Almost five years have past since that first horrific night when I got the phone call all parents fear. Parker has recently started writing a bit about his experience during the long months of his illness and recovery. Below is a short essay he wrote about his recollection of the first day he stood up again.

COLD FLOORS

by Parker Steveson

I liked night time the best because I could finally rest my mind. It was always quiet in the halls, and anyone staying in the room with me was either reading or asleep. I would sit up and think. Think about walking an extra two or three steps the next day. Thinking about the day I was going to walk out of there.  

I enjoyed the OT and PT sessions quite a bit.  It was the only time I was able to get out of the bed and actually walk without four people worried and holding me.  They wanted me to learn how to not fall.  They were always so encouraging, too.  I can’t think of how many times I was telling myself I couldn’t do it, and instead of being mad at me, they just said they understood but hey, let’s try.  And I would.  And I would succeed.  Whether it was moving from the bed to a chair, or the first time I stood up in two months.  

That was a hell of an experience. Re-learning how to walk might have been the hardest thing I’ve done in life.  The physical part hurt, but the mental toll that was taken…  For days, the PT people had been telling me, hey, three days, we’re going to stand up. And I would say yeah, we sure are, and I had these images of me standing up, saying bye, and walking out the door. They didn’t think I could. In fact, they were pretty sure I wouldn’t, couldn’t, and they expressed this.  

Hey man, we’ve got two days till we walk. You ready for that? I’d smile, Oh yeah man, I’m ready. I was still confident that I’d do it, no problem.  Then we tried sitting me up, for just 30 seconds, and that hurt like nothing had before.  Every muscle below my shoulders came alive and caught fire.  It took everything I had to not scream out and give up.  It hurt.  A lot.  

When I was laid back down from the seated position, I was finally able to exhale the breath I had taken in when the searing started in my muscles. At that point, I realized it wasn’t going to be that easy, but I would still be able to stand up and walk around just fine. 

Wednesday, May 21^st, 2009.  The PT guys came in.  Lindsey and Martin. Today was it, we were standing up and I was walking on out of this damn place. We got me set up, which wasn’t nearly as horrible as it had been the day before. I guess everything was awake and fired up. I moved towards the edge of the bed and I slid until my feet hit the ground. Wow that was cold. And hard. For two months I’d been wrapped up in blankets and had air pumped into the $3000 mattress I was laying on. The ground was not like that all. I remember feeling intimidated by it. Weird feeling, being intimidated by a floor.  

Lindsey and Martin each had one arm, and another OT guy was behind me on the bed. Together, they all lifted and I was standing. Holy fucking shit do my legs hurt. It felt like when I was seven, getting bitten by a million fire ants all at once. I fell backwards onto the bed, into the dirt on the ground outside my grandma’s house in east Texas.

I remember crying. Sitting on the edge of that hospital bed, having stood for maybe 3 seconds. My knees never actually locked, my legs were never straight, so I didn’t think I’d actually stood. They asked me if I wanted to do it again, and my brain was screaming no, I will kill you if you do that again.  Too much pain. But something, somewhere, made me, and I stood up and straightened my legs for 30 seconds. I slept for the next five hours.