My Perspective
Where I’ve Been – Where I’m Going
By: Aaron Baker
I am a young man with the soul of a veteran. In the short time I’ve been alive, I can proudly say I’ve traveled the world and been exposed to many different ways of life and cultures, more than most do in a lifetime. This is the key, for me it is my childhood, my upbringing in a world of diversity, culture, and freedom, my mother is a strong believer in diversity, fill your plate with little bit of everything. From as early as I can remember she has always kept my sister and I away from the “normal” thus, influencing my growth in a spiritual way.
This all fell second to my passion, I have a talent, many at that, but my passion for speed and competition came in the way of a motorcycle. From the moment I threw a leg over my first bike I knew this was what I wanted to do. As a dedicated athlete you must stay focused, you must wear “blinders” as my mother would call it, the very thing she had worked so hard to prevent. Everything outside of my sport was a distraction. All my beautiful experiences and exposed knowledge went with a lack of appreciation. Immaturity and selfishness are the words I use to describe my behavior as a boy who wanted only to race. Being this way aided to my success as an amateur rider. Through all my years racing I always carried a mind full of experiences, the hidden person inside the helmet. What other rider can say they’ve been and seen the things I have. Most successful riders only know what their blinders have allowed them to see. I on the other hand, knew there was whole other world out there with endless possibilities. This is what set me apart from your average racer. All this held dormant behind tightly locked and committed doors until the day I was blessed with a key which would unlock an uncertain but bright future for me: a unique motorcycle racer and his family………………….
………..A perfect left hand corner aligned me with my future.
I can still feel the bike beneath me, the acceleration as I shift to third gear, my every muscle moving in perfect harmony with the machine, my mind focused only on the approaching obstacle, which held my fate. Everything was perfect, I was a young man chasing a dream, racing a motorcycle and being paid for it was the best thing on earth. My body was as tuned as my machine. This all changed in the blink of an eye. As I hit the jump my bike hesitated for a split second, creating a spring effect with the suspension kicking me over the front of the bike. Instinctively, I tucked into a ball to roll out of injury. Upon impact of the ground, my head hit first, compressing my spine, breaking my neck. The echo of the fracture still haunts me. I can visualize every moment of the accident, my arms and legs flailing about in slow motion as I tumbled down the hill. I came to rest on my right side at the bottom of the hill. I laid there with my left hand directly in front of my face trying desperately to move it, thinking to myself, I just broke my neck, I can’t feel my body, this is bad. I truly feel that one of the reasons for my remarkable recovery was how I was able to come to terms right then and there with what had happened to me. From that moment on I took charge, ordering for a helicopter and instructing everyone to stay back, not to touch me, everyone accept a girl friend who I told to look me in the eye’s to keep me from going into complete shock. The helicopter with paramedics arrived after about twenty minutes or so, my orders were helpful for the paramedics, not to remove my helmet, and not to worry about anything but stabilization for my neck.
Beep… beep… beep… Are these the sounds of heaven? Or hell? Definitely not reality, where am I? In class, school, stuck in the seat of a desk, wrapped in thorns, not able to move or speak, staring at a chalk board waiting for class to end so that I may be released from this torturous place. Morphine dreams, is the title of a song written in my head during that twisted hell of a medication. In and out of clear thought, I remembered what had happened to me, that was not my concern, my concern was, am I going to live? My only concern was life. I was scared, not of paralysis, but scared of dying. A few days into my recovery that fear was laid to rest. I had choked on phlegm caught in my lungs and flat lined. A mere 45 seconds of conscience death, if there is such a thing, but I remember the experience vividly. Gasping, struggling to breathe, suddenly, an overwhelming calm came over me, the best feeling I have ever felt, free, healthy, happy, a light blue nothing surrounded me. Death is beautiful. “Slam”, back into a lifeless body, air being pumped into my lungs, doctors everywhere, it was total chaos.
Reborn, wise eyes open to the world for a very lucky second chance at this beautiful thing called life, my perspective, a gift through tragedy, I wouldn’t trade for anything. My life is full, full of love, compassion, and appreciation for every breath I take. I am truly blessed with family and friends who give unconditional love and support, and that’s worth more than all the treasures of the world.
Meditation, the most important tool used in the early stages of my recovery. Spending countless hours frozen in stone on my back seeing only what my peripheral vision would allow was not enough. Through song and mantra I was able to leave my body and elevate my mind to the many different places I have been and seen around the world. Peaceful and healing, my mind was the key to recovery, visualization, the same procedure I used before a race, perfect the race in your mind prior to the start. I applied this to my movement, I would visualize movement, fill my body with light, colors leading to every point in my body, visualize my body from the inside out.
The constant comfort and love from my family allowed me to rest easy and kept the small frustrations to a minimum, which allowed me to concentrate on the positive energy which flowed throughout my body.
After successfully making it through the initial stage of recovery I was now ready for rehabilitation. June 22, 1999 I was transferred to Northridge Hospital Medical Center, Northridge, CA. There I was eager to meet my therapists and begin the long road of retraining my body to perform every single little movement that we so often take for granted in everyday life. Roger Rich and Michelle Harris were my primary therapists and I personally hold them responsible for the majority of my movement, minus my efforts. My emotions held rather steady through this stage of recovery, immersed only in my work and comforting hospital surroundings, you can say I was on a mission. My athlete mentality was called upon, “blinders” were again apart of my life, keeping distractions and emotions out and the steady focus on what had to be done was the only thing in my sight. My friends were always comforting, someone was always there to visit and this made me feel loved and cared about. A milestone for me was my first outing away from the hospital with a close friend. We had left without permission from the hospital, went to Santa Barbara, this is where most of my friends were going to school and was a regular stomping ground of mine. The drive was nice, seeing the ocean for the first time was revitalizing, taking in all of the outside world at one time was a little overwhelming but much needed, until I hit Isle Vista. Hundreds of kids walk up and down Isle Vista Street in Santa Barbara every Friday and Saturday night, mingling and having a good time, except me. I had always been the one to lead the group of friends from place to place, motivating them to have a good time, but not this night. Wheeling down Isla Vista in an electric wheel chair with a Philadelphia neck collar around my neck and minor movement throughout my body was a major change of pace. Friends were all happy to see me, asking me how I felt and how I was doing with rehab. I’m sure I answered with a smile but inside I was falling apart, eye level with everyone’s butts, 110 pounds not even able to move my neck,” what the hell am I doing here? I’m quadriplegic!” A close friend walked with me to a quiet area, where I uncontrollably broke down. A release of raw emotion finally let go and reality set in, not that I was in any denial of my condition but throwing myself into society like that put me face to face with what I was really up against. The hospital was a welcome site and at the time felt like home. I entered the next day of therapy with a blazing fire inside,” I’ll be damned if I go there like that again.” ...Let the WORK begin!
