Rehab: Weeks 3-6... Oops

It has been a while since I have posted anything about rehab, and I have felt the need to catch up! A lot has happened since my last rehab post, and I am happy to say that I have made a good amount of progress in both occupational therapy and physical therapy. 

With occupational therapy I have been on several outings into the community and have even gone grocery shopping (The only real problem being that I couldn't see the screen to pay with a card). This week we planned a meal that I would prepare, so the small video clip that I posted is of me making some breakfast food with occupational therapy. I hope none of us will ever take our egg-cracking skills for granted again. It was tough!

I have also learned to get dressed in my chair, put on my shoes and socks, and get completely ready for the day. I am grateful to be this independent as I begin to prepare to go home.

In physical therapy I have been working on transfers, car transfers, wheelies in my chair (very important), and pop-ups from a lying position to a sitting up position. The short clip I attached is of the day I finally did it. I have to admit that I am very proud to have gained this technique, not only because it is useful, but because it was a big challenge for me. Because I have no core strength, this took more technique then other skills, and this was particularly difficult for me to get. I'm pretty sure it was the Batman abs that made it happen.

Therapy in general is going very well, and I feel very blessed at the progress I have been able to make. I feel especially blessed with the therapists that I have, both OT and PT. Not seeing them and working with them every day will be a sad thing for me. They may not know it, but they have been angels to me, and if they do know it, I am sure they do not know to what extent. They have taken me in my most vulnerable, helpless stage of life, and taught me again how to find liberty and life where it is available. I will always be indebted to them for what they've done for me.

(Forgive the crude links)

Occupational therapy

http://youtu.be/mmc2Bjm08YI

Physical therapy

http://youtu.be/9MAqpOpn5XQ

KSL interview rescheduled

Dear friends and family, 

Because of the Olympics and breaking news this month, KSL explained to us that airing Carson's interview has been difficult and will not be shown tonight. We will just have to play it by ear, and the minute we know we will create a post. We know that it will be shown on a Sunday at 10, but we just don't know which Sunday. Thanks for the constant supply of love and support.

Going Back to School

If given my druthers, I just as soon do what my wife is doing---quietly take care of business in the shadows with the singular goal of meeting Carson's and our other children's needs.  I am confident her voice will be heard in the future.  But I promised Carson that I would share this journey with him through this blog, triumphs (so far, minimal) and travails (so far, many) so that the reader could get the complete picture of this ordeal from different perspectives.

No, Carson isn't going back to school......yet.   But I am.  In fact, I am learning about a great many things these days.  I am receiving my doctoral education in suffering, compassion, charity, faith, generosity, and love.  I'm obtaining good grades in some courses, and barely passing in others.  Winter semester has been grueling but I've had outstanding instructors.   Let me introduce you to the curriculum with course descriptions:

Course: Suffering/Perseverance 800:  Instructor:  Carson Tueller (and many others and parents gone before)

I've learned in this class what Aristotle said about suffering: "Suffering becomes beautiful when anyone bears great calamities with cheerfulness, not through insensibility, but through greatness of mind."  I asked Carson what his goals were in rehabilitation.  His response:  "I want to set new records for achieving the best function I can with what I have currently."  New Records?, I thought to myself, that sounds familiar.  I have learned to never attempt to dissuade this young man in his goals, and I'm certainly not going to start now.  When Carson was only about 4 he thought he could catch birds, believing that if he was stealthy and fast enough he could succeed.  I would watch this with fascination and tell him that the birds knew he was always there and that he wasn't quick enough to get them.  Big mistake.  Even at that age he countered that if he tried it long enough he would be successful.  He would then ask me how fast a Cheetah could run, and at one point when we lived in Alaska, had me let him out of the car to see how many miles per hour he could sprint.  I asked myself, What is up with this kid?  Carson is incredibly focused and brings a certain element of intensity regarding his own self expectations.  In 23 years I've never seen him regularly watch television or just "kick back" as we often say.  Instead, he is driving himself toward some achievement or goal in school, music, athletics, or with people.  I've tried to slow him down, but he is usually off to go somewhere, to see someone, to do something---spit on a hot stove.  It's almost like he needs some element of a challenge in order to thrive.  Now he is in the deep end of the pool, and his perseverance looks familiar.  His blood pressure recently fell to an all-time low-----54/24 (120/80 is normal) and he couldn't complete his physical therapy because of passing out, but he kept coming back for more in the following days despite eyes rolling up in his head at times with fatigue, always pressing the limits of his body in all regards.  In a recent KSL interview, the reporter asked him, "What is easy for you to do at this point?" to which Carson replied, "It's easy for me to be self-motivated."  Sheesh....what an understatement.  Dragging around lifeless legs, head bobbing up and down because he has no stomach muscles to help balance, and trying to figure out a new method of working his body is hard to observe.  His suffering, tears and frustrations are confined to alone time (until recently) when he contemplates the challenges of the future, but I can see it in my son's eyes--I've always been able to.  It's a slightly worried look, and I can see his brain working some angle on the problem, making a plan, a strategy of approaching and defeating the current barrier.  The physical trauma and survival mode are wearing off.  Invariably this will usher in a nasty emotional coping phase, and the specter of reality regarding physical limitations will send its ugliest messenger, discouragement, to inflict damage on my son.  We won't have it---he won't have it.  He's up to the fight and we are too, but it will come with a price tag.  Carson grew up moving around in the Air Force for 21 of his 23 years, and I remind him of the Military Code of Conduct which hangs in our house, Article II, that reads, "I will never surrender of my own free will. If in Command, I will never surrender the members of my command while they still have the means to resist."  Carson will never surrender, nor will we.

A young man decides to walk into the room to see Carson, hearing about the injury and blog from a friend. I don't know him and neither does Carson.  We welcome him in and he tells us he is a C4 injury survivor from a cycling accident two years ago, suffering complete paralysis for nearly a month and the years of continual work to gain what he has now.  He then proceeds to educate us on his experience, replete with his tenacity in rehabilitation that obviously paid monstrous dividends.  Remember, I said he walked in, and he has resolve on his face.  You can tell he's come to deliver a message of hope and it is clear that this guy is cut from a different cloth.  He provides guidance and experience.  I listen to his story with fascination, thinking that is all......but he isn't done yet.  He then shares that one of his young daughters has a disease that will be terminal, but that she has beaten the odds of survivability.  I think, This guy was not only paralyzed and crawled out of the pit of despair, but now he survives to watch his daughter slowly suffer and eventually pass away.  Where does he get his strength and faith?  I immediately realize that I am a boy living in a man's world regarding perseverance, spirituality and perhaps being able to see the bigger picture, but my learning curve is steep at this point and I sponge it all in.  He delivers his experience and contact information, slowly rises from his chair in considerable nerve pain that hasn't subsided since the accident, and walks down the hall with a noticeably irregular gate, but very clearly walking.  His courage inspires us.

Course:  Grief 810:  Instructor(s): Adversity?....Life?

My appreciation for grieving people has permanently been transformed.  Despite many years of book learning and experience listening to countless clients, their family members, and those others who have dealt with profound loss, coupled with my own losses of having family and friends pass away in a variety of ways, the dirty stinking hell of war and its toll on people, working in prison systems, the entire spectrum of substance dependence slavery, suicide, homicide, the chronic mentally ill in despair.....the list is nearly endless hearing/seeing people suffer.  I thought I was "dialed in" as they say. Oh, but this experience is  dramatically different.  Different because it's up close, in my face, and very personal.  I can't believe the contrast between having someone else close to you suffer and having one of your own suffer.  It is the difference in brightness between the sun and the moon. No more being in the chair of assisting for me; Psychologist, heal thyself, I hear myself mockingly mutter.   Now the same verbal pill I've provided others I have to gag down, and it's the size of a football.  Choke it down, Steve.  I appreciate what it feels like to have heart pain that can only be described as an intractable, persistent aching.  I have greater clarity when clients tell me that physical pain is much more desirable than emotional pain.  Amen.  Carson asked me how I was doing the other day.  I told him that I was having a hard time separating myself from his injury.  I told him that intellectually I know I can go out and walk and ride my bike, run etc., but emotionally I can't get rid of the sadness for his losses since they feel like mine.  He looked surprised.  It's even guilt producing to think of enjoying things he can't in the future.  No wonder people get depressed and can't move on when they experience loss.  They feel like they have to suffer with the person out of respect or compassion, as if they don't have the right to feel joy.  The problem is compounded by the fact that I can't do anything about his injury, and it was this way from the beginning.  I think males in general tend to be directive and notorious “fixers.”  We see problems and want to fix them or take some sort of action, and when thwarted, become frustrated and agitated.  This often doesn't help the situation if vocalized.  I realize I can't fix my son's spinal cord.   So now I'm needing to listen very carefully and enter into an emotional journey of helping him cope.  I know how to do that.  Even in the seconds following the injury I could only muster verbal comfort to my son as his eyes became increasingly and frighteningly bloodshot, breathing labored, body unnaturally motionless.  “It’s going to be okay, dad” he says to me while paralyzed in the pit. “I love you,” he follows with.  And finally, “This is the next step”, he boldly announces after being placed on a spinal board.  This is the coupe de grace for me emotionally.  What is that supposed to mean---the next step?  It certainly can't be a next step in any positive direction.  What is he talking about?   He will fill you in on the meaning better than I.  But I am grateful I was in the pit with him and the first to physically touch him, desperately trying to figure out words to say that would provide some element of comfort.   I now have a greater understanding of the feelings of helplessness that people describe when tragedy is out of their control and the strange guilt afterward that crushes you like a bulldozer.  I'm reminded of a big Marine combat veteran I worked with who was part of a casualty affairs team in Iraq, and his description of having to pull charred bodies from a burned out APC (Armored Personnel Carrier) because the other members of his team were too incapacitated to assist due to the smell, nausea and condition of the bodies.   He described faces locked in the final death scream, limbs breaking off upon movement, having to prepare their bodies for shipment home and going through their personal effects---photos of wives, family and children, and wondering what their loved ones were feeling like at the moment of notification.  He kept telling me over and over how helpless he felt, that there was nothing he could do for them.  Now I relate to this helplessness at an emotional, rather than clinical level.   

The grieving process is fascinating and sometimes complex. The psychiatrist, Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, described the 5 stages of death in her seminal work On Death and Dying (1969), and to a lesser extent, these stages can be a framework for grieving loved ones as well.   As most know, the stages are Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and finally Acceptance.  These are general categories, and one thing is for certain, no two people grieve the same nor do the stages proceed in order. Some stages aren't even experienced.  More important is what people say or do when in the various stages.  As examples, some of my children want to be next to Carson physically, while others stay safely at a distance.  Neither is wrong.  Some want the physiological facts about the injury and other clinical information in raw form while others can only handle the details in chunks.  Some visitors provide personal words of wisdom while others provide inspiring stories.  Some attempt to provide intellectual explanations for the injury or rational coping skills, while others try and make spiritual sense of  the incident.  Humor also has a unique place in this whole healing and grieving process and this has helped Carson tremendously.   I'm not sure there is a standardized approach to grief and there are often no answers for why something happens---there doesn't have to be.  Carson recognizes that the beauty of people is how they make him feel, not necessarily what they say.  I can truly say that there are people who have visited who innately have the ability to "mourn with those who mourn" and possess such a deep ability for compassion that it exudes from them.  What a marvelous spiritual gift. Their faces and eyes give it away, and sometimes they have nothing to say at all, but it is clear what they are feeling for my son, and he can feel it.  I suppose all of us have a certain role in this grief process both for Carson and for each other.  I'm confident that with time this will hurt less, but totally accept that a part of my heart is relegated to scar tissue, and that's okay.  

Course: Support/Generosity 850:  Instructor(s): Friends, family, leaders, .........people

Our family, including Carson, are collectively stunned by the outpouring of support, but perhaps more accurately perplexed.  Carson has even used the word confused.  We keep thinking, We don't deserve this. There are others in so much greater need!  My wife and I met recently with Ann Smith, whose son Tyler passed away some 20 months ago from cancer.   It was comforting to hear similar feedback about the outpouring of help from people.  We could feel of her faith, guidance and knowledge of what we may be experiencing even though our son's circumstances differ.  She and her family are veterans of the pain process in every regard and there is a universal language of loss conveyed.  It is impossible to name or thank everyone individually, and she recommended that the best approach will be to position ourselves in such as way to pay this forward when a situation occurs in another family.  We will be ready.  Shortly after Carson's second surgery when people began to respond to the blog, visit, and write letters, I visualized my son at the tip of a wedge of numerous human beings behind him---friends of his, friends of ours, family, extended family, leaders---all with swords drawn to the ready, prepared for battle.  I don't know why I visualized this (obviously it has its military influence), but I believe it was a symbolic reminder of the goodness of people who are willing to sacrifice themselves in numerous ways for a friend---our son--and it is truly sobering.   

To those who have made monetary contributions or coordinated help through various organizations, I am compelled to make an accounting of where these contributions are going in the future, and I will.  I am doing my best to cover items related to house renovations because I want any money given to go to Carson exclusively.  He will need all of it.  I can't emphasize enough to those of you who have contributed how much pressure it removes from our family.  Sadly, these situations are expensive  I feel horribly guilty.  Please forgive my pride.

Course: Faith 825:  Instructors: The Lord, Scriptures, Inspiration, Prayer, the Spirit

The Apostle Thomas of the New Testament and I would have been great running buddies.  We want the evidence---the proof that something exists.  I have sworn to myself over the years that if any disaster struck my family, I wouldn't ask the common questions about the purpose of any event, why the lord lets things like this happen or for what benefit, or try and navigate the labyrinth of suffering and a million other issues that make my brain cook on simmer mode.   My personal motto: Be grateful for everything, and expect nothing.  But I want my son healed, not because of my faith, but because of his---something for something.  Isn't that the way the bargain (covenant) works?  Bargain? The fact is the Lord doesn't owe us anything.  But aren't we taught that if we have the faith of a mustard seed we can move mountains?  Could the lord heal my boy? Absolutely.  Should he heal my boy?  I don't know.  Mental gymnastics---to complex for my dinosaur brain.  I find myself making back room bargains with the lord (there is that bargaining stage), perfectly willing to have him take whatever I have and give to my son.  Perhaps I wouldn't be man enough to handle it, so it stays where it is.  Who knows?  Maybe this is a test for us.  Test?  I don't want any more of these kinds of tests. Why can't I just have a pop quiz every now and again to keep me humble and get my mind right?   I learn quickly, I promise.  I'm already pulling in C- in this Faith course!  I accept that we live in a world filled with accidents, imperfection, evil, disease and suffering, and that is that.  Good people die and bad people thrive.  There is no such thing as "fairness."  I stand in my $60 dollar New Balance Shoes in Afghanistan while little kids stare at me through a fence, barefoot, herding their goats when its 40 degrees out.  Fair? Their homes are nothing more than mud.  Did my son volunteer for this in the pre-existent world by raising his hand?  Did the rest of us as a family raise our hands in quick succession thereafter to support him?  I'm not sure I want the answer.  All I know is that I need to take care of my son.  We made him and we raised him, and he is my responsibility.  As I recently told Carson when he was in a moment of acute distress, "Now what are you going to do?, quickly followed by, "What are we going to do?" "Do" is emphasized here.  Neither Carson or us as a family are interested in what we have called in the past "spiritual paralysis" (a cruel term now that this accident has happened) where the transmission is placed into neutral while waiting for spiritual guidance or direction.  The lord has given us brains to use and expects us to apply them.  As a family we know what we have to do.  We will put the transmission into drive and press on the accelerator, knowing that if we have the faith necessary and are properly tuned in to the correct spiritual frequency, and LISTEN, regardless of how long it takes, we will be given course corrections as the lord sees fit, ultimately recognizing the purpose to this disaster as the origami unfolds.  We certainly can't be arrogant enough to think calamity isn't going to visit us, because it has, and it will.  The fact is there aren't answers.  I personally hate to "yield" to anything, and have always thought the best defense is a good offense.  It has served me well in many circumstances, but hurt me in others.  When I was with my 93 year old father and Carson in the hospital, I thought, Look, three generations of stubbornness!  It brought a smile to my face for a moment because that is the fire in my boy that will serve him well in the battles to come.  But it is time to submit to things beyond our control.  The AA serenity prayer is compelling.  You admit you are powerless and have to rely on something bigger than yourself when the war is forced upon you, be it anything.  You have to control what you can and leave the rest in the hands of he who has descended below all. 

Stephen Tueller

 

 

Spine Notes 3: Second best

"Now what are you going to do? What's second-best?"

"I don't want second-best… You don't understand, second-best is nowhere close to first best nor is it close to bringing me hope or happiness. Here's first best up here, and second best is 1,000 feet under the ground. I don't want second-best."

"First best is no longer an option. What does second-best looks like?

...I'm not sure I'm ready to answer that question…

I'm down, I'm exhausted, and frankly, I think I have underestimated the brutal nature of the beast I am at war with. The sunbeams of optimism seem more scarce than ever, and it takes considerable effort to find a break in the clouds of the intensifying storm. The battle is not becoming easier, it is becoming much harder. 

Friday was perhaps the most difficult day I have had to push through since my accident. As I gain more control and strength of my arms and hands, it is cruelly ironic that I more clearly see how little I have, and how unappealing the future seems. 

This was the week that I moved from my power chair into my manual chair. This is progress, and I'm grateful to move forward so quickly, but it also came with very depressing setbacks. As I sat up in my manual chair I quickly realized that because I have no core control, if I extend both arms out in front of me, I fall forward like a rag doll onto the floor and out of my chair. So generally speaking, I won't be able to use both of my hands at the same time for anything. It's a new challenging game of balance that I didn't anticipate. Admittedly, this was extremely discouraging to me.

I know there are people who have less than I do. I know there are other people with spinal cord injuries that would do anything for their hands, but even with that recognition, I ask myself seriously, "Can I live like this for the rest of my life? Do I want to live like this for the rest of my life?" I meant what I said at the beginning of my accident when I said that my main joy in life was in the friendships and the love that I have of my family and friends. I said that because I meant it. However, almost everything else that has ever seriously brought me joy is gone. I painfully realize that unless I gain more core muscles, I will never be the flutist or musician that I've always wanted to become. This alone is devastating to me. This, along with so many other things, is a thing of the past and I mourn the loss of the joys that made me whole.

I find myself longing to be free, to be liberated from my prison. My prison is not my hospital room, nor is it my wheelchair... my prison is my body. I'm confined within my own fleshy prison cell, and long for freedom, but only to conclude that there is no key to the door, no loose hinges to remove, and no windows to escape from. I'm helplessly incarcerated like an inmate. If someone doesn't feed me, I don't eat. If someone doesn't give me to drink, I don't drink. 

My future life in this condition is sickeningly inorganic. I will live and move only with the use of adaptive equipment, never to be alone again. A wheelchair, a stair glide, a catheter, a slide board, a suppository, an electrical muscle stimulator, and the list goes on…

"Can this really be my reality? How could this happen to me?" On Friday, after having these questions run through my head, and spending a day of holding back tears, it was only minutes before physical therapy that I broke down, slumped forward in my chair with my elbows on my knees, and sobbed... Through my tears, I cried to my sweet parents who had tears in their own eyes, "I don't want to live the rest of my life in a wheelchair."

After more sobbing, and some intense discussion, my father asked me at the appropriate time, "Now what are you going to do? It's what we talked about before, what's second-best?" It's not a question that's foreign to me. It's a question that has floated through my head at different times and for different reasons. And here it is again, demanding a response, "What's second-best, Carson? First best is no longer an option."

While I despise that question in many ways, I know that it is the only door open now. It might not lead to peace and plenty by any means, but it does lead somewhere. And at least it leads away from where I currently am.

If I know myself at all, I know that in some ways in a very proud man. I refuse to take the easy path, simply because it's the easiest path. I'm up for a challenge, and I know how I respond to these kind of situations. I'll wipe the tears from my eyes, slightly embarrassed at my weakness, and proceed forward to work until I'm exhausted.

There are times when I begin to chastise myself at my lack of hope or faith. But lately I've understood again that faith is working towards that which is unseen. It's working towards that which has not yet been realized. My faith is still very much being tested.

I know that the expression of faith is not necessarily found in perfect endurance, but in always moving forward despite difficult setbacks, even catastrophic setbacks. Faith is found in blood, sweat and tears, in dirt-stained faces and bloodshot eyes. Faith is found in bruises, scraped and bloodied knees, and calloused hands. I will be very surprised if any man can arrive to heaven in a pristine, wrinkle-free suit, a bright white shirt, necktie, and perfectly polished shoes.

Living faithfully, that is, living full of faith, is a conscious decision, and is a difficult one to make. For me in this particular situation, it is often harder to live with faith than to live without it. For me, reigniting my hope can be painful. Why do it then? Why continue forward when it's easier to quit? It's because of what I gain every time I do it. I always come out stronger. Just like weightlifting, the greater the burden or weight, the stronger the resulting outcome. It is nearly always painful, but I think that's how it's supposed to be. I think it's supposed to be hard. I can't imagine that Abraham was skipping happily up to Mt. Moriah to sacrifice his only son, the only one that could fulfill all of the promises made to him. A trial of faith is just that, a trial.

However, somehow, someway, suffering perfects us and makes us more like the Savior. "God having provided some better thing for them through their sufferings, for without sufferings they could not be made perfect." (Hebrews 11:40)

So back to that question… What am I going to do now? What's second-best now that first best is not an option? To be honest I'm not sure what second-best looks like yet. I'm not yet certain what I'm going to do with this new part of my life… But I do know what I won't do. I won't give up.

I also know that it is within my power to retain my hope in the Savior and his miraculous power as long as I am restricted in my mobility. I won't give up on the power of prayer, especially collective, faithful prayers of full healing.

So now what am I going to do? I will fight as long as I have anything at all to give. The battle that commenced on December 30, 2013 has only recently begun, and perhaps I underestimated my opponent, but this isn't over, and none of us save God knows what the future will look like. This will be a battle of time and patience. In the end, an indomitable spirit and gritty perseverance will be all I can give as an expression of my faith, and I hope that God will accept it as my most humble offering.

Paul's Day with Carson (13 year old brother)

Last week on Tuesday I got to skip school (YEAH!!) and go see Carson who is my big brother in the hospital. We got there and he was just given breakfast. We just hung around for a while until Occupational Therapy. This was the first time that he would go out off of the hospital grounds.... big deal......like BIG DEAL. We went out to the van and they had a special lift that lifted him up into the van, it was so cool.  So we went to Great Clips and he got to have an awesome haircut.  Across the street and to the right was Costa Vida and Carson, the Occupational Therapist and I got really good food.  After eating out we got back in the van and drove back to Physical Therapy (which we were a little late for). They hooked him up to a bike that pedals itself to move his muscles and they hooked up the pads that gave him a tiny shock to make his muscles flex when the bike would make his leg go up. When he was done we went back to the room.  When we got back to the room I interviewed him for a school project. The two questions I asked him were "How have you gotten through challenges in your life?" and "What are your plans for the future?"  He gave some great answers which will help my essay for school.  After that we had a quiet time (which I hate) and we all just relaxed. It was an awesome day and I learned a lot about what he does in a day. I hope I get to do it again.

Kate's Day with Carson (9 year old sister)

I got to go spend a day with Carson at the hospital.  I wanted to be with him so that he would  know that I supported him and I would be able to see what he does during the day.  I got to meet all of the people who work with Carson.  They were all  really nice. In O.T. (occupational therapy)  Danielle put these gloves on Carson that would give him a little bit of electricity that would move his hands. After that Lindsey gave him some Thera-putty.  It's like  play dough so he could squeeze it for his grip and he would put it in-between his fingers and stretch it out. They gave me some too so I could do it with him.  It was really fun and gooey.   In P.T. (physical therapy) Aaron would throw a ball and Carson would hold a long stick sideways and hit the ball back.  Garrett  helped Carson so that he could  balance. When we were all done I got to go back to Carson's room and spend time with him.  It was a fun day.

 

KSL interview change

All,

We just received a call from KSL news informing us that there is breaking news that needs to be covered tonight at 10. Consequently, they will be unable to cover Carson's story tonight, but assured us that it will be covered next week. We apologize for the changeup!

KSL Interview

All,

Carson was interviewed by KSL, Channel 5 News on Thursday, Feb 6.  The crew related that this will be aired this Sunday night (9 Feb) at 2200 (10:00), though there is always the possibility that this could change due to other stories/circumstances.  Carson provides some great insight into his experience.   We will try and provide updates to any changes as necessary.

Stephen Tueller

Braun's (Carsons' older brother) Perspective

Four weeks ago Carson was in a tragic accident where he broke his neck leaving him paralyzed from the chest down. When I first heard the news, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My younger brother was paralyzed? The first image that came into my mind was one of him doing high kicks, usually in mockery or when making fun. He was always so active...so animated. To think that he had lost his full mobility-- something most of us take for granted--broke my heart.

The first time I got to talk with Carson I braced myself for the worst. I fully expected him to be in need of physical, emotional, and spiritual support. What I experienced instead was something that I will never forget. My younger brother smiled over the top of the neck brace, tubing threading from his nose, and triumphantly showed me that he could move his arms. How could I not cry? His movements were comparatively jerky, and he had no fine motor movements in his hands. He said he couldn't feel anything from the chest down...but that he would rather break his neck ten times over than have to have his feeding tube done over again. Where I had expected to see someone in the depths of tragedy, I instead saw a bright and shining soul, defiantly ready to face whatever the future held for him. He was even making jokes!

I heard from my mother that within the first days following his injury, Carson said something along the lines of "Who needs legs to love?" That single line sums Carson's personality up pretty well. Everyone who knows my younger brother can attest to his astounding love of life and everyone in it. Carson has a disarming and reassuring presence that simply makes you smile. To me he embodies what humans strive for; to live a life filled with courage, love, patience, and belief. He is out to change the world, and nothing will slow him down. He touches the lives of everyone he comes into contact with...and continues to do so.

It has only been four weeks since his accident, but in that time Carson's friends have created this blog that has received hundreds of visitors. He receives letters nightly from people around the world. But what is most astounding is the motivation behind the blog. Carson uses the blog to not only catalogue his journey through his recovery, but more importantly to show the world that anything can be overcome through hard effort and belief. He is a devout member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and shares his faith and hope through his words and actions. Where many would lose their faith or renew it following adversity, Carson maintains and bolsters not only his own, but those around him in the midst of tragedy. He balances personal belief with personal desires, and yet has found a way to keep equilibrium between the two without sacrificing the other.

Words cannot express the love that I have for my younger brother. I don't know to what degree he will recover his physical aptitude, but regardless, Carson is the same man he has always been, if not greater. Carson has always shown us that love is the most important thing in life, and he continues to show that by giving his love to everyone he meets. If anyone can overcome something of this magnitude its Carson Jack Tueller, but what truly makes Carson special is the fact that I know his hopes, dreams, prayers, and efforts will be focused on the people he loves instead of on himself. Sometimes tragedy is simply opportunity disguised...it just depends on whether we have the bravery to look beneath the veneer. My younger brother has that bravery, and he in turn shares it freely with those around him.

Braun Tueller

This picture was too good not to share.

Cuddle time with Carson and Ann