Proud to Be a Daughter of God

By Bonnie Christler Cox

A simple ride to borrow a pickup from my family changed all the lives of our family in one short second. We were hit by a drunk driver and taken to the hospital. I had such extensive injuries that it was determined I should be flown by emergency helicopter to a hospital where a team of orthopedic surgeons would be waiting for me. Before I left, I was given a blessing and promised the Lord wanted to heal me quickly. Those words gave me strength.
Once arriving at the hospital, I wanted to block it all out because it was too much for me to handle. I would talk to my loved ones coherently, but I didnt want to talk to anyone else. I closed my eyes and wanted to wake up after it was all over. A nurse finally got through to me that Id die if I didnt cooperate with them, and I joined the fight.
It took all my effort to simply stay alive. I found strength in Bible stories, my faith, and blessings. After many surgeries, I went from intense pain to discomfort. Then I had to face a depression that went from gentle tears and sobs to deep moans and groans. I could feel my babys arms around my neck and heard him call for me, and I couldnt move. I saw my children and my husband and tears flowed nonstop.
Finally, I was able to move again, and the depression faded almost instantly. I started moving my arms, and I progressed to be able to ring the nurses buzzer. In the next few days, I sat up for the first time, stood up, and started taking steps with support.
It wasnt an easy process. My muscles had completely atrophied. My head swirled, like being on a tilt-a-whirl. With the help of a physical therapist, I was walking with minimal support quickly. However, next I needed to put weight on my arms to get out of bed. Muscles were attached to scar tissue, and Id get terrible cramps. It was like starting all over again, but with blessings and my physical therapist and orthopedic surgeon, who was never happy until he made me whole, I survived.
I was told Id be in the hospital six months to a year. I left short of two and a half months. I was very weak, but I was going home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 10, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453536315

Bonnie Christler Cox

"Proud To Be a Daughter of God" is the first book Bonnie Christler Cox has written. She has had two short stories published. Mrs. Cox was born and raised in the beautiful country of Cody, Wyoming. She became interested in writing in high school where her English and Journalism teacher, Dorothy Banks, seemed to draw out the love of literature and writing within her. Her aunt Betty Schultz, as well as other family members also encouraged her. Mrs. Cox finds her greatest pleasure in family, her husband, Roger, and their six children and twenty-one grandchildren, and extended family and friends. Mrs. Cox worked at the Wyoming State Hospital for twelve years in the geriatric unit as a recreation therapy technician. She found it very fulfilling and learned a lot from those amazing clients that so enriched her life.

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was a peaceful summer Sunday night on June 28, 1981, in Cody, Wyoming. Moving into our new home had been hectic, but at last the dishes were in the cupboards, the clothes were in the closets, and the furniture was in the right rooms. Roger Cox, my husband, had a week off from work so he could start finishing the basement. We had the home that seemed made for our family. We still had a lot of work ahead of us, but it would be worth it. I felt calm and very content.

We set off to borrow a pickup from my family to help with the project. My folks and my siblings, Jacque and Duffy, and their families, had taken a quick trip to Utah to see our sister, Shirley, and her family, who were visiting there. We drove to Mom and Dad’s house. They weren’t home, so we drove out to Duffy’s in the country. They hadn’t arrived yet either, so we headed for home. The little red Volkswagen rumbled along the highway. The truck turnoff was coming up. Maybe we ought to check to see if Mom and Dad are home now, I suggested. I found myself waking up in a nightmare! The simple labor of breathing set off explosions of pain. That slight movement rubbed the raw nerves of my battered body. I was being pushed around on a gurney in the hospital. This couldn’t be happening to me! What if I’m pregnant? sounded in my mind. I couldn’t form the thoughts into words. My baby, my baby, I cried. Roger! Roger!

I must calm down, I told myself. Breathe slow, even breaths. My body was quivering inside. What happened? I wondered.

An accident . . . broken bones, I heard from voices around me. Real terror gripped me. I had five children at home that needed me. My baby was fourteen months old. I closed my eyes to shut it all out. It was my way of hiding—of concentrating on the effort it took to breathe. I heard movements and a familiar voice. Bonnie, I’m Tom Chambers. This is Bob Pyle. We’re going to administer to you. Relief flooded my being as I opened my eyes. This was one thing in my desperate state that could help. I needed the Lord.

Hands were placed upon my head with an anointing. The Lord wants to heal you and heal you quickly, I vividly remembered. As time elapsed, I clung to those words.

I heard steps and voices. When I opened my eyes, I saw my parents, Walt and Lorraine Christler. They came as soon as they could be contacted. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I whispered. I felt such regret. Why, oh, why did I have to put them through this? We had had tragedy in our family. Duffy’s first wife had passed away when their third child was an infant. Mom and Dad, and Jacque and her husband, Dick Mason, had given their all to help out for two and a half years until Duffy remarried. Years later, Dick died in a car accident. Jacque’s children were older, but their heartache was just as acute. She, too, had remarried and was picking up the pieces of her life. I wanted to bring my folks only happiness. Mom and Daddy were so unselfish, and their children were their lives, yet here I was causing them more grief.

They both looked at me with tears in their eyes. You are only joy to us, Daddy said. We are with you 100 percent. Don’t worry about us. You concentrate on getting better. We’ll take care of everything here. Mother echoed the same sentiments.

Daddy was just short of six feet tall with weathered hands from a life in construction business operating heavy equipment. His eyes deep blue and his heart as soft as ever there was; Daddy was the kindest man I ever knew. Stress and fight I saw flashing in Mother’s blue eyes. She was a woman of great courage. She worried about her children like a mother hen, but when the going got rough, she seemed to rise above it and pulled us all through. I couldn’t remember the accident, but from tire marks, it appeared we must have seen an erratic car coming and come almost to a complete stop when a pickup truck collided with us. The driver was later cited for driving while under the influence of alcohol.

My husband, Roger, along with the driver of the other vehicle were taken to the hospital in an ambulance. It was a traumatic experience for Roger as the other man was giggling and quite incoherent.

It had taken forty-five minutes for the search and rescue team to extricate me from the wreckage. One of the team members told me later it was like trying to retrieve a cracked egg. My baby! My baby! I cried over and over. The rescue team searched the surrounding area for his body. They were relieved to find out later that he was home in his crib.

Once I was retrieved from the wreckage, the team members cut off my jeans. I was irate. We had taken a trip to Billings, Montana, the day before to pick out a few things for the house. I found two pairs of jeans that were a perfect fit. I hadn’t worn that pair for more than two hours. Team members felt encouraged by my reaction; there must be some hope if I still cared about my jeans! Even in the hospital amid all the worry, I seethed over my jeans. It was days before I simmered down. It seems ironic that it was almost a year before I could fit into that other pair of jeans because I lost so much weight. At West Park Hospital, Roger was found to have one crushed ankle, a broken ankle, two cracked knees, a dislocated shoulder, and various cuts and bruises. A gash on his throat barely missed his jugular vein.

My X-rays showed such extensive injuries that arrangements were made for me to be transferred by emergency helicopter to Billings, Montana, where a team of orthopedic surgeons would be waiting for me.

I started to go into shock and my husband’s orthopedic surgeon, Dr. McMillan, started me on transfusions.

Our sixteen-year-old son, Roger Jr., rode his bicycle to the hospital after he heard the sirens. He confided later that before he went to church that day, he had gotten up early and climbed a tree. He was worried about personal problems. Suddenly, an image of his dad in the Volkswagen with blood running down his cheek flashed through his mind. He thought he must be crazy and dismissed it. The moment he heard the sirens that evening, he was filled with fear. He knew something had happened.

Will Roger and the children be all right? I don’t want to leave them. They need me. Oh no, my baby, my family! seemed to echo in my head. I waited in dread for the helicopter. Though I had many broken bones, somehow the pain was bearable when I lay still. Moving was excruciating beyond description.

The whirring sound of the helicopter sounded in my ears. Tears began to sting my eyes, a lump formed in my throat, and I braced myself for the ride. Good-bye, I whispered to Mom, Dad, and my son, Roger, as we all stood facing a mountain we knew not how to climb.

I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. My whole body cried out with pain that was horrendous. I sobbed in desperation. In a short while, because of the skill of the attending emergency nurse, I was settled and we were off. The vibrations of the copter sent quivers through my body. I whimpered as I closed my eyes and prayed. Breathing had helped so much in childbirth; I had decided if I ever had a painful disease, I’d try it. This was no disease, but it was painful! I was willing to try anything. I don’t know how much it helped, but it kept my mind occupied. I closed my eyes to shut out reality. Prayer was my strength. I pleaded over and over, Lord, please be with me. Help me. Words from the administration in the hospital sounded in my mind and gave me strength to endure. The Lord promised me he wanted to heal me! I repeated the promise