Help! I’m Helpless

Just last week I was telling my students in reporting class about the time I made the newspaper—sort of.

The story began when I was stopped at the busy intersection of Van Buren and Cypress in Riverside, California, waiting for the red light to turn green.

The radio blared out my sunroof, and then crash! I didn’t hear the radio anymore.

Instead, I heard paramedics telling me not to move as they taped my forehead to a board. Next they strapped my back onto the board and carefully shifted me onto a stretcher. In the background I thought I heard a horse snorting and neighing.

Soon I stared at the ceiling of an ambulance. “I’m not paralyzed, am I?” I asked.

Just stay still, someone instructed as they loaded another injured person into the ambulance.

“But I can move my toes.” I wiggled them to emphasize my point.

“You just relax,” came the reply.

Relax? “How can I move my toes if I’m paralyzed?” I persisted.

“Only about half the people who have spinal cord injuries have instant paralysis,” the paramedic rattled off. “Others have suffered an injury, and when they move, they sever their spinal cord. That’s why we’re taking precautions with you. So don’t move.” I didn’t.

When we pulled up to Riverside General Hospital, an emergency room nurse yanked open the doors. “Is this from the accident on Van Buren with the horse?” came her voice. “How’s the horse?”

So there was a horse.

Evidently a man driving a van pulling a horse trailer had approached the line of stopped cars at the red light, but instead of slamming on the brake, he stepped on the gas. He barreled into us at 60 miles per hour, totaling cars and overturning the horse trailer.

The horse, like me, was a victim of an irresponsible human in a sinful world. And the horse, like me, had to remain still and wait. Wait for help.

I lay immobile in an ER cubicle for three hours, able to look only at the ceiling—a ceiling that appeared to be splattered with blood.

What sustained me? Prayer. The hymn “Abide With Me” has these words:

When other helpers fail and comforts flee, help of the helpless, oh, abide with me.

At times we all find ourselves helpless. Taped to a board. Turned on our side. Powerless.

A few months ago Kevin Hines spoke at College View Church to a packed audience of students and community members. As one of the few survivors of a jump from the Golden Gate Bridge, he recounted his suicidal fall of 220 feet. He remembers his response after gaining consciousness deep in the cold water: “I did the one thing I’ve had control over since kindergarten … I prayed. God, please save me. I don’t wanna die. I made a mistake. On repeat. God, please save me. I don’t wanna die. I made a mistake. And I know He heard me.”

Help of the helpless.

Abraham Lincoln turned to the same source, claiming,

I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go. My own wisdom and that of all about me seemed insufficient for that day.

Help of the helpless.

The Israelites went there too: “When in their distress they turned to the Lord, the God of Israel, and sought him, he was found by them” (2 Chron. 15:4, NRSV).

Help of the helpless.

The newspaper headline the day after my accident declared: “Horse Freed.” Beside a large photo of a horse leaping out of an overturned trailer, I found the story: “Riverside police and Humane Society workers free horse from overturned trailer after four-vehicle accident yesterday.” It went on to explain that the driver was arrested and booked “on suspicion of drunken driving,” “the horse received minor cuts,” and “eight people sustained minor injuries.”

The horse got top billing in the newspaper, but I didn’t mind. The horse and I both walked free that day, and I gained a new assurance of what happens when I am helpless and exclaim, “Abide with me!”

Lori Peckham is an assistant professor of English and communication in the Division of Humanities at Union College. Previously she served as editor of Insight and Women of Spirit magazines.