(9 of 22)
The wheelchair itself terrified him. "When I was first put into it, for some reason I panicked. I was sitting back in this chair, and I felt, 'I can't be here. I can't do this. Get me out. I can't. I don't trust it.' My arms were strapped down, the way they are now. A seat belt was put on me. My legs were strapped onto foot pedals. It was like being put in an electric chair."
Eventually these reactions became obstacles to overcome. He came under the care of Dr. Steven Kirshblum, director of the Spinal Cord Injury and Ventilator program at Kessler, in whom he developed trust. But he had good reason for those early states of panic. A week after arriving at Kessler, he was injected with a dose of Sygen, which is currently being studied for use in acute spinal-cord injuries. Immediately he started wheezing. Within minutes he developed a severe allergic reaction; his lungs could not accept air. His heart rate was going up as his blood pressure was going down; at one point it was about 40 over 20. He sucked in for air, and none was coming. It was as if he were drowning.
"There was a kind of controlled pandemonium in my room," he says. "I felt the way you do when you've been diving too deep and you think you're not going to make it to the surface. Then words formed in my head. Maybe I spoke them aloud. I don't know. But I said, 'I'm sorry, but I have to go now.' Again I felt that need to apologize. I felt embarrassed for having failed, for not having been able to win the struggle. But then my great Dr. Kirshblum came in, and I was given a massive dose of epinephrine, and it jump-started my heart. Suddenly, with a jolt, my heart was pounding, pounding, pounding. My face was pounding. My pulse was in my face. I took in gulps of air. And within a few minutes I was back. That was the second time I'd almost died, and that was enough."
Slowly, determinedly, Reeves began to take control of his condition. His confidence began to grow. Dana remained tireless in her attention to him. Will cheered him up as he clamored over his father's chair. Matthew and Alexandra, his two children from a long relationship in England with Gae Exton, flew over to be with him, as did Exton. He grew close to his nurses, especially a man nicknamed Juice--"my beloved Juice"--who was devoted to him. Juice had a joyous nature and was exceptionally strong. "When he would grip me," says Reeve, "and I'd lean forward on his shoulder, I felt that nothing could possibly go wrong."
A wound in his sacral area, called a decubitus, began to open. It went so deep, it opened to the bone: "You could go put your hand inside it." His doctors wanted to operate, which would have required grafting skin to the wound, but he asked them not to. He had to agree to stay in bed for eight days without moving. The view he had out his window was of a brick wall. He could see only the wall, but he imagined that above the wall was a roof, and above that a clean sky. "I had this fantasy about climbing the brick wall, then up the roof, then a running start and away."