There were so many days when I would lie on my bed and ask God, How much longer until I can be normal again? The answer came on November 5, when I finally felt well enough to feed myself all my meals, to put on my pants, to open the bathroom door, and tie my robe. Things I had taken for granted so many times and so few months before!
I was also able to go outside for the first time since 9/11. I walked, with Mel pushing a wheelchair next to me, down to a small courtyard. Once I arrived I was tired—but I was there! I was so excited to be outside again, to be able to look up at the blue sky that I hadn’t seen for two months.
As I gazed up at that beautiful clear sky, I said simply, “Thank you, God, that I’m still here.” I had waited on God, and he proved faithful. The great Creator, mighty God knew and cared about me. I stood breathing in the fresh air and wondering in awe about God’s love for us.
That brief glance of the sky gave me a renewed sense of purpose. I knew Christ had saved me from that fire. I believed my life was spared because I still had a mission to complete. Ever the soldier, I knew my commander, God, would reveal my mission in due time. But until then I had to continue to wait and be faithful in doing my part to heal.
Through this experience Mel and I discovered the things that were truly important. They are not connected to our careers or even receiving the Purple Heart—although those are wonderful things. The important things of life are how we live our life in our day-to-day relationships. We learned how vital it is to “stay the course” as a Christian through the “little things” so that when and if the “big things” come, you have the peace and endurance to walk with God through them.
That’s not to say we didn’t have our moments of frustration and outbursts of anger. We’re Christians, but we’re still human! There were times when both Mel and I said things out of our pain to other people or to each other that later we felt sorry about. But we felt God give us strength to endure the many torturous indignities and to be able to somewhere along the line still give thanks for delivering us.
Even when I was in pain, I tried to be respectful of other people, knowing they were overwhelmed with all their work as well as trying to process their own grief and shock from 9/11. Just a simple thank-you went so far. One nurse, Minnie—the one who had unintentionally peeled off my forehead while trying to remove the Acticoat—said to me, “You know, Brian, I come in here and do horrible things to you, and I leave and you tell me thank you!”
Those are the important things we found about this life: Never take anything or anyone for granted.
Mel
I believe in prayer. Throughout this entire ordeal, I witnessed signs of God’s sovereignty and power. He answered my prayers each time I prayed, although it was in his timing. I came to believe that if God had brought us this far without help from me, he could handle it the rest of the way. That understanding brought many nights of peace.
I never felt closer to the Lord than I did during these months. Our relationship deepened and intensified. It played such a crucial role that many times I felt as though I could reach out and physically touch Jesus Christ. During the darkest moments of despair, when I hit what I thought was the absolute bottom, God comforted me in unexplainable, supernatural, indescribable ways.
Not that I hadn’t prayed a million times in my life or ever had a prayer answered prior to September 11. But never before this event had I felt God’s presence so near as I did while Brian was in the hospital. So many nights I would sit at the foot of Brian’s bed, and while rubbing his feet, I’d pray over every single part of his body, starting at his head.
God, heal his ears, his face, his head, his neck, his chin, his shoulders, his arms. . . .
And little by little God did.
For example, one day while Brian was in ICU, one of the nurses approached me with a smile on his face. He said, “I was giving Brian a bath today and started scrubbing what I thought was a wound. But it’s skin that is healing—and it’s healing well! It shouldn’t be healing this quickly.”
I smiled and said, “That would be a God thing. God is doing that.”
Each time a “God thing” happened I thought, This is all going to be okay.
We learned to savor the small steps. I thanked God for his goodness to us and wrote my praise throughout my journal so I would always remember. Every time I wrote a prayer request in my journal, later I noticed I was writing my praises for how God had responded. It was still a long process, and some days it felt as though God wasn’t working quickly enough, but he was still working. He knew Brian’s needs better than we did.
In one journal entry I wrote:
Your Word tells us that when we can’t find the words to pray, that Christ intercedes for us. I rest in that truth when all I want to do is demand and plead for Brian’s immediate healing. Thank you for easing his pain yesterday. I pray for another day of relieved pain and a day to praise and glorify you. Strengthen me. Hold me up through this as I am so weak and stumble easily. When I get the least bit frustrated or tired, I snap.
Even when I didn’t know how, I knew God was working. There were times when I didn’t understand many things, and many times I couldn’t see God working. But he promised he would bring us through, so I trusted that he would. I never doubted Brian was going to make it. While it was scary, I always had a peace in my heart that he was going to come home again.
Every year on Thanksgiving morning our church holds a worship service. Brian and I discussed how we would like to attend if Brian was strong enough. This would be the first time he had been out of the hospital, not counting the courtyard, since 9/11. Since Brian was recuperating well and the infection was under control, Dr. Jordan authorized a day pass to leave the burn ward on Thanksgiving.
I dressed Brian, put him in a wheelchair, and pushed him to the lobby. I had to leave him with a security guard while I retrieved the car. Then the guard and I gently helped Brian lift his legs and bend down to get into the car. The real challenge was getting his seat belt on him since it wrapped around the donor sites and caused irritation.
How thin and frail he looked as he sat in the car. I thought, This must be a preview of what Brian is going to look like in old age!
We drove to our church, where our friends John and Gene Hall were waiting at the door. They walked us down to Pastor Jack Elwood’s office so Brian could sit and rest before the service started. We visited with Jack, Pastor Steve Holley, and others who stopped by to say hello.
Just before the service began, we walked to the sanctuary. Few people from the church knew who Brian was before September 11. On September 12 during the prayer service, they displayed Brian’s photo on a screen and talked about him in-depth before praying for him. Since almost fifteen hundred people were attending that evening, everybody became familiar with Brian.
As we walked through the lobby, though, nobody recognized him. Of course he looked nothing like that photograph. He looked like a sickly, stiff old man. He was wearing a hat, was hunched over when he walked, and had this crusty stuff—the skin grafts—all over him. A couple people peered at him as if to say, What happened to that guy?
John and Gene saved a seat for us in the second row on the far left side of the sanctuary. As the service began we slipped into our pew, pretty much unnoticed. Matt sat on the front row directly in front of us.
The service started with some worship songs. Leah Little, a member of our church, spoke about her recent missions trip to Ghana. Afterward, a pastor from Ghana spoke about what was happening in the church in his country. Then Jack Elwood stood and said, “We have been praying for Lieutenant Colonel Birdwell. JT Walker, the pastor of community outreach, Angie Ruffin, and I went to the hospital and interviewed Brian recently. We made a video of that interview and would like to show it to you.”
As the video played we looked around the sanctuary and saw many people crying. Afterwards Jack went to the podium and said, “When we made the video we had no idea that Lieutenant Colonel Birdwell might
be able to attend this service with us. Would you do me the honor of welcoming a good soldier of Jesus Christ, Lieutenant Colonel Brian Birdwell.” The audience gave an audible gasp, and eleven hundred people rose to their feet for a long and passionate standing ovation. We were overwhelmed by their support. Brian, Matt, and I were crying and hugging. What an incredible tribute. The love that the church has poured out on us has been tremendous. These people, most of whom we’d never met, loved us simply because Christ asked them to.
After the service it seemed as if every person in the sanctuary stopped by to say hello. By the end Brian was exhausted—but happy.
Brian
We planned to drive by the Pentagon on the way back to the hospital so I could see the damage. As we drove closer to the building, I noticed that everything was cleaned up. There was no debris, no wreckage, no rubble. While there was a huge slice where my office had been between Corridors 4 and 5, it just looked like a big parking lot.
We originally planned to drive up to the building. As we got closer, however, I changed my mind. I told Mel, “No, just keep going. Let’s get back to the hospital.”
After having had that amazing experience at church, seeing the Pentagon seemed insignificant. The Pentagon would still be there later. I’d seen the photos. I just no longer felt the need to see it.
We continued to focus on regaining my strength and on overcoming my addiction to pain medication, as well as learning how to work through the pain and the frustration of my setbacks in physical therapy. That was our world. Any television I watched consisted of anything that didn’t remind me of 9/11—usually ESPN. I already had enough reminders of that day; I didn’t want to know anything more about it.
When I got to step-down care in October, the Afghan War had started, so we watched the news. But since the replays of the collapse of both towers of the World Trade Center had occurred while I was in intensive care, I didn’t know the results of that attack. I only remembered that they had been hit. Mel and I had never discussed it. Our concerns had been centered around my surgeries, physical therapy, and pain.
So in December, when Mel turned on NBC news, I saw for the first time the replay of the video of the burning buildings. I watched as the second tower with the tall antenna on it began to drop and twist a bit. I lay there, thinking, What happened?
I looked, startled, at Mel, who just then realized I never knew what had happened in New York. When I had stepped out of my office to go to the men’s room, the towers had been hit, but the collapse hadn’t yet occurred.
It was now three months later, and I was learning what had happened to the World Trade Center towers. Mel said, “They don’t exist any more. They’re just big piles of rubble. The reporters believe more than three thousand people were killed.”
I was stunned. It was as though what I had seen wasn’t real.
Fifteen
Going Home
* * *
Journal 11/14/01
Lord, this is difficult. I feel very distant from you. Change me, Lord. This is so much more than I can do. Only you can change me. Prepare me for this and carry me through. I am a mess and feel as though I can’t cope any longer. Lord, help me to cast my cares on you. I need to give everything to you. Forgive me for all that I’ve been holding on to and dwelling on instead of renewing my mind constantly to the obedience of Christ. . . .
Brian’s healing is amazing. It seems as though every day his strength improves by leaps and bounds. We are praying for one more surgery (a contracture release) and then his discharge. The plan is to move to the hotel and he’ll go over to the burn center for PT every day.
* * *
Brian
On December 5, 2001, nearly three months after 9/11, I was discharged from the hospital. I had spent twenty-six days in the Burn Unit’s ICU and eight weeks in the Burn Unit’s step-down care. I received more than thirty surgeries and countless hours of debridements and physical therapy. I was more than ready to be released.
I didn’t go straight home, however. I moved into the hospital’s hotel with Mel and Matt for a week because I was still doing physical therapy every day and we needed a transition period to become reacquainted with life outside the Burn Unit.
That time was good for us to make the transition because if something went wrong, all Mel had to do was put me in a wheelchair and roll me the five-minute walk to the Burn Unit. Fortunately, nothing major happened. So we decided it would be better to go home and have a seminormal life. Since I still had physical therapy five times a week, I would commute back and forth.
On December 14 I went home. It felt almost like being released from prison! Other than being outside in the courtyard or out for the Thanksgiving church service, my surroundings had been the same for the past three-plus months: my room, the hallway, operating room, shower room, physical therapy room. Day in and day out, the same.
It was like a novelty staying at the hospital’s hotel. But the real celebration came when Mel was able to take me home. I would go up my stairs, watch my television with my cable selections versus the hospital cable selections, open my refrigerator, and eat what I wanted instead of the hospital food. I couldn’t wait to get home!
Mel
When Matt and I heard that Brian was going to be discharged, we went home and unpacked and decorated the Christmas tree. Brian had a white Christmas tree that he adored that we had to put up every year. In reality, it was hideous. This year, though, it was a beautiful tree simply because it was his.
We were so excited about finally being home. It felt as though our lives were going to be somewhat normal again.
Our next-door neighbor, David Hamilton, offered to ask the Arlington County Police Department to give us a police escort home. We laughed but declined; we wanted Brian’s homecoming to be low key. We didn’t want anybody to know we were coming home.
When we arrived at our home, however, we saw a yellow ribbon and a huge sign—Welcome Home, Brian—that our neighbors had hung on the tree in our front yard. Our neighbors were waiting to greet us in front of our house. David helped me get Brian out of the car and gave him a big but gentle hug. We took some photos, then went inside. Finally it was just us. It was wonderful to have family time and just be quiet together.
The first evening we were so exhausted all we could do was sit on the couch and watch television.
We didn’t have a lot of time to kick back, relax, and look back over the last three months because the ordeal was just beginning all over again. I thought I would be overly emotional about the homecoming. But it was more of a relief—until reality set in. I began to think, How am I going to take care of Brian by myself? How am I going to get him up and down the stairs to bathe him? What if I hurt him?
The responsibility for Brian’s care rested completely on me, and he required constant attention. I was going to do all of his wound care. If he became ill, it was my responsibility to take care of everything. The nurses trained me on the proper way to work with his bandages and medication. I had been helping them work with Brian in the step-down unit anyway, so that wasn’t new to me. My biggest concern was about doing it alone. It was time-consuming—and a lot of hard work!
If I had a problem or a question, I couldn’t just step into the hallway and ask someone. I had to figure it out or make a phone call.
His first bandage change took me an hour and a half. With practice I finally mastered it in forty-five minutes.
For the first two weeks Brian had physical therapy five days a week. After Christmas it was reduced to three days a week and continued for the next three months.
On Brian’s physical therapy days, I would wake at six o’clock and spend some quiet time with God. I would read my Bible, write in my journal, and pray. I recognized that time spent with God was going to be my lifeline.
I woke Brian at seven o’clock and helped him dress since he was still unable to completely dress himself. Then I would feed him breakfast, give him his medicine, and discuss his schedule for
that day.
After breakfast I brushed his teeth, shaved him with an electric razor, and put his socks and shoes on him. Then we waited for the MedSTAR drivers to pick him up to take him to physical therapy. He usually left around nine o’clock and returned home by twelve-thirty.
I bought a bag for him to carry his medication, cell phone, patient ID cards, and other essentials to physical therapy. The brand name of the bag was Body Bag. Brian thought it was hilarious that I bought him a body bag.
While Brian was at therapy, I homeschooled Matt until Brian returned. We would have lunch as a family, and then I would focus solely on Brian while Matt continued his schooling on his own.
Because physical therapy exhausted Brian, I would give him his medication, let him sleep for an hour or so, and return to working with Matt.
When Brian awoke, he and I worked on his physical therapy. I would “range” him, which included bending and straightening his arms, working his fingers, and rubbing his back, which itched constantly. As part of his therapy and to strengthen him—and to get us out of the house!—I would walk with Brian around our local mall.
For his wound care, every evening after supper, I removed his bandages and took him downstairs to our large, double-sized shower. We used the downstairs shower because the stall was large enough for both of us. Since he was unable to bathe himself, he would sit on a chair while I would hold a washcloth above his wounds and squeeze the soapy water onto those areas. Then I would rinse.
After the shower I patted him dry, wrapped him tightly in blankets, and helped him back upstairs, walking on the gravity side in case he fell. He was still very wobbly on stairs and would be unable to catch himself.
I would start his treatment by putting Mercurochrome on his open wounds to try to get those to close. Then it was scar massage: I rubbed all the scars to try to break up and loosen the scar tissue to smooth out the skin. After that, I put all the different lotions, creams, and medications on him to keep infections away, help with the healing process, and soothe the pain.
Refined by Fire Page 17