Then,
Dr. Harvey, PDO Chief Medical Officer, came to see me and I was
moved into a private room. Dr. Harvey was to take after me
medically, professionally and socially, for years to come.
Two days later, the doctors explained their diagnosis and my chances
of recovery. I had sustained a Spinal Cord Injury (SCI) in the sixth
vertebra in the upper-most neck region of the vertebral column. In
short, I had broken my neck.
For
the time being, the doctors only knew that such an injury could mean
damage in the nervous system, affecting my ability to move and feel,
and disrupting normal functions of most organs below the level of
injury. However, the extent of the damage and degree of recovery
would be determined by the amount of sensation I regained in the
next few weeks. I indulged myself in hopes that the doctors would
soon tell me that things were not as bad as they looked.
But
there was no improvement in the first month, and doctors didn't say
I would get better. Now I started to realize the misfortune that had
struck my family and me. Thinking
of what the future it might hold was driving me to the verge of
madness, I was unable to walk, write, shower, or do the simplest
things. But the worst thing of all was looking at Fatema's face,
watching her innocent smile fade away day by day. I was also in
continuous severe pain literally fixed to the bed, unable to move
even the smallest muscle in my body.
During
this time more colleagues and PDO managers visited me. The Company,
through Dr. Harvey and my immediate supervisors, showed me great
concern and compassion beyond description. Dr. Harvey assured me
that PDO was willing to send me abroad for more specialized
treatment and rehabilitation, but they had to wait until it was safe
for me to go on a long journey.
But
my patience soon began to fade, as two months passed by without
change. I would lie, either staring at the ceiling or closing my
eyes, trying to escape the misery. Some days I exploded with anger
when things got worse and I felt helpless. I would think: Oh God,
how long can I tolerate this endless suffering and pain before I
give UP? I want to scream to cry, but what is the use. Other times I
realized that anger was pointless and simply led to more depression
and distress. Then I told myself: I will not lose hope, I will not
surrender to desperation. I should resist and fight the pain. I pray
to Allah to give me strength.
By
mid-September, the doctors thought it was safe for me to travel,
still in plaster and on a stretcher. The Company had arranged for me
to have treatment in the
UK
at
a hospital specializing in spinal cord injuries.
On
September 23, I left
Muscat
with
Suaad Al-Musalmani, Senior Nurse at the PDO Clinic, and my cousin
Abdullah, for the
Paddock
Private
Hospital
in
the
UK
,
a small infirmary near the world-famous
Stoke
Mandeville
Hospital
.
It
was there that Dr. Walsh, the senior consultant and an authority in
his field, looked at my medical report and ordered the removal of
the plaster. What a relief! Finally I was freed from the hackles
that gripped my chest and throat for more than two months.
Next
morning, I awoke to the sight of an English country park through my
large room window. The captivating scene of autumnal yellow leaves
and the smell of moist air eased my anxiety, and took me back to the
time when I studied in the
USA
.
There I would spend much time, especially in the autumn, in a park
near my apartment. But my memories of the past turned back to sorrow
as my mind returned to the present: my paralysis and inability to
walk.
I
spent the first six weeks in bed under an intensive physical program
to restore flexibility to the joints, assist my circulation, and
ensure full mobility of all paralyzed parts and to regain muscle
strength. Then it was rehabilitation and occupational therapy to
learn (all over again) writing, brushing, and feeding with the
proper tool, and getting from wheelchair to bed.
The
aim of rehabilitation was to help me design a lifestyle to be as
independent as possible. But considering the severity of my injury,
I didn’t elude myself with hopes of achieving more than was
possible.
 |
After
eight months of treatment I had gained more mobility, quite strong
movements in the shoulders and the arms, but fine movements of the
fingers had not returned. I could also write slowly, type and eat
with special devices.
When
Dr. Walsh announced that my treatment was about to end, I felt both
joy and fear: happy to see my wife and family and scared of the
uncertain future and the
|
heavy burden that my disability would
impose on them. But I was lucky to make friends with some very kind
medical staff, who helped alleviate my frustration and depression.
After
eight months of treatment I had gained more mobility, quite strong
movements in the shoulders and the arms, but fine movements of the
fingers had not returned. I could also write slowly, type and eat
with special devices.
When
Dr. Walsh announced that my treatment was about to end, I felt both
joy and fear: happy to see my wife and family and scared of the
uncertain future and the heavy burden that my disability would
impose on them. But I was lucky to make friends with some very kind
medical staff, who helped alleviate my frustration and depression.
On
July 14, 1983, the day of my return home, I woke up feeling
apprehensive, as if I was taking a test that I was unready for and
not confident of the result. I was still thinking how my reunion
with Fatema would be as the plane prepared to land at Seeb. Before I
left the
UK
,
I had asked my family not to come to
Muscat
because
I wanted Fatema to be alone with me and with no distractions.
While in the
UK
,
I had spoken with Fatema frequently, and prepared her for what she
should expect. She survived the initial shock with grace. She also
learned, in just one week and with remarkable courage, speed and
efficiency, techniques for caring for me, from the nursing sister at
the PDO Clinic.
We
spent two weeks in the clinic alone so Fatema could fully understand
my situation. I had believed she would find it impossible to deal
with me physically and would not cope with the burden of my constant
demands for help. But I was quite wrong.
At
this time I was also deciding on my professional future. The Company
approached me with a number of options and I decided to remain with
PDO. In fact, Fatema had already made her mind up she wanted to stay
with PDO. I agreed but I didn't want her to decide before she lived
with me for some time and made sure that her willingness to continue
supporting me was not an emotional reaction led by matrimonial
obligations. I tried to paint a harsh picture of her future life
with me. But Fatema would have none of it. She had decided to stay.
Mansour
Al-Amry, the then Head of Estate Services, kindly showed us a few
vacant houses at Ras Al-Hamra and we chose one. I was then contacted
by Public Affairs and Information, and asked to work in the
Department as a translator. I would not have made it without the
support of the Company and my colleagues. They are the reason I'm
doing what I do today. And I maintain a good social life among my
family and good friends, who, through much care and attention,
enhance the quality of my life.
Feeling
valuable to others and myself through work and close contact with
family and friends, and being able to work in the community as a
useful citizen, was of paramount importance for me to live life
despite the obstacles and constraints of paralysis. This feeling of
being valued has also helped me cope with all the challenges of
disability. I see myself disabled, but mostly I forget or ignore
this handicap. I don't sink into despair and ask: Why me? I have
learned to accept. Recently I woke up one morning, looked out
through the window and saw the mountains, the sea, and the trees. I
heard children laughing and the sound of a passing car. I have
thought much about yesterday, today, and tomorrow and thank God for
blessing me with the power to still see and hear those things.
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