A year after my injury, in Wisconsin, I went off to college at the University
of WI - Stevens Point, which is about dead center of the state. I knew nothing
about my spinal cord injury except that I was cold all the time and missed a
lot of classes because I didn't want to leave my hot chocolate and warm dorm
room. I, too, fired up my blow dryer quite often and it makes me happy to know
I'm not the only one who did that.
It was the end of December and I had one of the latest final exams of anyone I
knew. The campus was deserted because everybody was done with exams and had
headed home for Christmas break. The sky was crystal clear and sunny, but that
didn't reflect the bone-chilling, -15 degree windchill that blasted my face as
I rolled about a half mile from Steiner Hall to the classroom building where
the exam was administered.
I could hear the crunch of snow as I rolled over a few areas that hadn't been
shoveled too well. The rubber of my tires made strange creaking sounds as if
they were about to crack in their brittle condition and I had a difficult time
rolling in a straight line because of the bulkiness of my mittens around the
wooden dowel joystick I used back then. My trek was a bit longer than the other
students as the only accessible entrance to the building was in the rear,
behind the dumpsters and next to the delivery ramp.
As I neared the back entrance my chair began to slow noticeably and respond in
a sluggish manner. I immediately glanced at my battery level. Had my caregiver
forgotten to plug in the charger last night?! Nope; the battery level looked
fine. Then I realized it --the water in my batteries (liquid batteries back
then) must be freezing up! I looked around me--no one in sight; campus was a
ghost town. Luckily, I was nearing the back door and knew that warmth was only
a minute or two away. My chair was creeping now, barely able to climb the last
bit of ramp that led behind the dumpsters and to the door. Almost there now...
whew, made it!
I hit the electric door opener button, as I'd done so many times that semester,
only this time nothing happened. I pushed it again. Nothing. Again and again I
pressed the door opener, but no telltale click or whirring sound answered my
frantic stabs. I inched forward, tried to slip my mittened hand into the door
handle--no go, too bulky and slippery. With my teeth I pulled the mitten from
my hand and looped my curved fingers through the icy-cold handle. Pull!..... Oh
damn,.... it's locked! Are you f%$#ing kidding me?! I'm cold to the bone, my
chair is crapping out, nobody is around and I'm about to freeze to death trying
to go to a goddamn final exam?! This is not how I wanted my life to end!
Keep in mind, this was before cell phones. I had no way to call for help except
for my yells, and so that's what I did--HELP! HELP! HELLLLPPP! I screamed. I
pounded on the door, yelled for help and started to think about my family
learning that I had frozen to death because somebody had locked a back door. At
15 below zero I knew I wouldn't last too long.
I was getting seriously panicked and bordering hypothermic when a student heard
my pounding and came to see what the noise was. I was so thankful to see her
that I think I cried a bit. I don't remember anything about that exam or how
long it took me to warm up in front of the register, but I do remember that
lightbulb going on in my head: "I have to get out of this cold climate!"
A year and a half later it was 112 degrees when I moved into the dorm at
Arizona State University. And, I loved every single one of those degrees.
Don.
