Michael's Story

The movement in Michael Dixon's leg took him by surprise. Suddenly, he could move the lower portion of his left foot, even if only a few inches and for a second or two.

"I wasn't working on it, something just happened," the quadriplegic recalled later.

Some would call it a fluke, just an aberration of a central nervous system that had been short circuited by three bullets in the spine. But Michael found comfort in these infrequent occurrences, when a finger or leg would respond weakly to his will. He believed they were signs from a higher order.

Michael and his sister, Shirley, who is his primary caregiver, have prayed for a miracle. When they attend services at Grace Interdenominational Church, just down Brick Church Pike from Michael's apartment, they ask for special prayer by the pastor. The brother and sister believe God answers "Yes" and God answers "No," and sometimes the answer is "Have patience."

Whenever he experienced these fleeting periods of movement, Michael believed the Almighty was just reminding him to be patient.

"When I was in the hospital after the shooting I thought I could beat it in a month or two, but one year became two and then three and now four. I'm still fighting it, but I have faith that someday I will walk again," he said.

Although his current doctors are encouraging, other physicians have been less than optimistic. Medical validation isn't necessary for Michael to hold to his beliefs, however.

According to the Bible, he noted, "faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen."

Michael, who grew up in Perry County, became a student of faith when he was baptized in the Tennessee River at the age of 17, years before a gun-wielding stranger fired the three bullets that splintered his spinal column.

But, he acknowledged, since being paralyzed four years ago by a stranger's gunfire his faith has been tested.

Before the shooting, Michael had a good-paying middle management job at Lockheed Support Systems, a subcontractor of the United States Postal Service. Using the money he saved from his day job, plus delivering pizzas at night, Michael planned to build a nest egg so he could do what he always dreamed of doing becoming a record producer.

After the shooting, the young man found himself scratching out a life from a government subsidy of about $7,200 a year.

Victims of violence may petition the state for compensation for injuries related to personal crimes. In Michael's request to the Division of Claims Administration, his lawyer requested $1.2 million for loss of income, $5 million for permanent disability and $3 million for future medical expenses.

He received $7,000, the maximum award available.

The dismantling of his personal finances was just the beginning. Like Job of the Old Testament, Michael found his faith being tested at all turns, with little inconveniences often proving to be just as frustrating as not being able to walk.

For instance, keeping up with his possessions. Nothing seemed to be put in the same place twice.

One day he asked the home health nurse, who stays with him eight hours a day, to find a particular photo album inside a drawer. It wasn't there, but in a stack of papers in a corner of the room.

Another day he asked Shirl to look up the telephone number for a cousin in another state. She couldn't immediately find it because it had been filed under "U," for "Uncle James' kids."

"One of the hardest things I have to do is make out a simple grocery list," he added. He has been to the local Kroger only once in the past four years.

"I don't even know what's out there," Michael lamented.

Early in his paralysis, such minor interruptions in his life used to test his sanity, but one day, as if the mustard-sized seed of hope he sheltered inside him suddenly decided to germinate, he decided the little things weren't going to bother him anymore.

"I'm too blessed to be depressed," he announced in mid-September. "I've got the support of my family and I've got the love of my church. It's just a waste of my time to dwell on things that I can't do anything about."

Bolstered by newfound optimism and determination, Michael made two important decisions. He declined to have an operation that would widen the opening for his breathing tube. Although the operation would have increased his comfort level, it would have made the tracheotomy site more permanent.

"I don't want it to be permanent. I am ready to get off of this machine," he complained.

That led to his second decision: to begin anew his struggle to breathe without the assistance of a machine.

Over a year and a half earlier, Michael had begun to wean himself from the ventilator, building his endurance level slowly in 15 minute increments.

After several months he was breathing on his own for up to five hours and 20 minutes at one time.

"It wasn't scary, but it's sometimes like when you can't get a full breath.

You have to be relaxed. I try not to force my breathing," he explained.

However, exceeding the five hour, 20 minute level eluded him, no matter how hard he tried. His frustration and anxiety levels grew as his self-confidence plummeted.

"It did something to me subconsciously," he remembered. When he ended his effort, Michael was struggling to stay off the ventilator for even 10 minutes.

The young man wondered if he would ever have the strength to permanently disconnect the breathing machine. A scenario where he was tethered to the device for the rest of his life was too depressing to ponder.

Shirley and other family members encouraged Michael to make another attempt.

Now that his confidence had returned, he agreed.

"I just can't take breathing on a ventilator for the rest of my life as the final answer without trying again," Michael said.

Late one September night, the young man closed his eyes and said a prayer.

Then he asked for the ventilator to be turned off, its gentle whirring silenced.