“'But I will restore you to health and heal your wounds,' declares the Lord.”
Jeremiah 30:17
by Dallas Reese Feb. 29, 2024
Seventeen years ago this month, my life changed forever.
January 2007- I wake up in excruciating pain. I can't lift my right arm above my head.
My back feels as if the weight of the earth is on it, and I can't move the anvil off no matter how much I want. Unable to sleep. I have never felt anything so unbearable. Not even the Dallas Cowboys continuing to fail in the playoffs can match the feeling of this pain.
At this point, I knew I was already on the backside, 42 years old, the same age Elvis died; I had always worried every time I passed the date of some famous musician I admired. Twenty-seven had been a rough year as well. That was the age at which Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, and Janis Joplin had all fallen. I felt the mortality closing in on me like a burning love. I drove to work from Riverwood Golf Club, where we lived in Clayton, into downtown Raleigh.
But I was unable to sit at my desk for long; the pain wouldn't stop. I left the radio station early, missing my afternoon radio show. I drove straight to an Urgent Care.
They couldn't help. But the doctor there knew what the problem was when I couldn't lift my right arm. Immediately, I went to see a neurosurgeon. With an MRI scheduled, I headed home, driving with my unaffected left arm while the right side of my body, wracked in pain, kept my mind off the implications of this condition. I went to get the MRI the following week after moving my work schedule (which was hectic) around to accommodate the test. I arrive at the office of Dr. Dennis Bullard, a capable and gifted neurosurgeon who has been practicing in Raleigh, NC, for decades.
A week or so later, the results from the MRI of my spine returned. Dr. Bullard arrives in the office. The news is devastating. Either we correct the damage, or you will end up a paraplegic. Stunned, I said, "You mean like Christopher Reeve, paraplegic, in a wheelchair with no movement below the neck ever again?" Dr. Bullard's answer was, "Exactly. You have several discs that are highly herniated, cervical stenosis is causing a narrowing of your spinal column, and you appear to have a genetic condition of degenerative disc disease throughout your spine. And you're suffering from spinal cord compression and cervical radiculopathy. It's a fancy medical way of saying I had nerve compression. The failing discs had compressed my spinal cord, and I had about 3-5 millimeters of working room before the entire spine would be cut off at the neck, rendering me paralyzed below the neck for the rest of my life. Thoughts of terror raced through my head. No more playing with the kids, sledding, golfing, running, writing, shooting baskets, playing piano or guitar, or even simple things like taking my wife and kids to a park. More importantly, the inability to ever be intimate with my wife again.
I was only 42. How could this happen? I vowed at that moment to take whatever was coming at me and do my best to solve this problem. Because that's what I had always done: use logic, solve problems, move on, and persevere.
But I'd be lying if I didn't say this news frightened me. I was aghast. I knew there had been a history of back problems in my family. My mother had always had issues with bones, muscles (mitochondrial myopathy), and nerve issues related to her physical structure. She lived a life of constant pain but never let on to anyone because of her selfless nature. But I could see when she would wince, and the outward signs of the pain she endured daily were always there. I also knew on my Grandfather Johnson's side, there had been back issues back to my 2nd Grandfather, William Miles, who spent the last 18 years of his life in a wheelchair.
Neurosurgeon Dr. Dennis Bullard
Dr. Bullard relayed that the degeneration in my spine was probably about 60 percent genetic and the rest from damage from sports and dietary issues. I had played golf competitively for many years and knew from fellow golfers that a back issue was also possible because of the strain on the spine from the constant torque from thousands of swings. Plus, the fact I had been drinking coffee like most people drink water had not helped. That was a habit I had picked up from my mother and her father before her. I could drink coffee for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and I did.
But the dark side, caffeine, in general, is terrible for the discs in the spine. It dries them out. To protect spinal discs, one must drink lots of water (which I never did) and exercise. I had been great at exercising in my 20s, but after my wife had our first child when I was 34, the downhill slide into a sedentary life began and never waned.
I gained weight, didn't drink enough water, didn't eat right, and didn't exercise—the holy grail of no-nos for protecting the spine. The problems were inevitable, but I was too blind to see the forest for the trees.
But there was hope. Dr. Bullard had seen this condition in thousands of patients. But he admitted my condition was much worse than most. And he suggested surgery—something I did not want. I had never been under the knife in my life save for when I was 22 years old and had to have my tonsils removed. Other than that, I had no issues, broken bones, or anything else ever. The only other serious injury I had was a muscle tear in my left knee when playing football in junior high. In my last year of college, I tore ligaments in my ankle when making a goal kick in a soccer game on Astroturf at Mountaineer Stadium in Boone, North Carolina. I had a cast on that right leg until weeks before graduating college. Beyond that, doctor's offices, X-rays, and MRIs had been foreign to me my entire life. I was the kid who went through nine years of school, from kindergarten through eighth grade, without ever missing a day of school. While other kids were constantly sick, I had been unscathed most of my childhood. I had perfect attendance certificates from 90 percent of all my school years. I missed many days in high school not due to sickness but delinquency because I played music and ran around sneaking off to Eastland Mall in Charlotte during the school day. It certainly wasn't because I ever got sick or hurt. So, this was all foreign to me. A condition this serious, this life-threatening.
Dr. Bullard relayed the facts to me. Without surgery, my spine would soon compress and incapacitate me permanently. I would face life with no movement below the neck, which most certainly would shorten my lifespan, so much so that I might not make it another 10 or 20 years after becoming a paraplegic. I feared for my wife and four kids at the time. Not knowing that down the road, I would even be able to have three more children. The prognosis was not enlightening. I knew surgery was the only option. So I immediately said yes.
But Dr. Bullard said it would be a more complicated surgery, not a single or double but a three-level cervical anterior fusion. The procedure would involve removing three of the damaged discs in my cervical spine(the C-4, C-5, and C-6 discs, technically called a C4-C7 fusion). He would fuse the spine, then place a six-inch titanium plate on the spine to hold it together in the place where the discs were. Bone marrow material from one of my legs would be removed and placed on the vertebrae to help hold the spine together in the neck. The titanium would take about six months to lock into place, and as a result, I would lose about an inch or so of height simply because the titanium plate would compress to hold the spine together. Before the surgery, sometime in my 20s, I reached 5'9", just above average height for an American male. A year after the surgery in 2008, my height shrunk to about 5'8".
Dr. Bullard emphasized the surgery could not wait. Waiting could put my life in danger. He suggested surgery within days. But I could not do it that soon. I had an extensive fundraiser marathon broadcast on Valentine's Day that would benefit Duke Children's Hospital. Recovery time after the surgery would keep me out of work for weeks, and I wanted the surgery to happen after that fundraiser. So that's what we did. Through excruciating pain, I did the day-long live broadcast on Valentine's Day 2007, and we raised a lot of money for Duke Children's Hospital in Durham, NC.
I was at Rex Hospital, Raleigh, the following day for surgery. I had to be up at 4 am and in the hospital by about 5 am. I always wondered why these doctors worked so early. But then I thought, hey, I'm first. He'll be fresh and alert; this surgery involved precision movement and was very delicate.
Before the surgery, I had to sign papers saying I would not file a lawsuit if my vocal cords or throat became damaged. I had an option of Dr. Bullard making an incision through my back, a much more dangerous surgery. The other option is making an incision in my neck, moving my vocal cords and larynx over, and then removing the discs and inserting the titanium plate. On Dr. Bullard's advice, I chose the throat incision route. It seemed the safest for my spine and the terrible condition it faced.
But the decision was harsh. My entire life's work involves my throat and vocal cords. I was on the radio, and I played music. I used my voice, whether talking or singing, every single day of my life to make money and support my family. It was a scary proposition, knowing that surgery could harm that ability. But it was an even scarier proposition, knowing I could die or possibly never walk again if I chose any other option. It wasn't the best of all worlds. But it was the one I would have to function in for better or worse.
The only thing I remember about the surgery was lying on the table when they took me back to the operating room. The lights were bright. As the assistants talked to me and planned everything, I felt the calming peace from God as I prayed this would work out fine. These folks were pros and had done this many times. The anesthesiologist put a clear mask over my face, and I remember telling him I was going to keep talking throughout the procedure. I was mimicking Casey Kasem calling play-by-play of the surgery as I went under and began slurring my words. The group around me laughed and said, typical radio guy. Minutes later, I was out, and I mean out. I remembered nothing when I woke up in the recovery room.
Here's what the titanium plate looks like when inserted on the spine.
When I woke up immediately, I could tell the pain in my spine and arm, and the entire right side of my body was gone. I could immediately move my right arm. It was a miracle. Granted, I was still drugged up and did not yet know the pain to come from the incision in my neck and the movement of my vocal cords, larynx, etc. The catheter in my urinary tract was a prominent presence because it felt like someone stuck a tube in me in a place it wasn't supposed to be. (insert laughter here)
I could not talk. And understandably, because of the nature of the surgery. When my wife came in, I knew she would secretly be laughing at the fact the most talkative guy on the earth could now not speak. But alas, it was only a temporary condition. But anything I now felt was a small price to pay for what had just happened. This doctor had saved my life. If this same thing had happened 150 years ago, that wouldn't be possible, and I would have faced certain paralysis or death. These spinal surgeries didn't even exist until the 20th century. This particular surgery didn't occur widely until 1958, and spinal surgeries with this titanium plate didn't happen until the 1990s.
Here's an X-ray picture of my neck three months after the surgery in May 2007. The titanium plate holding my spine together has four screws in my spinal column.
Recovery was slow, at least by my standards. I had to wear a Miami-J collar several hours a day for a month to keep my neck stable and help heal the ligaments and bones. I was walking well within days. Within a week, I was walking to the end of the driveway. And following Dr. Bullard's advice, I knew the only solution to protecting my spine was walking a lot. Within a week, I could walk a quarter mile. That increased to a mile by the two-week point. Six months later, I walked an hour at lunch every day at work. I began to gain strength and was pain-free for the first time in over half a year. I had a new lease on life. Thanks to a great surgeon, titanium, and technology. By the end of the year, I was walking five miles a day to heal what was left of my spine. Today, 17 years later, I have additional problems in my lower spine now, but through therapy and continued exercise, I fight to beat time and keep my spine healthy. It's an ongoing battle to keep the old man out.
Ultimately, God guided Doctor Bullard's hands on that February day in 2007. For that, I am forever thankful. My vocal cords came out unscathed, my carotid artery survived because of the doctor's deft touch, and I had no lasting complications from the successful surgery.
Mobility is a gift from God. We should never take it for granted. Our spines are the backbone of our lives, literally!