Authors: Joni Eareckson Tada
Joni
An Unforgettable Story
Foreword by
Joni Eareckson Tada with Joe Musser
ZONDERVAN™
Joni
Copyright © 1976, 1996, 2001 by Joni Eareckson Tada and Joe Musser
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Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Eareckson, Joni.
Joni.
1. Tetraplegia—Personal narratives. 2. Eareckson, Joni. I. Musser, Joe, joint author. II. Title.
RC406.T4E18 362.4’3’0926[B] 76-10450
ISBN: 0-310-24001-8 (Softcover)
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the
Holy Bible: New International Version
®
. NIV
®
. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
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ePub Edition APRIL 2010 ISBN: 978-0-310-87286-3
Names and identities of some of the persons and places in this book have been changed in order to protect their privacy or prevent embarrassment to them or their families.
To the glory of the Lord Jesus Christ…and lovingly dedicated to Mom…through whom He has especially expressed His kindness and love.
Through her patient and understanding heart, I have drawn much more than strength.
“It was my pleasure to have Joni on the [Today Show] program. I shall never forget meeting her. What an inspiration.”
Barbara Walters
“Losing her anger at God made the difference between suicide at seventeen and a life of strong purpose. The very irony of Joni Eareckson’s story suggests the existence of Someone designing destinies.”
Mary Daniels,
Chicago Tribune
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Joni Eareckson Tada’s life has been a remarkable portrait of Christian faith and God’s grace in the face of trial and hardship. The story of one woman’s triumph over tragedy is still as relevant today as when Joni first penned these words.
The first time I ever saw Joni she was being interviewed by Barbara Walters on NBC, and it was one of the first times I saw Barbara Walters misty-eyed over a story she was listening to.
Joni is an extraordinary person, yet her real strength and creativity come from a vital relationship with Jesus Christ. For over twenty years I have known Joni, asking her on several occasions to share her vibrant testimony in our Crusade services. The story of her life’s journey—finding light in darkness and peace in the storm—is powerfully and poignantly revealed through this book.
Joni Eareckson Tada and her husband, Ken, are images of the grace of God evident through every circumstance of life. In the reading of this book, may you find peace and purpose for your life that can come only through a personal relationship with the same Jesus about whom Joni writes.
God bless you.
Billy Graham, 1996
Isolated, by itself, what is a minute? Merely a measurement of time. There are 60 in an hour, 1,440 in a day. At seventeen, I had already ticked off more than 9,000,000 of them in my life.
Yet, in some cosmic plan, this single minute was isolated. Into these particular sixty seconds was compressed
more significance than all the millions of minutes marking my life prior to this instant.
So many actions, sensations, thoughts, and feelings were crowded into that fragment of time. How can I describe them? How can I begin to catalog them?
I recall so clearly the details of those few dozen seconds—seconds destined to change my life forever. And there was no warning or premonition.
What happened on July 30, 1967, was the beginning of an incredible adventure that I feel compelled to share because of what I have learned.
Oscar Wilde wrote: “In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.” To rephrase his thought, I suggest there are likewise only two joys. One is having God answer all your prayers; the other is not receiving the answer to all your prayers. I believe this because I have found that God knows my needs infinitely better than I know them. And He is utterly dependable, no matter which direction our circumstances take us.
Joni Eareckson, 1976
We are handicapped on all sides, but we are never frustrated; we are puzzled, but never in despair. We are persecuted, but we never have to stand it alone: we may be knocked down but we are never knocked out! Every day we experience something of the death of Jesus, so that we may also know the power of the life of Jesus in these bodies of ours…We wish you could see how all this is working out for your benefit, and how the more grace God gives, the more thanksgiving will redound to his glory. This is the reason we never collapse.
2 Cor. 4:8–10, 15, 16 P
HILLIPS
T
he hot July sun was setting low in the west and gave the waters of Chesapeake Bay a warm red glow. The water was murky, and as my body broke the surface in a dive, its cold cleanness doused my skin.
In a jumble of actions and feelings, many things happened simultaneously. I felt my head strike something hard and unyielding. At the same time, clumsily and crazily, my body sprawled out of control. I heard or felt a loud electric buzzing, an unexplainable inner sensation. It was something like an electrical shock, combined with a vibration—like a heavy metal spring being suddenly and sharply uncoiled, its “sprong” perhaps muffled by the water. Yet it wasn’t really a sound or even a feeling—just a sensation. I felt no pain.
I heard the underwater sound of crunching, grinding sand. I was lying face down on the bottom.
Where? How did I get here? Why are my arms tied to my chest?
My thoughts screamed.
Hey! I’m caught!
I felt a small tidal undercurrent lift me slightly and let me settle once more on the bottom. Out of the corner of
my eye, I saw light above me. Some of the confusion left. I remembered diving into the bay.
Then what? Am I caught in a fishnet or something? I need to get out!
I tried to kick.
My feet must be tied or caught too!
Panic seized me. With all my willpower and strength, I tried to break free. Nothing happened. Another tidal swell lifted and rolled.
What’s wrong? I hit my head. Am I unconscious? Trying to move is like trying to move in a dream. Impossible. But I’ll drown! Will I wake up in time? Will someone see me? I can’t be unconscious, or I wouldn’t be aware of what’s happening. No, I’m alive.
I felt the pressure of holding my breath begin to build. I’d have to breathe soon.
Another tidal swell gently lifted me. Fragments of faces, thoughts, and memories spun crazily across my consciousness. My friends. My parents. Things I was ashamed of. Maybe God was calling me to come and explain these actions.
“Joni!” A somber voice echoed down some eerie corridor, almost as a summons. God? Death?
I’m going to die! I don’t want to die! Help me, please.
“Joni!”
Doesn’t anyone care that I’m here? I’ve got to breathe!
“Joni!” That voice! Muffled through the waters, it sounded far off. Now it was closer. “Joni, are you all right?”
Kathy! My sister sees me. Help me, Kathy! I’m stuck!
The next tidal swell was a little stronger than the rest and lifted me a bit higher. I fell back on the bottom, with broken shells, stones, and sand grating into my shoulders and face.
“Joni, are you looking for shells?”
No! I’m caught down here—grab me! I can’t hold my breath any longer.
“Did you dive in here? It’s so shallow,” I heard Kathy clearly now.
Her shadow indicated she was now above me. I struggled inwardly against panic, but I knew I had no more air. Everything was going dark.
I felt Kathy’s arms around my shoulders, lifting.
Oh, please, dear God. Don’t let me die!
Kathy struggled, stumbled, then lifted again.
Oh, God, how much longer?
Everything was black, and I felt I was falling while being lifted. Just before fainting, my head broke the water’s surface.
Air!
Beautiful, life-giving, salt-tinged air. I choked in oxygen so quickly, I almost gagged. Gasping, I gulped in mouthfuls.
“Oh, thank You, God—thank You!” I managed.
“Hey, are you okay?” Kathy asked. I blinked to clear my mind and dissolve the confusion. It didn’t seem to work because I saw my arm slung lifelessly over Kathy’s shoulder, yet I felt it was still tied to my chest.
I looked down at my chest. My arms were not tied. I realized with a growing horror that my limbs were dangling motionlessly. I couldn’t move them!
In the confusion, Kathy took charge. She called to a nearby swimmer on an inflated raft. Together they wrestled me onto it and pushed it toward shore. I heard the raft beneath me slide against the sandy beach.
I tried to get up but felt pinned against the raft. People began to hurry over to see what had happened. Soon there was a crowd hovering above me, faces looking down in curiosity. Their stares and whispers made me feel embarrassed, uncomfortable, and even more confused.
“Kathy, please make them leave.”
“Yes, everyone stand back! Someone call an ambulance. Move away, please. She needs air,” Kathy instructed.
Kathy’s boyfriend, Butch, knelt beside me. His lean frame shielded me from the crowd, now moving back. “You okay, kid?” he asked. His large dark eyes, usually smiling and full of good-natured fun, were clouded with concern.
“Kathy—I can’t move!” I was frightened. I could see they were too.
Kathy nodded.
“Hold me!”
“I am, Joni.” She lifted my hands to show that she was grasping them firmly.
“But I can’t feel it. Squeeze me.”
Kathy bent over and held me close. I couldn’t feel her hug.
“Can you feel this?” She touched my leg.
“No,” I said.
“This?” She squeezed my forearm.
“No!” I cried. “I can’t feel it!”
“How about this?” Her hand slid from my arm to rest on my shoulder.
“Yes! Yes, I can feel that!”
Relief and joy suddenly came over us. At last, somewhere on my body, I could feel something. As I lay there on the sand, I began to piece things together. I had hit my head diving; I must have injured something to cause this numbness. I wondered how long it would last.
“Don’t worry,” I reassured Butch and Kathy—and myself. “The Lord won’t let anything happen to me. I’ll be all right.”
I heard the wail of a siren. Soon the ambulance pulled up and doors opened. In less than a minute, attendants efficiently lifted me onto a stretcher. Somehow their starched white uniforms were comforting as they carefully placed me in the back of the ambulance. The crowd of curious onlookers followed.
Kathy started to climb up into the ambulance.
Butch took her hand and said softly, “I’ll follow in the car.” Then he nodded sternly to the driver. “Be careful with her,” he instructed.
The siren began to wail, and we headed away from the beach.
I looked up at the attendant riding beside me and said, “I hate to put you to all this trouble. I think once I catch my breath I’ll be okay. I’m sure the numbness will wear off shortly.”
He didn’t say anything but reached over and brushed sand off my face, smiled, and looked away.
I wish he’d say something to let
me know I’ll be all right—that I’ll be going home as soon as the doctors at the hospital check me over,
I thought.
But no comforting words were offered. I was left to my own thoughts and prayers as the siren wailed. I looked through the window at the city speeding by outside.
The Lord is my shepherd…
People on curbs stared curiously.
I shall not want…
Cars pulled over to let us pass.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures…
The ambulance slowed and turned down a busy boulevard.
He restoreth my soul…
I could not collect my thoughts enough to pray. I clung to memorized promises from the Bible.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me…
Suddenly the ambulance siren growled into silence. The driver backed up to the doors of the hospital, and the attendants quickly began to ease my stretcher out. As they swung me smoothly through the doors, I saw the sign:
EMERGENCY ENTRANCE
NO PARKING
Emergency Vehicles Only
By now the city sky was dark; the sun had set. I was cold and longed to be home.
Inside, the emergency area was alive with activity. I was taken into a room and placed on a hospital table with wheels. The light hurt my eyes. As I turned my face to avoid its glare, I could see all the equipment and supplies arranged in ready rows. Bottles, gauze, bandages, trays, scissors, scalpels, jars, packets with long, medical-sounding names, and unfamiliar shapes were all about. The antiseptic smells and pungent odors made me slightly queasy.
A nurse strapped me to the table and wheeled me into one of the many small cubicles. She pulled privacy curtains around me. Again I struggled desperately to move my arms and legs. They were still numb and motionless.
I feel so helpless. I’m getting sick. I’m scared.
Tears welled up in my eyes.
“Can’t you tell me what’s happened to me?” I begged.
The nurse merely shrugged and began to take off my rings. “The doctor will be here soon. Now, I’m going to put your jewelry in this envelope. Regulations.”
“How long do I have to stay here? Can I go home tonight?”
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to ask the doctor. Regulations.” Her answer was emotionless and reminded me of a telephone recording.
Another nurse came into the cubicle with forms to fill out.
“Name, please.”
“Joni Eareckson.”
“Johnny? J-o-h-n-n-y?”
“No. It’s pronounced Johnny—after my father—but it’s spelled J-o-n-i. Last name is E-a-r-e-c-k-s-o-n.” Then I gave her my address, my folks’ name and number, and asked her to call them.
“Do you have Blue Cross?”
“I don’t know. Ask my folks—or my sister. She’s probably outside. She was with me at the beach. Her name is Kathy. Ask her.”
The nurse with the clipboard left. The other put the envelope with my belongings in it on a nearby table. Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a big pair of shears.
“W-what are you going to do?” I stammered.
“I’ve got to remove your swimming suit.”
“But don’t cut it! It’s brand-new. I just got it—and it’s my fav—”
“Sorry. Regulations,” She repeated. The heavy
ch-cluk, ch-cluk, ch-cluk
of the shears echoed off the plaster walls. She pulled the ruined scraps of material off and dropped them in a waste can. She didn’t even care. The suit didn’t mean a thing to her. I wanted to cry.
She put a sheet over me and left. I felt embarrassed and uncomfortable. The sheet slipped down, exposing part of my breasts, and I couldn’t move to pull it back up. Frustration and fear finally brought a flood of hot tears as I began to sense the seriousness of the situation.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me…
I fought back the tears and tried to think of other things.
I wonder if Kathy called mom and dad. I wonder if Dick knows yet.
A man in dark tweed slacks and a white lab coat pulled the curtains and stepped into the cubicle.
“I’m Dr. Sherrill,” he said pleasantly while flipping through pages on a clipboard. “And your name is Joanie?”
“It’s pronounced Johnny. I’m named after my father.”
Must I go through this explanation with everyone?
“Okay, Joni, let’s see what’s happened to you.”
“Dr. Sherrill, when can I go home?”
“Tell me, do you feel this?” He had a long pin and was apparently pricking my feet and legs.
“N-no—I can’t feel that.”
“How about this?”
Gritting my teeth, I shut my eyes to concentrate, hoping to feel something—anything.
“Nothing.”
He was holding my arm and pressing the pin against my limp fingers, wrist, and forearm.
Why can’t I feel anything?
He touched the upper arm. Finally I felt a small sting in my shoulder.
“Yes, I feel that. I had feeling there at the beach.”
Dr. Sherrill took out his pen and began to write on the clipboard.
Other medical staff people began to appear. Amidst the clatter and clutter of tubes, bottles, and trays, I heard Dr. Sherrill ask another doctor to come over. He went through the pin routine with the other doctor, and the two of them conferred in subdued
voices near the head of my table. The language of medical terms and jargon was unfamiliar to me.
“Looks like a fracture-dislocation.”
“Uh-huh. I’d say at the fourth and fifth cervical level judging from her areas of feeling.”
“We’ll need to get to it. X-rays won’t tell if there’s continuity or not.”
“Shall I order O-Rprepped?”
“Yes. Stat. And try again to reach her parents.”
Dr. Sherrill’s associate left quickly, followed by one of the nurses. Dr. Sherrill whispered instructions to the brusque nurse who had destroyed my swimsuit, and she left too.
I watched someone wipe my arm with a cotton ball and stick a needle into the vein. I felt nothing.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dr. Sherrill holding a pair of electric hair clippers. There was a loud click and buzzing sound as they were turned on.
What on earth are those for?
I wondered. With growing terror, I realized they were moving toward my head.
“No,” I cried. “Please! Not my hair! Please,” I sobbed. I felt the clippers sliding across my scalp and saw chunks of damp blond hair fall beside my head and onto the floor. An attendant was preparing a soapy lather. She picked up a razor and walked toward me.
She’s going to shave my head! Oh, dear God, no! Don’t let them!
The room began to spin. My stomach churned, and I felt faint.
Then I heard a high-pitched noise, something between a buzz and a squeal.
It’s a drill!
Someone held my head, and the drill began grinding into the side of my skull.
I began to feel drowsy—
probably the shot they gave me.
I was falling asleep. More panic.
What if I don’t wake up? Won’t I ever see Dick again? Kathy? Mom and dad? Oh, God, I’m afraid!
I saw faces. I heard voices. But nothing made sense. The room began to grow dark and the noise faded.
For the first time since the dive I felt relaxed, even peaceful. It no longer mattered that I was paralyzed, lying naked on a table with a shaved head. The drill no longer seemed threatening either. I drifted into a deep sleep.
Coming out of the blackness, I thought I heard the drill and tried to wake up enough to shout at them to stop. I didn’t want them drilling when I was awake. But no words came. I tried to open my eyes. The room was spinning.