A dip in the pool goes bad

[hoosier]

Life takes new direction

Tuesday, September 7, 2004
BY MARK HELLER

News Sports Reporter


He couldn't lift the small lever a fifth time, not even without extra weight
attached. He was dejected.

On April 2, Nate Remmert was a healthy 20-year-old, playing hockey, easily doing 30-pound biceps curls and coaching freshmen girls lacrosse at

On July 25, he couldn't budge a six-inch lever.

He squeezed and squeezed some more, then gave up and drooped his head. "That's embarrassing," he said. Move forearm exercises higher on the physical therapy sessions, he told physical therapist Julie Mannelin.

What should have been a simple leap into a hotel pool has paralyzed his lower body. Slowly and painfully he's trying to come back. For now, a wheelchair forces Nate to remain seated, but he's grown in other ways the last few months.

The odds are not his ally, since the vast majority of paralysis victims never walk again. Nate's not a gambler, but he'd love to prove the house doesn't

always win.

The forearm weight machine wins this time, but he'll be back again and again. He likes lifting weights, and physical therapy isn't much different than an hour at the gym.

It's just that he can't walk from station to station.

A dip in the pool

Spring formal at Tau Kappa Epsilon on April 3 was supposed to be one of the best nights of the year. And it started that way.

The Eastern Michigan University chapter headed across the U.S-Canadian border to Windsor, Ontario, and checked into the Hilton. After dinner, the group returned to the hotel, where several of them - Nate included - decided to hit the hot tub before sampling the Windsor nightlife.

Nate figured a dip in the regular pool would make the hot tub feel even better. According to Nate and the account later given to paramedics by a woman in the pool with her son, he jumped in the shallow end feet first.

Something happened. Something bad.

Nate doesn't know what and his fraternity brothers weren't paying attention. He wasn't unconscious. There were no large wounds or bruises.

Just a limp body holding its breath, floating face down, staring at the pool floor.

He spent a minute in the water, "longer than I ever wanted to see the bottom of a pool."

A fraternity brother's date jumped in and helped flip him over. They laid him down on the deck. Drowning was no longer a possibility, one disaster avoided. He couldn't feel anything in his legs. His friends said it wasn't a big deal, the feeling would return in a couple of minutes.

"No," he fired back. "Call an ambulance!"

They did, but he arrived at the emergency room to find it unable to handle a potential spinal cord injury. He said he was from Michigan, and that he'd normally go to University of Michigan

Hospital. An ambulance drove nearly an hour each way to pick him up. Wind had grounded the helicopters.

Told their son was being airlifted back to Ann Arbor, Carl and Diane Remmert rushed to the hospital, only to wait for more than an hour while he was driven back. They sat in scared silence.

Three bones in his upper spine were shattered. He went into pre-op at 8:30 a.m. His parents didn't see him again until 8:30 p.m.,

after 101/2 hours of surgery.

Doctors fused the C4 and C6 vertebrae in his neck back

together, but the C5 was broken beyond repair, so part of his hip bone was moved into his neck, and a titanium rod was inserted in his back to stabilize it.

Then came 11 days on his back in the intensive care unit, when he was only able to stare at the ceiling. Carl rented a room at the Med Inn, the hotel connected to the hospital. During the day, both parents were at his bedside. From 9 p.m. to 3 a.m., Diane stayed with Nate and Carl went to the room and slept. Every six hours, they switched.

A college sophomore who used to hang out with friends all night, go to class and then coach Pioneer's girls lacrosse team, he now couldn't eat, shower, brush his teeth or dress himself. He needed weeks before he could

independently feed himself, and the act was so exhausting he had to nap afterward.

Other than the area between his thumb and forefinger, his fingers were nearly useless, as were his legs. He couldn't lift himself in his chair if he became slouched to one side.Five months later, he's gained movement and feeling in his back, abdominal area and chest. He can turn his neck from side to side. He can usually straighten his body. His arms go high over his head. Five weeks ago, the neck brace came off. Four weeks ago, he started working on how to move himself from the foot of the bed into the bed.

Without muscle function in his lower body, putting on his own pants, socks and shoes is impossible. Putting on a shirt, sweatshirt or jacket, though, is getting easier.

Sitting in a wheelchair is not, especially for a former athlete and renowned fidgeter.

"I was never good at sitting down," he said. "Now I do it all the time."

He vowed to walk again. Doctors told him there's an 18- to 24-month window for most body functions to be regained.

That leaves 14 months for working, waiting and hoping.

Changes at home

Twice in nine weeks Nate was allowed out of the hospital. The second time was near his hospital discharge as a one-night practice rehearsal to see if he was ready to move home.

The first time was to watch his Pioneer girls play lacrosse. Then, on June 9, already delayed

because of an illness, Nate was sent home for good.

Back to reality, back living with his parents. The family's living room now is his bedroom.

The Remmerts hope this setup isn't around in six months. It's

going to dip into the retirement fund and require another mortgage, but they're adding a 1,050 square-foot "apartment" for Nate to the back of their house. Included are a bedroom, full bathroom with floor-level shower, living room, exercise room, full kitchen, a private entrance through the deck, and maybe a second-floor addition.

The second floor addition wouldn't be for Nate, but he'd like to someday walk up the stairs to see it anyway.

A community helps

Some things you have to do alone. Diane and Carl are there round-the-clock, but also busy haggling with insurance companies and doctors while trying to build an apartment.

Some things you don't.

For 67 consecutive nights, someone brought dinner to the hospital at 5 p.m., always enough for the Remmert family of four. They're still getting dinner delivered three nights a week, even as they tell people it's no longer

necessary.

Nate's room has bags full of cards and letters and one wall of his hospital room was invisible behind get-well cards. Seven Easter baskets came the week

after the accident.

By week four someone hired a cleaning lady to come to the house for a day, plus do laundry. Another friend paid for a lawn service.

Some care enough to let him know where they stand. He's been chewed out by his best friends to do so much more rehab for his body, like using a manual wheelchair regularly to push himself around and increase

upper body strength, trying different exercises, doing more of them.

"This was a real good way to figure out who your friends are right off the bat," he said.

He won't soon forget June 2, the day he wheeled out of the bathroom at rehab to find a group of friends hanging around Manny Legace.

Diane's cousin called the

Detroit Red Wings and explained her nephew's situation. First came a bag with a puck, stickers and other party favors. Then came another bag with a Red Wings jersey in it. Nate was overjoyed. Then he picked it up and saw it was autographed by the team, with the No. 1 and "Nathan" on the back. It's being framed.

Before Legace left he said he'd try to arrange for Nate to get to a practice and game, then he gave Nate an autographed goalie stick.

"Hockey Has Heart," a Michigan-based non-profit

organization, knocked on the Remmert's door recently to discuss what their $10,000

donation will go toward. Among the options: a new wheelchair, ramps, strengthening equipment, maybe part of the cost for a wheelchair accessible van they recently bought.

Back to square one

Nate's new life is going on five months, yet just three times has he managed to get out on his own.

July 8 was his first day of independence in three months. The only rules were he had to be home by 2 a.m. or, if he didn't feel well, he had to be home immediately. A friend picked him up, set him in the front seat, and Nate rode around the town he grew up in. The windows were down, his hair blowing, music blaring. They stopped at Taco Bell and Meijer.

"I've never enjoyed a car ride more in my entire life," he said.

A week later he went to see the movie "King Arthur." He has to call ahead to schedule pickup and drop-off times with the

AATA bus service. The following week, he cruised around the Ann Arbor Art Fair.

The all-nighters that defined college for him are probably gone. Being up until 1 a.m. is a stretch now, no more swinging by some friends' places (most are not ADA accessible) or crashing on someone's couch.

Not being able to play most video games is among the worst. He goes through PlayStation withdrawal.

And many others.

He replays April 3 all the time, often on days he doesn't want to get out of bed. After all, lying in bed is as close to being "normal" like before.

Six months ago, the tough choices involved which party to find, which video game to play and which girl was the cutest.

Nate laughs at those recollections. Now, it's tough trying to stay interested in rehab, figuring out whether a destination is handicap-accessible, and who's going to roll him over in bed every four hours.

He's back to square one in figuring out life's direction, now knowing it won't go the way he expected.

But he's ready.

"Everything happens for a reason, you just have to figure out what that reason is," he said. "It's about using what you have and not making excuses for what you don't."