A Halo for Barb - Barb's Miracle

For other stories about Barb -

CLICK here to view “How to Find a Wife,” the story of how we met and married.

CLICK here to view, “Barb’s Last Days,” The personal anguish of one slowly losing a dear loved one.

CLICK here to view, “Postscript to a Beautiful Life,” Reflections on the days following Barb’s funeral.

The Story:
Soon after Christmas 2001 we were to leave to visit family and friends in Texas and Arizona on our way to a six-week visit with my daughter, Deborah, and her husband, Michael, in Visalia, California. A year earlier, my wife, Barbara, a Methodist pastor, had stepped down from the pulpit because of the effects of Post Polio Syndrome. Barb was physically devastated by this strange disease which strikes many who had Polio thirty to fifty years earlier. These Polio survivors suddenly begin to experience severe muscle weakness and body wracking pain requiring much rest and the use of a walker or wheelchair to get around. Her condition quickly worsened during the summer and fall of 2000.

As the year came to a close, she could no longer manage the demands of the profession she so loved. There was not a dry eye in the entire congregation of the little country church at the end of the service December 30, her last Sunday in the pulpit. It was a tear-filled, gut-wrenching, yet wonderfully loving experience neither of us will ever forget. During the following year we had to learn to deal with this devastating problem that changed a vivacious, independent, physically active woman into one dependent on a walker or wheelchair to get around and on others to do much of what she previously enjoyed doing. It was a major adjustment for both of us. As the year ended, we were looking forward to enjoying the trip we had planned for so long.

After our family Christmas visits, Barb was not feeling well, complaining of pain in her upper back and unusual weakness in her right leg and hand. We talked of cancelling our trip, but after a visit to our family physician and a cortisone shot with little effect we sat down and talked about it, delaying our departure about two weeks during which time she showed little improvement. Finally, she said to me, "Let's just go ahead and trust in the Lord to help me through this." On January 21, 2002 we packed our big Mercury sedan, loaded Barb's wheelchair and walker into the trunk, hitched up our tiny cargo trailer packed with our other travel gear and clothing, loaded Rags, our little black and white Shih-tzu dog into the pen I built in the back seat, and headed out from our home on Lake Tippecanoe in Northern Indiana. Our first stay would be with my son, Howard, his wife Stephanie, and their son Michael in Colleyville, Texas.

Because of the limited time Barb could travel without severe weakness and pains the following day, we could manage no more than four-hundred miles of travel daily. It took us four days to drive to Texas. During a week of relaxation and wonderful visits we managed to see Michael play a basketball game and watch Stephanie play racquetball. We drove to Waco to visit our dear friend Bettye Baker who had lost her husband, Ken to cancer the preceding year. Ken and Bettye were members of the church Barb served and had become close friends. During this time, Barb became progressively weaker and could no longer walk with her walker remaining limited to her wheelchair.

When we reached Arizona, we missed connections with family in both Tucson and Phoenix because of our delays in starting. After a visit to the Grand Canyon - Barb's first - we drove directly to Visalia. There, Deb and Mike gave up their first-floor master bedroom to us since stairs were an impossible barrier for Barb. We settled in and even took a drive up the mountains to Sequoia National Park where I wheeled Barb through snow and up paths to see the huge trees. By this time, Barb was experiencing serious difficulties and could not even stand on her own. Her right hand was clenched tightly into a fist which she could not open. We knew something was seriously wrong and had to get her to a hospital or clinic very soon. Deb's neighbor, an emergency room physician, was contacted and suggested the Sansum Clinic in Santa Barbara would be the place to take her. The people at the clinic were kind enough to arrange for an initial exam within just a few days.

The following Tuesday we drove the two-hundred and thirty miles to Santa Barbara only to find that the doctor who was to see Barb was ill and unavailable. The staff at the Sansum Clinic treated us with kindness and consideration arranging for another physician to stay late and start the exam. After two days of tests, we headed back to Visalia with several more tests and an MRI scheduled for the next Tuesday. By this time, Barb had deteriorated to the point where she could not get out of her wheelchair without assistance. She could barely even feed herself as her left hand was beginning to close like her right. Through all her pain and paralysis, Barb remained calm and pleasant. "I know God will take care of me. I don't think he's through with me yet," she would say. Her indomitable spirit and inner strength certainly helped the rest of us handle her problems.

Early the following week we returned to Santa Barbara and two more days of tests and MRIs. When all tests were completed, we went for a report to the office of the neurologist at the clinic. He displayed the MRI of her cervical spine so we could see and pointed out the problem. Even our untrained eyes could see her spinal column was severely compressed from its normal round, nearly half-inch diameter to a thin crescent less than an eighth of an inch thick at the widest part. "You're going to see a neurosurgeon - NOW," he announced as he got on the phone. Within just a few minutes I was wheeling her out of the clinic, down and across the street and into the office of the neurosurgeon, Dr. Thomas Jones.

After viewing the computer screen showing the MRI, Dr. Jones repeated the neurologist's explanation. "We're going to schedule you for emergency surgery just as soon as possible," Dr. Jones said as he phoned the hospital to make arrangements. I then wheeled Barb out of his office, across the street and into the Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital. Because she had just eaten lunch, they couldn't do the surgery until the following day, so she was checked into the hospital where she would stay until her surgery. I was informed that her condition was quite precarious and dangerous. How much, if any, of the use of her hands and feet she would regain was unknown. It was even possible none of it would come back, but the doctor was hopeful she would recover fully. Time alone would tell after the two scheduled surgeries were completed.

Soon after she came out of recovery from the first surgery, I was taken into her room to see her. She looked so pale and weak, her neck in a plastic collar, her head softly cradled in the slightly elevated pillow. As soon as she saw me, she smiled, raised her right hand and said, "Look!" With that she opened her hand for the first time in weeks. "God works miracles," she said softly. Tears flowed and prayers of thanks were given by both of us. After several moments of emotional struggling we were finally able to talk. That little smile and soft voice spoke volumes. For the first time in many weeks I knew my little lady was going to be all right.

During the week before her second surgery she recovered well, steadily gaining more use of her hands. After the second surgery we were told she would have to wear a halo device for several weeks to hold her neck in place while the plate, bone graft and other changes healed. It was done while I had returned to Visalia for a few days to take care of some necessities there and return with fresh clothes and other items. She best tells the story of the installation of the halo device.

"I was peacefully resting after breakfast when my doctor and two men suddenly entered the room. They sat me up, made several quick measurements and began assembling this contraption on my chest, back and around my neck in a flurry of activity. The four pointed screws that were driven through my skin and into my skull were the only painful part. The slight crunching sound as the screws were tightened was almost worse than the pain which soon subsided. As suddenly as it began the whirlwind of activity was over and after some instructions on care and behavior they were gone and I was left with my head locked rigidly in this black metal halo bound tightly around my chest. How on earth could I possibly sleep? My head couldn't even reach the pillow as it was suspended in this four pointed vise."

Barb in her "Halo"

The truly amazing thing was her high spirits. Driven by an indomitable faith, Barb fairly glowed to all who came to see her. With kind words, high hopes, prayers, and a bubbling sense of humor, she raised the spirits of all who entered her room. The limits imposed by the halo only slowed her down a little. She soon had a repertoire of funny quips about the device which she shared with all who entered her room. It wasn't long before hospital personnel were stopping to see her as they were going off duty or before coming on. She brightened the day for all who stopped by with her prayers, humor and infectious pleasantness. I heard no words from her of gloom, despair or complaint about her condition. Her only complaints were about poor service, tasteless food, or physical inconveniences and those were few and far between. Mostly, the staff, services and conditions in the hospital were outstanding.

Barb in her decorated "Halo"

After about two weeks, Barb was transferred to the rehabilitation section of the hospital where she was to remain until she was able to move to the Rehabilitation Institute. While there she was able to have our little shih-tzu, Rags, as a visitor. This raised both of their spirits as Rags had really missed his "mom." One morning about ten days after Barb was moved to the rehab section, I was awakened at four in the morning by a call from the hospital. They explained Barb had experienced a heart attack, was doing all right and wanted to speak to me. I heard the following directions given in a very soft, weak voice: "I'm okay so don't rush down here. Just get up at your usual time, take Rags for a walk, have your breakfast and then come to the hospital." Yeah! Right! It took me about ten minutes to dress, pop a surprised Rags into the car, and get to the cardiac unit at the hospital.

There they informed me Barb was doing fine, was in surgery and that I should stay in the waiting room by the elevator. "Your wife will be brought from the elevator right past you when they're finished. You can't miss her," the nurse explained over the phone. For the next three hours I sat unaccompanied, but certainly not alone in that cold, empty room across from the elevators. During those hours and with only an occasional interruption as someone came or went on the elevators, I had a continuous conversation with the man upstairs. It was not really prayers, but a knockdown drag-out discussion about life in general and Barb in particular. I had a lot to say - no complaints mind you, just a whole lot of thoughts and feelings poured out as they overflowed my heart and mind. When the elevator door finally opened and Barb emerged on the gurney, I was greatly relieved to see she was still wearing the halo. That meant they had not done open heart surgery.

I kissed her and heard her say, "See, I'm still here. I told you he isn't done with me yet." As they wheeled her into the cardiac recovery section the surgeon took me aside to explain what had happened.

"She took a major hit," he explained. "We placed a stent in the main artery feeding the entire lower part of her heart. Her arteries are so tiny even the smallest one was difficult to place. We looked at the rest of her heart and found all her arteries clear and without any plaque."

Barb Tries to keep warm during the California winter

At four foot eleven, with tiny feet and hands, most of Barb's physical proportions are on a small scale. Apparently a blood clot, possibly because of her transfusions, had lodged in and blocked the main coronary artery. Fortunately, she was treated quickly and though the attack was a major one we were told she would probably have a complete recovery. I continued to be amazed at how calm, pleasant and hopeful she remained even after this serious setback.

After a brief stay in the cardiac unit, she was moved to the cardiac rehab section where therapy for her surgery would continue and new therapy for her heart would be started. It was the same story wherever she went in the hospital. Barb positively radiated hope, peace and high spirits with her enthusiastic Christian faith.

After two weeks in cardiac rehab, Barb was transferred to the Santa Barbara Rehabilitation Institute a few blocks from the hospital. There she was to undergo physical therapy, occupational therapy and periodic exams for several more weeks until her halo could be removed and she could go home. While there she used her walker more and more, going on walks around the building and attending meals in the dining room. She was soon raising the spirits of other patients with her pleasant smile and hopeful words. We played gin rummy in the dining room and outside on a patio when it was warm enough and not too windy.

Six weeks after her initial surgery, Barb and I went to her neurosurgeon to see if the halo device could be removed. We went to his office with the latest X-ray of her neck in hand. After studying the film he explained her spine had not grown enough bone around the graft and she would have to wear the halo for at least six more weeks. Barb was deeply disappointed as she was being discharged the next day and would have to wear the halo back to Visalia. This meant at least a six-week delay in our returning home.

On my fifteenth return trip to Visalia from Santa Barbara, my little lady was with me for the multi stop, leisurely drive. Not knowing how she would handle the drive with the halo, we planned frequent rest stops and a lunch en route. The trip went better than expected and we pulled into Deb and Mike's driveway late in the afternoon. The Sierras were a beautiful backdrop as we drove the last quarter-mile to their house.

In the weeks that followed, Barb walked more and more with her walker, finally covering nearly a quarter mile at a time. By Mother's Day she was able to join us for a drive into the foothills for a celebration meal at a lovely little restaurant beside a swiftly flowing river. By this time the weather was quite warm and pleasant and we spent a great deal of time out on the patio playing gin and talking. Six weeks after returning to Visalia we again headed for Santa Barbara for final checkups at the clinic and hopefully removal of the halo.

Removal of the halo was quite painful for the few seconds it took to loosen the screws. I had to steady Barb's head as they were loosened and the device was carefully disassembled. Finally! Freedom at last. We stayed an extra day to see her cardiologist and have blood work completed.

Medical necessities finished, we took a leisurely sightseeing tour up the California coast on highway one and visited San Francisco before returning to Visalia. I purchased one of those fold-up steel and plastic cots which Barb would use to lie down and rest periodically during our trip. We planned to stop for an hour for her to rest horizontally about every hundred miles. Being in the car for more than three hours without horizontal rest caused Barb great discomfort for the entire day that followed. These planned stops would enable us to travel farther each day. This became our guide for the entire motor trip home in July.

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