in. He has the same problem with the hypostatic problem and has had several autonomic dysreflexia episodes. It's strange how an accident like this can reverse illnesses that one has had all their lives. He's had high blood pressure for 40 years, now he has low blodd pressure! So, anyway, we were bringing him home before Christmas. So I had a lot of hustling around to get ready. I had to have the bathroom gutted to have a roll in shower put in for him (which he has never been able to use since he passes out & can't tolerate the shower chair), buy a ramp van (a $50K investment!), have a ramp built so we could get him in & out of our house and have a wall knocked out in 2 rooms. I quit my job that I had been for 18 years so I could stay home & take care of him. Fortunately, we are ok financially to be able to do that. He has sold a couple of his harleys since the accident, but they have decided to keep the kr750 and his buddy is going to take it to N Carolina in the spring to try to beat the land speed record. We have discussed putting a side car on his Street Glide, but no decision has been made on that yet. He has been able to stand up a couple of times (with a gait belt) and assistance - for about 5 minutes. He still has no use of his arms or hands. Like you, he requires someone to do everything for him, dress him, bathe him, feed him, scratch his nose! He has said that he can live with not being able to walk, so if he had to chose getting something back, he wants his hands, so at least he can do things for himself. His surgeon said it would be 18-24 months before we would know if that is all that he will get back. So we're just taking one day at a time and working hard in therapy. He still has a physical therapist & occupational therapist that comes to the house 4 times a week and he has 4 buddies that come help too. Good luck to you.