On Sept 18, 2023 I woke up in the Critical Decision Unit at Cox South hospital and was paralyzed from the shoulders down. I couldn’t move a finger.
My diagnosis is Idiopathic Acute Transverse Myelitis. (John Hopkins says there are 1,400 cases of TM annually in the US.)

See Part 1 (A thru L) HERE

See Part 2 (M thru T) HERE

U = UTI (urinary tract infection)
UTI’s are generally more common in women than in men. But long term catheter usage is a UTI risk for anyone.
I took the second ambulance ride of my life recently. It was after my second ever syncope event. (The other one has a longer story: Thanksgiving, “in-laws”, heavily herbalized, not enough H2O, 50 mile ambulance ride.)
This time I passed out on the couch and thrashed around a bit and Shelly did the right thing by calling 911. Our apartment rapidly filled up with EMTs, first responders, cops, and ambulance folks. (I think the count topped at 10 of us…)
I spent three hours in the ER after the 1.8 mile ride. When they figured it out, the nurse hooking me up said “you’ve got a raging, angry UTI.”
I left with a prescription for Ciprofloxacin after IVs of saline and antibiotic. After the cultures were back a few says later, my primary boosted the dose and strength of the Cipro.
Rose & Dr. Trinca have been changing my catheter every month since I came home from the hospital. We thought our twice a day catheter care at home was fine. We have now stepped up our hygiene game.
I hope to someday say adios to catheters and to be able to take a pee against a tree, on a fire, or on a grave again…to have taken my last ride in an ambulance…and to have had my last “raging, angry UTI.”

V = Vacuuming
Before I was hit by TM, I was retired and a “house husband.”
I did our laundry. I did the bulk of our grocery shopping. I cleaned the bathrooms and mopped the floors. Nightly I’d clean up the kitchen and wash the dishes by hand. The next morning I’d put the dishes away.
And I’d vacuum the apartment a couple of times a week. (There is wall-to-wall in the living/dining room and both bedrooms.)
I always liked to vacuum. No shit. (Friends will attest that when I’ve spent a night or two at their place that I always offered to vacuum.)
On April 12 I ran a vacuum for the first time in 7 months. Just doing the living room wore me out.
Now I vacuum a couple of times a week, and more often if we have guests.
It doesn’t sound like much, but being able to run the vac and not lose my balance seems like a big deal in a TM world.
{It still wears me out. Thank you TM for destroying my stamina!}

W = 5 W’s and an H
Who: Me…and according to Johns Hopkins, about fourteen-hundred other Americans every year.

What: Diagnosed with Transverse Myelitis (see T in Part 2 of 3)

When: Out of the blue in my case. On 9/17/23 at 2 pm the ball of my right foot felt weird. The next morning I woke up paralyzed from the shoulders down. (Onset is slow/gradual for others.)

Where: Springfield, MO. 15 nights in the Neuro ward at Cox South Hospital. 23 nights at the Meyer Orthopedic and Rehabilitation Hospital.

Why: No idea of the cause. The doctors don’t know either…that’s why my chart says “idiopathic.” My concern has always been to get better from and learn how to live with TM…not what caused it.

How: Some folks are intent in finding out what caused their case….“How did I get it?!”
I have never cared about that. (Once again, see T for list of causes…)
Shelly and I both think the cause might be a UTI that was missed and untreated for 7 to 10 days in late August of 2023.
And I most certainly do NOT believe that “things happen for a reason”…what malarkey.
(I have tested positive for Covid a couple of times and didn’t wonder about how I got that either…)
Shit happens…that’s all it ever does…and TM is some nasty shit.

[The Five Ws and an H is a checklist used in journalism to ensure that the first paragraph (the “lead”) contains all the essential points of a story. As far back as 1913 reporters were taught that the lead should answer these questions.]

X = Xanadu…an idyllic, exotic, or luxurious place
Living with TM is certainly NOT like living in Xanadu.
{I struggled and struggled for a relevant word starting with X…struck out}

Y = Yearn
Yearn for yesterday….the time before being ambushed by TM. But that ain’t happening.
Yearn for a better tomorrow…and for a better day after that.
That’s what everyone should hope for every day…each and every one of us.

Z = Zevon
Warren Zevon not only gave the world music, but he also gave many of us a mantra: “Enjoy Every Sandwich.”
I’ve loved him since he opened for Jackson Browne in 1977 in Portland, Orygun. He hadn’t released “Excitable Boy” yet. (That song has always been one of my favorites.)
It’s maddening that the Rock&Roll HOF has never inducted him…especially in light of all the lame-ass “rock” musicians who have been inducted since his death almost 21 years ago on Sept. 7, 2003.
On October 30, 2002 I was in a hotel room in Virginia Beach. Warren was Dave Letterman’s only guest.
Three words he said that night, while talking about the recently diagnosed cancer that would soon end his life, became words to live by for me and many others.
I’m more committed to “enjoy every sandwich” now more than ever.
And the 3 words that I have been writing at the close of cards and letters (and FB posts) mean more than ever now too: “Be. Just Be.”

…especially when the laxative doesn’t seem to do much.
In Part 1 of “Thru the alphabet…” I promised that bowel challenges would get their own blog piece given that “dysfunctional anal sphincter activities” are characteristic of Transverse Myelitis.
{Warning: there is a long list of synonyms for bowel movements. This piece will include many of them.}
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Being regular (or not) has been something that my Dad has talked about for as long as I can remember. For decades he ate a sizable bowel of All-bran every morning. In 2024 he mentions his bowels on at least 4 of the 7 times I call him every week.
Dad rarely goes on for more than 40 or 50 seconds about his bowels…but it seems much longer.
Over the years my sister and I (and on occasion Shelly&I) have talked about his obsession with pooping….or more accurately: Not pooping.
It drives me crazy. (But not as much as it does my sister.)
And now it’s me doing the talking…

I swore I’d never talk about my bowels to anyone (let alone write about it), and then on 9/17/23 I got ambushed by Transverse Myelitis and Everything changed.
Thank you very much TM…

Things that changed, as it relates to defecating and flatulence:
1. Since I got out of diapers as a toddler, no one but me had ever wiped my butt.
2. I used to be very regular. A couple of trips to the crapper before 9am and I had dropped my daily dung. (Never a dump after noon unless I ate a bad burrito…)
3. These were slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am visits to the shitter, i.e. no reading material required. (Sit…shit…wipe…outta there.)
4. Shelly and I have been living together since 8/1/13. I had never passed gas in her presence (or anyone else’s for that matter) …ever. (Now I have no control and am surprised, as are whoever is in ear shot, when I “step on a duck.”)
5. I probably talk about my irregular bowels now more than my Dad does…and I definitely talk to more people about my bowel frustrations than he does.
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I spent 2 weeks in the hospital after I woke up paralyzed on 9/18/23. It was only the 3rd time in my 75 years that I spent the night in the hospital, and the first time that I wasn’t able to wipe my own ass…or to even know when I had shit myself (or farted).
The smell was the giveaway.
Many times it was a CNA who responded to my call. (They get the bulk of the shit duty, but oftentimes it was the RN that rolled me onto my side at the whiff of excrement or gas.)
More times than not it was merely a “smear.” It was almost never a fully formed doody. Often it was a false alarm. (Then there was the constipation and the enemas.)
At least 50 different people were summoned by my call light and my “I think I had an accident” plea while I was at Cox South. I’d usually make some lame attempt at a joke as they rolled me onto my side to check between my cheeks. (They’d often ask about the music coming from my Bose speaker. My room during the day was dubbed “party central.”)
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My favorite “wiping asses” story while I was in the hospital is the conversation I had with a 19 year old working transport. She was wheeling me from my room to get an MRI. I asked her how long she had been doing this job and she said: “A few months. I’m a CNA student and I get a discount since I’m a Cox employee.”
My quick reply: “Boy-o-boy, you are gonna wipe a lot of asses!!!”
Her: “I don’t think so.”
Me: stifling a laugh. She seemed nice.
I didn’t have the heart to bust her bubble. (I’m sure that would come in due time.)
The next day, when a couple of CNAs were cleaning me up, I told them the story. They thought it was just too funny…
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While I was in the rehab hospital I started the second round of potty training in my life. (I don’t remember the first. I’ll never forget this ongoing potty training experience….it’s a shitshow.)
After every meal they would get me onto the bedside commode. Many times it would be an Exercise-in-Futility. (Those now get abbreviated in my journal, e.g. “several EIFs this morning.”)
Having a successful shit and wiping my own ass was a joy for one and all. (It still is.) I was very happy to give them a turd or two to chart.
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So how are things these days, 8 months after I’m back in the apartment after 34 days in the hospital?
In a word: Frustrating.
More EIFs than Successes.
I now keep something to read in my bathroom, as I sit and wait&hope&strain in hopes that my sphincter will open and I will hear the welcome sound of a shit splash.

I tell people that most days I feel like “my ass is full”…that I could shit at any minute. Except I can’t. If I had a Benjamin for every time I didn’t think I was gonna make it in time, but instead it was just another EIF, I’d be wealthy.
There have been very few times that I didn’t make it to the bathroom in time.
It has been awhile since I had an accident. But the fear is there…that I will fill my boxer briefs while I’m in public….and that has turned me into a bit of a recluse.
Along with the lack of bowel control comes the inability to control the release of gas, i.e. I can’t do anything to control farts. I try to always give guests a warning of what might happen…and then it does. “Embarrassing” doesn’t do this justice.

If there was a choice between being able to drive again or having control of my bowels and my bladder, it would be a no brainer.
I’d never be behind the wheel again. (And I loved road trips…)
TM Sucks.