As I lay in darkness on the cold hard floor of the warehouse, my body began to change. First my senses and perceptions dulled considerably. Then, suddenly, they heightened. What was happening to me? My head began to spin. I wasn’t panicking because an uncanny calm came over me. Then I realized…my legs. Dear God, I can’t feel my legs. My vision became cloudy. I blinked my eyes a few times and then opened them. When I opened my eyes, I was suddenly looking down at myself. How could this be? What’s going on? I…I think I’m dead.

April 29, 1984, started off like any other ordinary Sunday. The beautiful blue sky was filled with the rays of the sun as my cousin, Alan, and I drove to a warehouse. We were on a mission to move a woodturning lathe, weighing approximately 2000 lbs, for his brother Albert, to another location in the warehouse space he occupied. My cousin and I, who each weighed in at about 245lbs each and were 34 years old, felt as invincible this day as we had many days before. The piece of equipment we were going to attempt to move rose about 5 feet high and was 8 feet long. A piece of cake for us!

We arrived there at about 10:15 am. This building was built in the 30’s, with large rooms, wooden floors and 20 foot high ceilings. It was predominately used by people in the woodturning industry. People who took blocks of wood and turned them into beautiful sculptures, vases, building ornaments and the such.  My cousin’s space was just up the steps, to the right and back into a partitioned room with a number of other tenants.
 
Moments later, we tilted the piece up, put dollies underneath and rolled it about 75 feet to another room in the same building. We took it off the dollies with the same ease as putting it on. Mission accomplished…I knew we could do it.! We’re two strong guys. Now this is the part of the story where everything goes tragically wrong for the hero.

I asked Alan where the bathroom was and he pointed me in the right direction. I proceeded out of the room to answer mother nature’s call.
While walking to the bathroom, I walked through a really dark room. I tripped and fell slightly backwards. No big deal. I took Taekwon-Do, Judo and I have lived successfully with Juvenile Diabetes for the past 24 years. I had a 50 inch chest, 19 inch arms, and was an avid weight lifter and in the best physical shape of my life! You could say  I know how to fall and pick myself up.

As I fell back, I put my hands behind me to break the fall, but, my hands didn’t touch anything. I tried to grab onto something, anything to try and stop myself from falling. The only thing I succeeded in doing was feeling my shoulder pull out of its socket. Someone had left the trap door open and I was falling, falling 21 plus feet and fast. In a split second, I hit the concrete with a loud thud.

I was dazed but still awake and thoughts were racing through my head. I was experiencing a euphoric feeling, one that I had never had before. How bad am I? Am I going to live? Am I dying? The pain was becoming excruciating. I can’t die. I still have my life ahead of me, my wife, my children. Damn it, I’m not gonna die…not today! Suddenly, I heard a voice, it was Alan. He yelled out, “Call rescue, call rescue!”

Before I knew it, I was being scraped up off the floor and being hustled into an ambulance. The ride to the hospital was a bumpy and painful one. But still no feeling in my lower extremities. Am I going to be paralyzed
I heard one of the paramedics say, “I don’t think he’s  gonna make it.” That’s what you think buddy.

The ambulance pulled up to Roxbourough Hospital emergency with a  screeching stop. The ambulance doors swung open, I was put on a gurney and taken into an emergency room. I was surrounded by doctors and nurses. They proceeded to attach machines to my body and cut my clothes off. The pain was unbearable. I wanted to beg them for pain killers but I couldn’t speak. I managed to whisper to the doctor, “Please, pain killers!”
A few minutes later, I heard my family outside of the room I was laying in. “Where’s my son?,” my father asked. My mother and father took one look at me and my mother passed out! I heard the doctors talking to my father. They said, “We don’t think he’s going to make it. He’s pretty busted up.” Again, someone deciding my fate. I am going to make it. I just know it. I can’t give up! Suddenly, I felt a stick in my arm when they put the IV loaded with pain killers and something to put me to sleep. The last thing I heard before I went under was that I was going into surgery.

I remembered waking up in a sterile looking room, laying on a gurney with a hundred tubes coming out of me. I was definitely disoriented for a few seconds until I realized where I was. There was some activity of people around me but not many. A few moments later, I felt myself starting to choke. I couldn’t speak and the only thing that moved in my body was my left arm. So, I started to pound the side of the gurney. I felt as if I was drowning! I saw people running over saying “He’s going into lung trauma.” I found out later that I was drowning in my own blood.
For the first time, I was frantic and choking to death! A second later, I saw two people come over to me, one holding me down while the other one shoved what seemed like two garden houses down my throat and then, I passed out from the pain.

I woke up the next day in critical intensive care. The surgeon and another M.D. came in to check me and then proceeded to tell me of my prognosis. Thankfully, my parents arrived at about the same time. They said that I had broken my back in 3 places, broken most of my ribs, had contusions and abrasions and I was bleeding internally. That was what the surgery in my gut was all about, to sew me up. Boy, did I feel like Humpty Dumpty!
They said they would transfer me in a couple of weeks to Jefferson Hospital Rehab Division when I was more stable.

The following day, I was starting to hallucinate from all of the pain killers I was on. I not only had a morphine drip but every few hours they would come in to give me a shot of Demeoral. I was becoming hooked! I was craving my next shot or drip. This was not good. A nurse came in the evening to give me my Demeoral in my right arm. I shook my head to no avail. I then reached over with my left hand and pulled it out of my arm before she pushed the liquid in. I then grabbed the yellow tablet with my left hand, I’m right-handed, and wrote: “No more, I’ll deal with the pain. I don’t want to become an addict.” She reluctantly told me that I wasn’t expected to survive for more than a few days. “YES I WOULD!!!” She shook her head and walked away. Another battle to fight and win!

Two days later, I started receiving throngs of people into my room, which was only allowed 3 family members at a time. The visitors that were coming in were both family and friends. At least a half dozen or more at a time. At one point there were about 2 dozen people crammed into my room.  Most with somber faces and tears in their eyes. I tapped the nurse’s shoulder next to me and made a writing type motion. She held up the yellow tablet and with all of the strength I had using my left hand I wrote and using the biggest smile I could muster: “I’ve just begun to fight. Don’t worry!” I held those words up for all to see and the people in the room began to laugh and shake their heads. I heard one person say, “Only  Marc would be that focused to think of us and not himself.” I wanted to take away their pain. I was going to make it!

The next few days brought many more visitors. I had 24 hour nursing care. In the evening, they would rub me down with hot oil. Unfortunately, I could not feel the soothing heat on most of my body. The doctors finally came in one day to give me their prognosis of my injuries. The orthopedic surgeon said I would get back limited movement in my legs and I would probably be left with restrained movements in other parts of my body. Since I still was on life support I couldn’t answer but in my head I said, “I’m going to prove you all wrong. I will walk and function like a normal person again. I’ll show you!”

It’s been almost a week since the accident. No food, no water just machines taking care of all of my bodily functions and all I could do was lay there and think and sleep. I continually rehashed my out of body experience and the thoughts that were in my head but not part of my own mind. I started to marvel at what had happened to me. What did I learn or what would I learn from all of this? What had I learned from having diabetes so far for 24 years?

A few more days had passed, some more aches and pains but I was becoming clearer in my head and getting more focused on my mission to recovery. The next day the doctor came in and with the help of a tech he removed the ventilator from my throat. Oh, was that painful. They then put me on oxygen through my nose. It was a little hard to breath because I suddenly had to do it myself again, with just a little help. I’ll handle it!  They also gave me a treat. The nurse put ice chips on my lips and on my mouth. Oh, what heaven that was!

Sometime in the second week, they transferred me by ambulance to Jefferson Rehab Hospital. I couldn’t wait. I was on my way. The  ambulance ride to Jefferson took about a half an hour. It seemed like forever. Every road bump we hit made my broken back, body and ribs feel as if they were going to explode. It was tough! My mother and wife rode in the ambulance with me. They were really there to help me get through the pain and angst. They did a great job. When we pulled up to Jefferson, they took me directly to what they called the receiving room. I was immediately surrounded by a throng of doctors, therapists and nurses. All I could do was look up at them and smile. The head of the team, Dr. Posuniak proceeded to make me laugh, oh my ribs, and at the same time ask me many questions. After he was through, I told him I needed to talk to him privately. He said, “Don’t worry, we’re all friends here. It’s okay to talk amongst the group.” I told him I needed to speak to just him. Everyone else left and I said to Dr. Posuniak, “I…” He cut in and said, “I know your(cough) doesn’t work! Don’t worry, you’ll get it back.” Goes to show you what a 34 year old guy thinks about, not will he walk again but if his manhood will work again. He invited everyone back in the room and all of the women came over to the table and looked down and said to me, ”We know what you asked him.” I blushed and smiled. A little levity to a heavy situation.

That day the orthopedic team, led by Dr. Jerome Cottler, M.D., came into my hospital room and told me what the next steps were. They were going to put me in a body cast for a number of months and then a body brace to try and stabilize my back. They also told me on one of my breaks a piece of bone was laying against my spinal column. They weren’t sure if they could stabilize it or need to go in for an operation. He told me if an operation was needed there was a chance I would lose more mobility and motion. Oh my. No way was I giving up! I will walk again!

Two days later I was rolled into a casting room. The put me onto a stainless steel table and strapped me in. Then, they hooked me up to IV valium because they told me the cast was extremely restricting for the first few days until it loosens to the form of your body. They proceeded to wrap me and turn this table over, around and over many times. I felt like the mummy! When they were done I was in a valium stupor and they rolled me back upstairs. I want you to understand it’s been two weeks since my accident, I haven’t been up from a prone position, I have a catheter and haven’t eaten a thing. I was wasting away to nothing and getting weaker and weaker.
 
The next day Dr. Cottler and the rehab team paid me a visit. They proceeded to read me the Riot Act of the Can do’s verses the Can’t do’s of the next several months. You’ll be here for a few months, you can’t attempt to walk unless assisted, we will not start you walking for at least the next 3 weeks. Yeah, right!!! I knew I had a tough uphill battle to convince them to move fast forward but I would. That day I asked the doctors if I could lift weights while in bed because I was getting weaker. They said no way and I said yes.

I drove them crazy day after day until they finally relented a couple of days later. They sent in a physical therapist with arm weights and gave me 1 lb weights. Just 3 weeks ago, I was lifting 60 lbs with each arm on curls. Oh well. Now my right arm was back in the socket but still very weak. My ribs hurt, my head hurt from stitches I received, and virtually every part of my body hurt. But I was going to lift  that 1 lb. weight. The therapist said he would help me but I said, “I’ll do it myself.” Well, that led to excruciating pains all over and I proceeded to lift the weight up on both sides twice. It’s a start.

Each day the doctors came in, I pestered them to take me to the rehab room so I could walk. Each day they said you have a piece of bone laying against your spine and you’ll be lucky if you will walk correctly again. Yeah, right. I heard that before but I sure don’t accept it. I can do it!
Finally, a few days later they relented and I was in the rehab room. The interns came and lifted me out of bed and into a wheelchair. I couldn’t do it alone. And I wanted to walk now? As I sat in the wheelchair, I felt dizzy and almost passed out just sitting there. Just a day before they started to give me some solid food for the first time in 3 weeks. So I thought I now had enough energy to do anything! When I arrived at the rehab room, there were many therapists and patients alike. There were people that were quadriplegics and parapelics. I said in my head, “I’m not going to wind up like that, I’ll walk again.” I’m the only one who thought so.

They wheeled me to the walking bars. It looked to be a mile long even though they were probably only 15 feet long. The doctors said to me, “Marc, you don’t have to do this now, you’re not ready.” I said, “Yes I am and yes I will!” With every bit of strength in my body, I pushed myself up from the wheelchair and held onto the bars for dear life. I partially stood there and sagged there sweating, nauseous, dizzy and racked with pain. I heard the doctor tell me to sit down. I said, “NO!” I put one hand in front of the other and started to drag myself across the bars. I couldn’t feel my legs but I was determined to jump start them. I kept going, dragging my legs and started to scream at my legs as if they had ears and told them to move. I put my whole being into them. First my left leg moved slightly, then my right, again and again and again! I heard someone say, “That’s impossible! He can’t really be doing this.” I made it down the bars, turned around and dragged myself back half way and collapsed on the ground in pain and exhaustion.

They picked me up and put me in the wheelchair and checked my vitals. Someone said, “What you did was do the impossible. What makes you tick?” I didn’t have the breath to answer but inside I smiled and thanked God! Many of the health care professionals came to me and congratulated me on what I did. They said that I had re written the rule books.
I was taken back to my room and slept till late in the afternoon. I awoke to find my parents, some of my family and an M.D. I did not recognize him.
He introduced himself to me and invited my family to hear what he had to say. He was an Endocrinologist. He said, “Your son has survived a major accident and come very far in a short period of time. His rehabilitation has been moved forward tremendously because of his positive attitude and intestinal fortitude. The reason Marc has survived this accident is due to the fact that he has diabetes.” I looked at the doctor and asked him what he meant by that? He said that “Diabetes Saved My Life.” Diabetes made me a stronger person, a person who has taken his new found strength and helped himself to heal from this catastrophic accident. He told me that what I did was truly a miracle. A light bulb went off in my head right then and there. I was beginning to understand about what I went through as I lay on the hard cold floor of the warehouse. Out of something bad, being diabetes in this case, came something good. I survived and would function as a whole person again.
Thank you diabetes!

Six weeks and four days after my accident, I was taken home by ambulance in a body cast. I would have that body cast on me for at least 4 more months and then have just a body brace for the next 5 months. I slowly walked to the ambulance on my own power and sat in the front seat. I asked my wife and mother to sit in the back of the ambulance. I heard my mother say, ”That’s Marc for you.” I arrived home to a hospital bed, walker, cane and other devices to help me on my road to recovery. The next day I was visited by an Occupational Therapist, Physical Therapist and a Nurse. I decided before the week was out to call the durable medical equipment company to pick up everything but the hospital bed and cane. They said they couldn’t and I said I’ll put the rest out for the trash if they didn’t. They did. I called the home nursing company and thanked them for the therapist and asked that they be removed from my watch. They reluctantly did after I battled with my doctor that I could rehab on my own.

The long and short of it is that today I am 55 years young, in good physical shape, and a  1st Degree Black Belt in Taekwon.  In  November of 2000 I competed in an international tournament  in Mar del Plata, Argentina and won a 3rd place trophy. I have raised 4 beautiful children, have 2 grandchildren, a wonderful wife who is my best friend.  Have had a great career  in the diabetes field and my life is filled with many wonderful friends.  I continue to pursue the “Can Do’s Versus The Can’t Do’s of Life and of Diabetes!”

April 29, 1984, the most defining day of my life, taught me never to give up and to always believe in the unbelievable. It also showed me that there is more to our existence than meets the eye. My accident injected a wisdom in me that I might not have had. It has helped me to become a very spiritual person . For that, I am thankful.

45 years ago, life handed me lemons with diabetes, and I have successfully made lots of lemonade!
Thank you.
Marc H. Blatstein
marcb@blatsteinconsulting.com