The Seven Longest Yards

by Chris Norton

  He didn’t have to ask me to kiss him this time. I drew him close to me and pressed his lips against mine. This was exactly how I wanted to spend every moment for the rest of my life.

  And then I had to drive three hours back to Iowa State. After Chris and I declared our love for one another, the drive seemed longer than ever. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. It’s just too far. Then it hit me: what if I transferred to Luther College so we could be together all the time? People transfer from one school to another all the time. It couldn’t be that big of a deal.

  When I arrived back at my apartment, I quickly hopped on Luther College’s website, looking for a major that was close to my current major of family services. I’d spent a lot of time and gone through a lot of majors—journalism, psychology and adult, child and family services—before I found one that was exactly right for me. I wanted something that would lead to helping teenagers in a group home or foster care setting, but not every college has that. As it turned out, Luther College was one of those colleges. They didn’t offer anything even close.

  I was disappointed, but I wasn’t ready to give up. Being closer to Chris was so appealing that I continued my search. I wanted to find another state school close to Decorah that also happened to offer the perfect major.

  On a whim I Googled the first state school I thought of—The University of Northern Iowa. At an hour and a half away from Luther College, it wasn’t exactly right next door, but I’d only have to drive half as far as I did from Iowa State. I scrolled through their list of majors and found one in family services. Perfect, I thought. But before I could click on it, I noticed something in a completely different field that was intriguing to me. If I went to UNI, I’d have the chance to also major in video production. I’d always been interested in capturing people’s stories on camera and sharing them with others who could relate or learn from what the person went through. That summer I’d even done a talk show through school, helping people share their stories.

  The more I researched UNI, the more I realized that this was the perfect solution to my problem. It was close enough to make visiting Chris a lot easier, without me giving up on any of my dreams or callings I knew God had on my life. I called the school, and an admissions counselor helped me go through my credits to figure out what would transfer and how far behind I would be. It turned out I had more than enough credits to put me on track for early graduation. I’d be done after just a spring semester and summer internship—or if I wanted to pursue the video production double major, I’d have to take classes the following fall semester as well.

  Chris was obviously ecstatic that I was looking into transferring, and once my parents understood that transferring wouldn’t mean adding extra semesters and tuition payments, they were totally on board. The thought of leaving Iowa State was hard, but any sadness I felt evaporated as soon as I talked to Chris. I couldn’t wait to be closer to him.

  CHRIS

  I was so excited when Emily told me she was thinking of transferring to UNI, though it wouldn’t necessarily mean we would get to see each other more often. I knew it was still a hike to get from Cedar Falls to Decorah, but the thought of easing the burden on Emily was a huge relief to me.

  I hated that I could never drive to see her or drive her around. In my mind, that’s something a guy should do for his girlfriend. It wasn’t fair that she had to drive so much for us to see each other.

  Emily ended up deciding to take the leap and transfer that spring semester. It turned out to be even better than I thought. My buddy Tanner’s girlfriend, Taisha, went to UNI too, so she and Emily became roommates. Not only did that give her an instant friend, but it also took the pressure off Emily to constantly drive to Luther. When Tanner drove down to visit Taisha, I’d ride with him, and Emily and Taisha carpooled up to Luther as often as they could.

  While that was one worry taken off my plate, I still struggled to let Emily see how much help I actually needed. Getting emotionally vulnerable with her was hard enough. My injury meant I had a whole other level of vulnerability that most people never experience. I didn’t want to ask her for help with all the little things that most people can easily do for themselves, like sitting on the couch or changing my shirt or putting on deodorant. Then there was the issue of my urinary leg bag. The idea of asking this girl who I found incredibly attractive to drain my leg bag terrified me. What if she realized how much work I was and decided it was too much?

  The more Emily came around, the more she tried to put my fears at ease. Whenever I needed help with something, I usually asked one of my friends, but Emily always jumped at the chance to learn how to help me.

  “You don’t know what you’re volunteering for,” I said. “You have no idea how much help I need for the smallest things.”

  “I honestly don’t care about that,” she told me. “Just tell me how I can help. If you want me to ask one of your friends, I will, but I really do want to help you.”

  EMILY

  Before I transferred to UNI, I had this crazy dream of getting Chris on The Ellen DeGeneres Show, a show we both love. The next best thing was going to see a taping of the show in person. Deep down I hoped that if we could get into the studio, one of the producers might ask us about Chris’s story and we’d go from being a part of the audience to appearing on her show. I know it was a crazy dream, but I’ve always dreamed big.

  I applied to get tickets to the show, and Chris loved the idea. But I did not breathe a word to him about trying to get him on the show. I secretly made a video for Ellen with the story of Chris’s injury and how he’d used his experience to help other people. The video included interviews I did with his parents and friends. I then sent the video off to the show’s producers, brought extra copies to secretly give to someone on the show at the taping, and prayed the right people would see it.

  CHRIS

  I couldn’t believe we actually got tickets to The Ellen DeGeneres Show. We were both such big fans. The person who called me said we’d see Ellen on February 4 and that they were ready and able to accommodate my wheelchair.

  The show tapes in Los Angeles, which obviously meant we’d have to travel there. At first I couldn’t wait. A trip to California when it’s the dead of winter in Iowa? Sign me up.

  Then it hit me.

  Everything I was afraid to let Emily do—the transfers, getting me ready, draining my leg bag—I would have no choice but to have her help me with all of it, because there would be no one else to do it. Taking a trip together is a big step in any relationship. For us it would be a giant leap.

  Getting ready for the trip meant tons of planning. We had to call the airline and let them know we needed assistance. Once we arrived we would have to arrange for a wheelchair-accessible vehicle to pick us up at Los Angeles International Airport and take us to our hotel. We also found an app that allowed us to reserve a wheelchair-accessible vehicle whenever we needed to get around the city. These were the easy arrangements to make. Emily also had to take a crash course on how to do all the things for me that I couldn’t do for myself. For better or worse, we were about to find out what it would really be like to handle life together.

  EMILY

  I wasn’t nervous about helping Chris and being responsible for everything. What terrified me was transferring him in and out of his chair. Up until now Chris had had his friends do it for him, since they were already around. I had no idea how to lift him out of his wheelchair and move him to a stationary seat or a car until literally right before we left. A couple of his friends showed me how to lean his shoulders against mine and position my hands around his hips so I could lift him out of his chair.

  “You guys, I don’t know if I can do this,” I said as I tried it the first time. My heart pounded as I realized I didn’t have a choice. No one else was coming with us to L.A. Everything was on me. “What if I make him fall? I’m going to hurt him! This is going to be awful,” I said to his friends.

  His friends assured me I would
be fine, but my stomach was in knots as we drove to the airport. What if this whole trip was a huge mistake? I prepared myself for disaster.

  I took a deep breath as we made our way into the airport. After checking in I pushed Chris over to the security line. Getting through security is never pleasant, and when I saw a TSA agent approach us, I thought for sure we were in trouble. Instead, he said, “You two can head up to the front of the line.” He led us past the line of travelers snaking through the terminal, and within seconds we were at the front and going through security. Wow, I thought. This is already going better than I thought.

  Chris looked up at me as we walked past coffee shops and bookstores. “It’s going to be fine, Em. They do this every day.”

  We checked in with the gate agent and learned we could board early. I thought for sure I’d have to transfer him to his seat, but instead, airport attendants transferred him to a small chair that easily fit down the plane aisle and then lifted him into his seat. I’d been so nervous, but the whole morning went pretty smoothly.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as our plane roared down the runway and lifted into the air. I took Chris’s hand. “We did it!” I said with a grin. “I can’t believe we really get to do this.”

  “I’m so excited to go to L.A. with you,” he smiled back.

  Once we’d reached our cruising altitude, a flight attendant rolled the beverage cart up to us. “Would you like a beverage, ma’am?”

  “Oh, sure, I’ll take a water,” I said.

  “What about him?” The flight attendant gestured at Chris and looked at me. “Can he have something to drink?”

  I nearly lost it. I could not believe that someone in this day and age who is allegedly trained to work with people could be so dismissive of someone simply because of his disability. “He can talk, you know. You can just ask him yourself,” I snapped at her.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “You can’t automatically assume that he can’t speak just because he’s in a wheelchair.” I could feel my face getting red as I sputtered in anger. Chris raised his hand to stop me, but I kept going. “There’s nothing wrong with his mind. Just because someone’s in a wheelchair doesn’t mean they’re not mentally all there.”

  “Of course. Of course. You’re right. I’m so sorry,” the flight attendant apologized. She couldn’t get away from us fast enough. Chris turned his head toward me when she was gone.

  “Emily, it’s not a big deal,” he said. “People make assumptions, but you can’t get upset about it. I learned a long time ago to just let it go. It’s okay.”

  But I couldn’t let it go. I talked for the rest of the flight about how ridiculous the flight attendant’s actions were. I was so upset that I forgot to be nervous about getting through LAX and finding an accessible taxi to get to our hotel.

  Aside from the rude flight attendant, the rest of our trip was amazing. Watching the live taping of The Ellen DeGeneres Show was so much fun. At the beginning of each show, she dances up and down the aisles with the audience. That day, she came right up to Chris and danced with him. I did hand one of the tapes I’d made to her staff worker on the set. We got a casting interview the next week but nothing else came of it. While Chris may not have shared his story on her show, it was a trip we will always remember.

  The wheelchair-accessible van app made it easy for us to get around L.A., and we took full advantage. We ate dinner at a trendy restaurant and talked for hours. But when our phones died and we couldn’t use the app to get picked up, we walked a mile to a gas station to buy a charger. We enjoyed the adventure. Our hotel had an outdoor fire pit, where we stayed together under the stars, talking about life and our future.

  Helping Chris with his day-to-day needs was a lot easier than either of us anticipated. I know he was nervous about letting me drain his leg bag or getting him ready in the morning, but I loved him so much that it didn’t bother me. Thankfully, I never once dropped him while transferring him in and out of his wheelchair. We realized not only that we could travel together but also that we could do anything as long as we had each other. Those days in L.A. gave us confidence that the chair couldn’t hold us back from anything, and “anything” was about to get much bigger than either of us could have ever dreamed.

  9

  Chasing Something Bigger than Ourselves

  EMILY

  From the start of our relationship, Chris talked about his goal to walk across the stage at his college graduation. When he first mentioned it, I was blown away. He planned to do the impossible, but in his mind, walking again was not impossible at all. And I had no doubt he’d find a way to make it happen. After we started dating, we talked a lot about his goal. It didn’t take long for me to decide I didn’t want to just stand on the sidelines and watch. I wanted to jump in there and do everything I possibly could to help him reach it.

  Unfortunately, since we only saw one another on weekends, there wasn’t a lot I could do. He did physical therapy during the week, which meant I never got to go with him. But Chris never confined his workouts to his PT sessions. He had a Rifton walker, which is a large green rolling frame with a Velcro brace that supports his waist and hips. During my weekend visits, we’d often go to the gym and either one of his friends or I would help strap him into the walker and walk behind him to hold him steady.

  After a workout one day in the spring of his junior year, we went back to his dorm cluster to relax. I told him how impressed I was with all the progress he’d made in just the last few months and how much steadier he was in the walker. Chris didn’t reply. He just sat there, thinking. Finally he said, “You know, graduation is about a year away.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “I know I’m capable of doing this, but I feel like if I make my goal public somehow, I’ll definitely stick to it.”

  I laughed. “Chris, you’re going to stick to it anyway. It’s not like you’re slacking here.”

  “I know, but I could work harder. If I put it out there to everyone, I think that would push me to work as hard as I can.”

  He had a point. Chris will do anything he can to avoid letting anyone down. “What were you thinking of doing? Putting up a Facebook post?” I asked.

  “I thought maybe I’d blog about it,” Chris replied. At the time, Chris’s foundation website had a blog where he regularly posted stories about grants he’d given out as well as updates on his recovery. “Blogging about it will give me more space to explain my goal than a regular Facebook post.”

  “I completely agree. I think it would be great and maybe even inspire others to go for their goals too,” I said.

  Chris wrote the blog right there. He read me bits and pieces of it before posting it online and then sharing a link to it on Facebook. We thought it might get some buzz around campus since Chris had such a huge community supporting him at Luther. We didn’t expect anyone else to see it.

  Boy, were we wrong.

  We did hear back from his friends, but things really took off when the Des Moines Register called. The paper had covered Chris’s injury from the start and featured regular updates on how he was doing. Someone in the newsroom must have followed him on Facebook, because they called not long after Chris posted the link. A few days later, a reporter drove up from Des Moines to interview Chris. All of a sudden, Chris was plastered on the front page of the paper, along with the story of his goal of walking across the stage at his graduation.

  “Well, you wanted it to be public,” I said.

  “No pressure or anything,” Chris laughed. “I guess we need to make this happen, huh?”

  I grinned. “You got this.”

  CHRIS

  When I set a goal of walking at graduation, I did not mean having some friends haul a huge contraption on stage, stopping the ceremony while I got strapped in, then slowly trudging across the stage. For me, walking meant walking on my own two feet, without the aid of any kind of equipment. I thought if I could pull this off, it might inspire
others never to give up. At the same time, I didn’t want to annoy everyone else by taking too much time to get across the stage. A giant green walker would have the opposite effect.

  Walking without extra equipment was only one issue. Before my accident I may not have been the greatest athlete, but I prided myself on pushing myself and trying to outwork everyone else. I spent extra time in the weight room and ran extra laps just to get an edge. But now a short walk in my walker left me completely spent. That had to change. My physical therapy had already taken me light-years beyond anything doctors had said was possible, but I was ready to kick it up a notch.

  Emily knew my frustrations and decided to do something about it. She researched different therapies and places that might get me to my goal. Emily had never been one to sit back and wait for someone else to act. When Emily set her mind to something, she made it happen. After some intense Googling, she thought she might have found the answer. “Have you ever heard of Barwis Methods?” she asked me in a text.

  I racked my brain, trying to remember. I’m around a lot more people with spinal injuries than the average person, so if there was a foolproof method out there, it seemed like I would have heard of it. As it turns out, Mike Barwis didn’t just do “physical training.” He had devised a whole new method for restarting the neurological system. I even found a story where he’d helped someone with a serious spinal cord injury walk again. This is it, I thought. Mike Barwis is the guy who can help me walk again.

  “We have to go see him,” I texted Emily. “I have a really good feeling about this.”

  A few weeks later, Emily and I drove up to Mike’s gym in Plymouth, Michigan, for what was supposed to be an hour-long workout. The giant physical therapy center looked more like a sports training center, with its turf field, weight room, and stadium-height ceilings. Music blared from the speakers as people in wheelchairs worked out alongside Jack Johnson, a professional hockey player I recognized. Just being in this place made me feel like an athlete again, and that felt good. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I experienced it again.