Matthew Porter’s story, as told by Steve Porter, dad.

 

Today is Oct 23, 2006. During this time of year, my mind flashes back to the fall of 1999. It was a different time for me, for my family, and especially for my son. As we went about our lives dealing with a senior in high school thinking about graduation, Halloween, Christmas, etc…we had no idea that in two weeks or so our lives would be literally turned inside out, and forever changed. It’s always perplexing how one unanticipated incident can so drastically alter the course of events.

 

For quite some time now, I have wanted to write down my thoughts and experiences about by son, Matthew. People often see Matt with me and my family and wonder about this young man in the wheelchair. I know people are curious about why he is disabled, but out of politeness, do not ask. I do not know why I feel compelled to write all this down, but perhaps it’s because I know I’m getting older, and when I’m gone there will not be anyone who has shared so much of Matt’s life…from birth to now…as I have. I knew him when he walked, talked, drove, played baseball, and did all the things a healthy 17 year old does. People that meet him now meet a wonderful person, yet do not realize what he went through to be in his current condition. Matt's 10 year sister who was only three at the time of his accident cannot even remember Matt helping to get her dressed for daycare, and playing with her when she was a toddler.

 

So here is Matt’s story, told from my perspective since, well, that’s the only perspective I can tell it.

 Summer and Fall of 1999

Where to start? I could go back to the day he was born..a healthy baby boy with some of the prettiest (I know, boys aren’t supposed to be “pretty”…but he was..) red hair you’ve ever seen on a baby. Most parents can relate..the birth and development of children is something old and young parents can go on an on about for hours..the hospital, the first smile, the first words, the first steps. When we have offspring, we go into a different era of our life. We cannot imagine what it was like when we had no children. After the bonding, for most if us our children’s lives become what we live for, something for which all other things in life take a back seat.

 

I was no different. My dad died when I was young, and having a son was a joy that can never be expressed in words. As he grew, he became my best friend, and one of  my reasons for living.

 

But I won’t tell his entire life story. I will start at the point in Matt’s life that will forever be etched in my memory. A picture of Matt that was, but will never be again. The happy-go-lucky, smart, good looking, 230 lb 6”2” redheaded 17 year old that looks like me, but seemed to avoid inheriting some of my undesirable traits. He was tall, handsome, witty, intelligent, level-headed, and rational. Matt was one of those all around wonderful people. Things I wanted to be.

 

The summer of 1999, Matt and I worked on our Jeep in preparation for a trail riding event in Tennessee. He and I spent countless hours working on the Jeep. You see, Matt was one of those people that could rebuild an engine on little more than instinct, yet could help a fellow class member with their algebra homework. He was the person classmates called when they needed help figuring something out on the computer, or in the textbook. And of course, when they got stuck on the mud out on some trail somewhere, Matt would crank up the Jeep and go pull them out. He had so much potential. I know I sound like a proud parent, but Matt really was different…he could have done anything he put his mind to. Really.

 

Fall of 1999, Matt began his senior year in high school. This young 17 year old boy was becoming an adult, and you could see the changes. He was never talkative, and when he was younger people assumed he was shy. But now he had begun to be very personable, and downright witty. He loved his friends, and like so many teenagers, became very sociable. He began “hanging out” quite a bit…possibly a little too much. More on that later…

 

But with senior pictures, cap and gown, and a graduation coming up to the “Class of 2000”, life seemed to happening like it was supposed to. We had his college fund in place, and were at the point of discussing which university he would attend. Thinking back on that autumn and some of the events that took place, it literally seems like a different lifetime. It seems as if I were a different person living in a different reality. In many ways I was, and certainly Matt was.

 

Sept of 1999 the family loaded up and drove 150 miles to the Jeep Jamboree in Tennessee. The weather was absolutely beautiful, and Matt did much of the driving. My daughter Meigan and wife Cindy went with us this trip. As it turned out, we broke an axle on the Jeep the first day, so much of the trip was spent as family time, going to the park and doing some sightseeing around the hills of TN. It was a wonderful trip… but little did we know at the time it would be the last trip we would ever have with Matt before his accident…the accident that changed not only him, but drastically changed our lives as well.

 

October 1999 came and went. Beautiful weather! Matt had a part-time job, and was making great grades in school. For the first time in his life, he could see himself as an adult. High school graduation…starting a new life at college, and becoming independent from dad and his step-mom.

 

Nov 1999.

 

We didn’t know it, but our lives were on the verge of a major shake-up. It seemed, at the time, the biggest issue facing us was Y2K. We were warned about planes falling from the sky, no electricity, and a breakdown of society. But what hit us, and his us very hard, was the event that happened Nov 7, 1999.

 

Saturday, Nov 6, 1999, Matt slept in. I decided to take the girls on a little Jeep ride and let Matt sleep. We loaded up… Meigan, and Cindy, and me, and drove down some of the trails that Matt and I had explored many times in the past. Matt and his little sister Meigan (only three years old at the time) were very close, and she mentioned Matt a lot on this ride. I told her I was not as good at navigating the Jeep as was Matt, and she seemed to understand perfectly. We drove through some of the difficult passages, and finally, after a couple of hours, decided to return home and get Matt to go with us to do the driving.

 

When we got back home, Matt had gone to a friend's house. He called and left word on the answering machine letting us know where he was. This was before the proliferation of cell phones, and we didn’t have the luxury of instantaneous communication like everyone has these days.  He said he would call back later. As the afternoon progressed, I got a little worried, but finally Matt called around 8:00PM. I didn’t make it to the phone, but he left a message saying he was going to the mall to get a CD, and would be home by midnight. I had just given him some money for his straight “A” report card, and he wanted to go shopping.

 

That message on the answering machine was the last time I heard Matt speak normally.

 

I had tried to wait up for Matt that night. I fell asleep on the couch, and eventually made my way, half asleep to the bedroom where I lay across the bed in my clothes. My wife was tending to our daughter Meigan in her bedroom.

 

Sometime around midnight, my wife woke me up. She looked panic stricken, very unusual for her. She told me there were police at the door. We both went to the door where we were told that Matt had been in a serious accident and taken to Carraway Medical center in Birmingham, AL. They did not offer much information…only that he was “unconscious.” A few days before, Matt had lost his wallet. The police had used the tag number on the truck to trace me down at my residence, and dispatched police to my house.

 

We grabbed a few items and began the long journey (about 30 minutes) to the hospital. My stomach was in knots. I had no idea what was going on…I cried, worried, cried…wondered..

 

I called Matt’s mother on my cell phone. Matt’s mother and I divorced when Matt was two years old, and Matt came to live with me and my wife when he was eight. Trying to remember phone numbers in a situation like this can be maddening, but I finally got through. She and her husband live in Jemmison, AL, and they too began the drive to the hospital.

 

When we finally arrived, it was close to 1:00 AM. I expected to see a doctor, but the lobby was empty. There was a bored looking receptionist at the desk, and I walked up to the window and inquired about Matt. She pointed toward a waiting room and told me a chaplain would be in shortly to talk to me.

 

A chaplain??? I just knew Matt had died during the trip to the hospital. I suddenly had trouble breathing, and began crying uncontrollably. The chaplain finally came in and told me Matt was in a coma. This is the first time the word was used, and I had no idea what it meant. I asked how long he would be in a coma, and the chaplain just said a surgeon would be in to speak with me shortly. We prayed, and eventually a tired looking, very young doctor came into the room.

 

He explained that Matt was in a coma and suffered from what appeared to be a head trauma. He said he was being sent for cat-scan, and they would know more in a few hours. In the meantime, I was told to wait.

 

Sometime around two or three in the morning, a surgeon came in and explained that Matt had severe bleeding inside his skull. His injury was a “closed head” injury meaning there were no broken bones, not even a fractured skull. For a fleeting moment, I was relieved since this information led me to believe the injury was not that severe. But I soon learned that closed head injuries are the worst kind of brain injury. Like any tissue, when the brain is injured, it swells. The skull is an enclosed container, and inside is a very rough texture. The brain and the inside of the skull are not meant to contact each other, but this injury caused the brain to collide with this boney, rough skull and cause severe injury. But to make matters worse, the brain begins to swell, pushing against this texture, causing more brain damage, causing more swelling.

 

The neurosurgeon explained that Matt’s injury was in a very difficult location. Sub dural hematoma was the medical term. There was massive bleeding in the central part of his brain, and based on the results of the MRI’s and CT-scans, there was no procedure which would be effective in relieving the brain swelling. Drugs were administered, but as was explained to us, these had only limited effect. The neurosurgeon said most likely, the brain would swell and “atrophy.” I asked what that meant, and he said “death.” In case you don’t know, the heart can continue to pump blood, and with artificial means, the lungs and heart can supply the body with the ability to “metabolize” food and oxygen. Yet when the brain dies, you are considered dead.

 

Regardless of how you feel about “pulling the plug” as they say on TV, pray that you never have to make this decision especially one so young with life ahead of them.

 

The next few days were a series of questions answered usually by “we don’t know”, “we’ll just have to wait and see”, and the somewhat hopeful “we’ve seen people pull through with similar injuries.” We learned that the third day was the worst, in terms of swelling. And sure enough, Matt’s intra cranial pressures started increasing sharply. I was faced with the possibly…probability of losing my son. It hurt too much to imagine.

 

But something happened around 1:00 am the third night in the hospital…the neurosurgeon came and told us that there had been some slight changes which would allow them to insert an instrument which would allow pressure to be relieved. The procedure is a ventriculostomy, where needles are inserted into the brain's ventricles, and fluid is drained out through a tube. We signed the paperwork, and the procedure was done. Immediately, Matt’s pressure readings inside his skull dropped, and it appeared there was some hope for survival.

 

It’s hard to describe the experience of waiting when someone is in Matt’s condition. A few short visits are allowed each day. Walking back to the room where he was being cared for was at times like a horror movie. The room was dark and cold. Matt had damage to the area of the brain that controls body temperature, and he was kept on a “cold mattress”, which was like a water bed filled with ice cold water. His head was shaved, he was on life support since he could not breath on his own at the time, and there was an array of monitors which we soon learned to read, the critical one being intracranial pressure. He was for the most part, lifeless. Over and over and over I would ask him to life a finger. To blink his eyes. The only sign of life was the rising and falling of the chest as the ventilator pumped oxygen into his lungs and kept his basic metabolism going. His heart beat carrying blood and oxygen throughout his body, and there were some brain waves that registered on the ECU. Because of this, he was considered alive. But seeing someone that cannot respond, even to physical pain, makes one wonder about the definition of life and death.

 

We would talk to Matt. The nurses said it couldn’t hurt, and many people who come out of a coma have memories of conversations, and things going on around them. The doctors and nurses both said that it was entirely possible our voices would be heard, and would register somewhere deep inside Matt’s brain.

 

Matt was in intensive care almost a month, and then sent to a regular room. It became clear that the hospital was going to discharge him, even though he was still comatose. I had a hard time accepting this. According to the hospital rules, a person who breathes on his own, and has no other physical problems, is considered well, even though that person is not conscious! There have been lawsuits over this very issue, but I did not pursue any legal recourse. I accepted what the hospital told me, and prepared to bring Matt home.

 

There was more waiting during the two months at the hospital. Matt remained in a deep coma. His intracranial pressures gradually went down, but we still did not know the extent of the damage. Most people know what a spinal cord injury can do. A small tear in a spinal cord can cause a person to be completely paralyzed for life. That’s because cells in the central nervous system do not regenerate. Once they are gone, they do not come back. The brain is made of basically the same tissue as the spinal cord. Brain cells get destroyed, and they are gone for good. Yet the brain works a little differently. The cells inside the brain form a complicated, vast network of signals composed of neuro transmitters and receivers.

 

When cells, or neurons are destroyed, that network cannot function. When a network in the brain stops working, the part of the body controlled by that network no longer functions. Often it is physical: an arm that no longer works. Vision and/or hearing could be wiped out. The delicate muscles that control swallowing quit working, and a tube has to be inserted. Sometimes the effects are more subtle. Memory gets lost. Emotions get changed. The part of you that is “you” gets damaged..your entire personality goes away. In effect, you can become a completely different person inside the same body.

 

Yet the brain has a remarkable ability to “rewire” itself. New networks are made. Pathways are formed which can go around damaged areas. But this happens at an unpredictable rate, and sometimes doesn’t happen at all. Interestingly, the severity of the injury often doesn’t indicate the extent of the re-routing. Badly damaged brains can bounce back, while a mildly bruised brain can leave a person completely disabled.

 

Matt started showing signs of a brain healing itself sometime around 30 days after his injury. This was manifest by a response to loud clapping in his face, and his eyes would flutter and attempt to open. I was ecstatic when I first saw this. Finally, he was waking up! I just knew in a few days he would sit up in bed and start talking about the Jeep…maybe even return to school and get his diploma. But in the back on my head I knew something was not right…and thus began the long journey that consisted of hope and disappointment.

 

I had read about these types of injuries during the long waits in the hospital. Even when a person comes out of a coma, they sometimes remain in a “vegetative” state. It’s an unfortunate word, but PVS or “persistent vegetative state” is a bona fide medical condition. And even if the person does develop awareness, that person can still be left with physical and mental deficits for the rest of their lives. The PVS state was one I had trouble imagining. A 17 year old boy unconscious, yet with a healthy body. To me it seemed like death, yet with a beating heart. If a person remains in this state for a year or so, there is almost no chance they will come out of it. Matt remained this way for six months. Six months that seemed like an eternity.

 

As weeks turned into months, Matt continued a slow progression to awareness. He was sent home on New Year's Day, 2000. He had a hospital bed, a feeding tube, and wore a diaper. He did not respond much to anything. We would ask him to lift a finger. He would not. Blink your eyes. He would not. We had therapist who came to our house to work with Matt and do evaluations. One therapist I remember vividly. He kept telling me that  Matt was “in there.” We had heard so much seemingly conflicting information, I was skeptical. Yet this therapist saw something. The old saying about the eyes being the “mirror to the soul” took on new meaning. He claimed he could see a lot of awareness in Matt’s eyes.

 

Gradually things changed.  One night he was sitting in his wheel chair. I looked at him and said: “Matt, won’t you please just look at me.” He slowly lifted his head and very deliberately turned his head toward me. At that moment, I knew he was in there.

 

When the brain begins to recover, it can take years. Usually the major recovery happens in the first six months, and continues throughout a two year period. But even after that, recovery can happen, although not as pronounced.

 

After six months, in April of 2000, Matt had good awareness. He was sent to Lakeshore hospital for rehabilitation. He was barely able to turn his head, but would do a thumbs up, and answer questions using blinks or hand movements.

 

While Matt made good progress, his recovery has not been what we hoped and prayed for. He showers and dresses himself, but due to the paralysis on the left side of his body, he is unable to walk, although he can stand. Matt lives in an apartment by himself which is designed to be completely handicapped accessible. It is not assisted living; he is independent, yet we visit him at least once or twice a week. His his speech is slurred and difficult to understand, yet it seems like he continues to make progress in this area.

 

I am a Christian, but I tell you, I question God sometimes. I get angry at God. Why did God partially heal Matt? Why do others recover completely?

 

These are answers that will never be answered down here in this life. The old gospel song “Farther Along” which I’ve sang a thousand times comes to mind “We’ll understand it, all by and by”.

 

Thanks for reading…