An Ordinary Mystic

Meeting an angel on returning from Las Vegas

I was returning from a four-day trip to Las Vegas with a friend who was kind enough to go along not only to help celebrate my transition from consultant to staff member at a major university but also as my personal assistant. I'm a C-5 quadriplegic/tetraplegic as a result of a spinal cord injury when I was 14. I am paralyzed from the shoulders down and need assistance with some of the basics of life, like bathing, dressing etc.

We had played blackjack nearly around the clock for several days and upon deplaning I felt myself swept along by a tide of travelers until I was deposited beside my van in the parking structure. I listened to the radio for several minutes while the van warmed up. It didn't sound good. I was somewhat aware that we had landed in the middle of a blizzard but when you live in the Midwest you hear that word so overused that you tend not to put much credence in it, or at least I didn't that evening. Besides my friend and I had parted company in the airport and I didn't relish the possibility of spending another night in my wheelchair, especially if it wasn't going to be at a blackjack table.

As I left the airport complex and got on the freeway I thought briefly about turning around but decided to proceed telling myself that as long as I drove slowly everything would be okay. As I passed the exit for Belleville a few miles west of the airport I was having difficulty finding the road which might not have been so alarming if it wasn't I-94. There were no tracks ahead of me, just a smattering of vehicles randomly dotting a white plain. I passed a sign for a Super 8 Motel in the distance along the service drive, found the shoulder and navigated by the reassuring sound of the grooves cut into the pavement to awaken drowsy drivers vibrating under my tires, and drove to the next exit then doubled back.

I was greatly relieved to pull into the parking lot and only slightly annoyed at not being able to find a parking spot on side of the building by the main entrance. I pulled around to the back facing the highway and shut down my van. It might be another night in my wheelchair but at least it would be in a warm hotel room and not in a ditch along I-94. I was driving a full-size Ford Econoline van with a Crow River lift. I opened the doors, unfolded the lift platform and pulled onto it with my wheelchair. When I reached the ground a few seconds later my wheelchair was dead. I could not move, except to go up and down on the wheelchair lift.

There was only an occasional car on the freeway 100 yards or so away. I doubted anyone could hear me in the motel 50 feet away, I can't yell very loud and the wind was blowing fiercely. I felt resigned and imagined headlines like, "quadriplegic freezes to death 50 feet from motel." My cellphone was built into the dash console so that was no use. I remained calm, calling for help at regular intervals, resting in between.

After a few minutes a car pulled in and a man wearing a parka with a fur trimmed hood got out and came my way. I don't remember his voice or even if he said anything but I felt reassured by his presence and he seemed to know how to operate the wheelchair lift and my wheelchair. He was even able to locate the mechanism that disengages the motors to make it possible for someone to manually push my wheelchair, and to disengage it with ease which was remarkable because it's something that even experienced people have difficulty doing in the daylight under good conditions, let alone in the middle of a blizzard at 2 AM in a parking lot.

As the stranger pushed me through the lobby doors I strained to look back and above over my shoulder wanting to say thank you, but there was no one there. I asked the young lady behind the reception desk if she saw where the man who pushed me in went.

"I didn't see anyone," she replied.

Later, in my room I tried to recall exactly what he had said, but couldn't remember him using any particular words. I tried to remember exactly what his face looked like but it had been dark and it was obscured by the fur trim on the hood of his parka and all I could remember was shadow.