Saratoga News

Photograph by George Sakkestad

Matt Montgomery helps his mom, Carol, open her hand so she can grip the bar in order to stand and complete her home therapy exercise.

Superman's World

At one time, Christopher Reeve's life as a quadriplegic was unimaginable to Carol Montgomery

By Sandy Sims

Like the rest of us, Carol Montgomery watched in disbelief when a May 1995 newscast announced that Christopher Reeve--Superman--was paralyzed from the neck down, a quadriplegic. Like the rest of us, Montgomery was moved, felt compassion, even loss. But she turned off the TV like the rest of us and went on with her active life.

Montgomery had built that life for herself and her kids in Los Gatos after her first career as a stewardess ended and after divorcing her husband more than 20 years ago. She worked for years at the Los Gatos Yankee Clipper travel agency, then at Alain Pinel Realty. An advocate of alternative medicine, she became a massage therapist/acupressurist on the side.

At 58, with her kids grown, Montgomery was free and independent. She rode her bike with her dog at her side to the George Brown gym for a workout three times a week. Working out was something she'd done religiously all her life. She was in such outstanding health that her body was really much younger than her chronological age. She loved the outdoors, hiking, tennis and skiing, and she had many friends.

On Aug. 25, 1997, Montgomery was driving home from the Alain Pinel office in Palo Alto. She stopped for a red light on Los Gatos Boulevard. The light turned green, and she pulled out. A drunken driver pulled across the street right in front of her. "I was angry, not afraid. I was going so slowly, I didn't think it would be a serious accident." She hit him broadside. Her head whiplashed, and her body slumped forward. She couldn't move her arms and legs. At that moment Montgomery entered the world of Christopher Reeve and quadriplegia.

Before WW II, Reeve would likely have died within hours or days, and Montgomery would have died within weeks, probably of a urinary tract or lung infection or even from a seriously infected pressure sore. For thousands of years, quadriplegics were virtually hopeless, "scrap heap" material, placed in nursing homes.

Now, because of careful spinal injury care at the site of the accident, the very specialized hospital care and the training the patients get in managing their bodies, quadriplegics can have a full life ahead of them. Though it's a difficult life, most return to independent living. But it's a different world than they knew.

Montgomery was taken to Valley Medical Spinal Cord Injury Center, which is one of 18 such centers around the nation. She was strapped into a rotation bed, her head held stationary in a traction device. She had tubes down her throat and her nose; she had IVs and a catheter. Constant rotation and inhalation therapy would help prevent pressure sores and keep the fluid moving in her lungs. Traction, medication and time would help bring down the inflammation and swelling in her spinal cord. Montgomery's bed rotated slowly from one side to the next 24 hours a day for 16 days. Her medical team watched while she stabilized from her accident.

Montgomery finally learned that her injury was a C5-C6 injury, the most common quadriplegic injury. This meant that the damage to her spinal cord was in her neck at the point where the fifth and sixth vertebrae are located. Reeve's injury was higher, at C1, which meant he could not breathe on his own. The higher the injury, the more loss of function. Montgomery had paralysis in all four quadrants of her body: legs, arms and muscles in her trunk. She learned that her injury was incomplete, meaning that she could get back some feeling or movement that coincides with a lower injury, but she might not know how much movement for a long time--up to one year, possibly even five years. She cried as she rolled back and forth.

"I couldn't see visitors. I was too tired and too emotional, and I didn't want them to see me," Montgomery recalls. "I've always been a positive and spiritual person, someone who helped other people, but I couldn't grab hold of that. I was devastated."

Her children rallied. Son Matt, 31, moved back from Ohio and took up temporary residence in Montgomery's Los Gatos townhouse. Daughter Mia, 26, took over all Carol's affairs. Friends wanted to help.

Sixteen days later came the surgery to fuse the fifth and sixth vertebrae and to install a halo traction device by drilling six rods into her skull. The halo was braced against her shoulders and hips to keep her vertebrae perfectly straight as she began her rehabilitation.

In the meantime, the letters and flowers poured in. She was hearing from her friends at Alain Pinel in Los Gatos, Saratoga and Palo Alto; from the Kiwis, an association of retired American Airlines stewardesses; and from old friends from the Michigan High School reunion she had just been to that summer. She was hearing from people from all around the United States, some she didn't even know. She was overwhelmed by the outpouring. Her friends aren't surprised. "Carol is an angel who has touched the lives of many people," Brenda Duchene, Saratoga resident and Alain Pinel Realtor, says.

Support is important because recovery is tedious, grueling work. "These patients are kept on a rigorous program," Nancy Jorgensen, nurse practitioner for the spinal injury clinic, explains. This is to keep what muscle capacity they have and to keep the nerve paths alive for any potential muscle recovery. Every little gain can make a huge difference for the patient. The program starts at 7:30 a.m. and finishes at about 7:30 p.m. Rehab includes physical and occupational therapy, lectures, films, counseling, peer group support and more. "Our goal is to get them as independent as possible," Jorgensen explains.

The first time Montgomery was wheeled into the rehab gym, she closed her eyes and cried. "I couldn't bear it. I didn't want to be disabled. And this was the same equipment I used when I worked out before the accident."

"When Carol started physical therapy," Valley Medical rehab physical therapist Darryl Musick recalls, "I didn't think she would do well." That's because eight out of 10 patients over the age of 55 make minimal progress. "When Carol came in, she only had the use of her shoulders and some muscles above her elbows. Even her trunk muscles were paralyzed," Musick explains. His job is to teach the patients to get maximum use from whatever muscles they have to work with. "Carol is unusual. She has done very well," Musick says.

That same first day the occupational therapist in charge of teaching patients to do everyday tasks rolled Montgomery into the bathroom and strapped a toothbrush to her hand. Montgomery brushed her own teeth for the first time in more than 20 days.

From then on the work was ceaseless, and Montgomery would go to her bed at night and fall immediately to sleep.

Montgomery learned that for the rest of her life, either she or a caregiver would have to micromanage her body, to take care of her lungs, her bladder and bowel functions, her skin, her muscles. It's this body management that makes a long life possible. Letting any one of these functions go without regular attention could be fatal.

Carol began to regain small amounts of muscle use in her left leg and her right arm, and some in her trunk. She could squeeze her right hand a little. With attachments to keep her two forefingers straight, she could use the computer. She could move the mouse with the heel of her hand. It took her two months to type a long letter for the Kiwi newsletter, which she had been in charge of writing before the accident.

She learned to push the wheelchair with her wrists and to feed herself. She couldn't cut her food or pick up a glass.

The time came for Montgomery to wean herself from the hospital and plan her move home. But that turned out to be even more difficult than she anticipated. In early December, her landlord walked into the rehab gym and sat down beside her. He told her that he was increasing her rent by $700, and because her son who had moved back to help her was staying in her home, the landlord accused her of subletting the townhouse in violation of her contract. He told her she would have to move in one month. She was able to negotiate for two months.

Her kids and a network of her friends from Alain Pinel stepped in and found her a house to rent in Cupertino. Volunteer contractors prepared the house for a wheelchair. Friends helped her children move her things to the new house. She would need a full-time caregiver because she was not able to care for her body.

Then came one more frustration. She faced not only adjusting to living in the outside world but also dealing with insurance and Medi-Cal. Montgomery has gotten letter after letter rejecting her requests. "Sometimes they don't even approve a bath bench," Musick says.

"It's a catch-22 situation," Montgomery says, "because they don't really give you what you need to be independent." For example, she has learned to turn herself in bed at night, very important in preventing pressure sores. But she must have a double bed to negotiate the turn. Insurance will only pay for a single bed, which means a caregiver must get up in the night to turn her.

Finding good caregivers is Montgomery's biggest problem. With holidays, weekends and unforeseen emergencies, Montgomery has had about 25 caregivers over the last three months. She must find them herself because she says the agencies are too expensive.

She has also run smack into the frustration of having to deal with doctors who don't understand her disability. When the HMO doctor doesn't approve her rehab sessions, she can't go. "You have to be progressing to get rehab approval, but how can you progress without rehab?" Montgomery asks.

Her family and friends have rallied again. This March, the Palo Alto Alain Pinel office gave Montgomery a big surprise party, with 75 people from all their offices in attendance. It was a fundraiser, and they raised enough money to buy her a double bed, a motorized wheelchair and a canine companion. "We are continuing with the trust fund for Montgomery, hoping to raise enough to buy her a specially equipped van so she can get out into that independent life again," says Jeremy Lindston, a real estate agent at the Palo Alto Alain Pinel office. "We are all aware that this could happen to any one of us."

Two Los Gatos friends have bought her a recumbent bicycle, which has a reclining seat and pedals at the same level as the seat, good for leg exercises. And a paraplegic man she doesn't even know gave her a standing frame that allows her to do the necessary standing to both exercise muscles and put weight on her bones. That weight will keep her from getting osteoporosis. Her daughter and son have set up a computer for her with Internet access.

It's been six months since the accident. Recently, when she was at rehab, Musick told her it looked to him as if she would be able to do some walking within a year. Montgomery slumped over and quietly whispered, "I don't care if I walk. I want the use of my hands." Tears rolled down her cheeks. Musick poked around at her curled up fingers. "I don't know yet," he said. Montgomery wants to be able to take care of her own personal hygiene and to someday hold a grandchild.

Montgomery says she is just now realizing the circumstance she's in, but she hasn't accepted it. "I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel yet, but I can tell I'm getting my humor back. I feel like a foreigner," she says. "I'm afraid to go out." She is signing up for a special physical education class at De Anza in April.

"Each time you do something for the first time, it's frightening," says Ken Beck. Ken and his wife, Cheryl, became quadriplegics four years ago in a car accident. Ken explains that "the frustration you feel not doing things builds up and eventually outweighs the fear." So you go out for the first time. Your self-image is different. You don't know how the world will react to you. But it works out. Ken has resumed his software engineering job with SGI. Cheryl was laid off from her job but has done various volunteer work. Currently she is working with teen parents. "People say we are courageous," Cheryl says, "but the truth is we have no choice. I don't think you ever accept these limitations. You just cope with them."

The Becks now have a van. "We can go out together now," Ken says. "It's more freedom."

"Carol is a very strong woman, and she's come a long way," Linda Rodriguez, Montgomery's close friend, says. Illy Caldwell, another friend, says, "I think Carol will do something very special as a result of this experience."

Montgomery, like Christopher Reeve, says that while she has not been able to grab hold of her own strength, the overwhelming love and support of her children and her friends are what has kept her going. "My story isn't finished yet," she says. "Six months from now, things will be different."

Contributions to the Carol Montgomery Trust Fund can be sent in care of Alain Pinel Real Estate, 578 University Ave, Palo Alto, 94301. Or call Jeremy Lindston at 650/323-1111.

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