Still Me
By Christopher Reeve
Ballantine
Paperback 336 pp $7.99

Nothing is Impossible: Reflections on a New Life
By Christopher Reeve
Random House
206 pp $19.95

Unlike the comic book superhero he portrayed in the movies, Christopher Reeve wasn’t a man of steel. The actor who portrayed Superman in the movies severed his spinal cord in a horseback riding accident in 1995, an accident that left him paralyzed from the neck down. Despite the injury, Reeve always held out hope that he could walk again. That dream ended on Oct. 10, 2004, when Reeve succumbed to heart failure after developing a serious infection from a pressure wound. He was 52.

Ironically, Reeve proved himself a true hero after his accident, not only by coming to terms with his paralysis but by becoming an international advocate for research on spinal-cord injuries. Instead of simply grieving, Reeve began educating himself and meeting with some of the leading scientists in the country. He discovered that, for the first time in human history, a cure for spinal-cord injuries may actually be within reach. In the last decade, scientists in various parts of the world have been able to restore function in laboratory animals with severed spinal cords -- a breakthrough that was considered impossible not long ago.

These discoveries are both exciting and agonizing for people with spinal-cord injuries. Every new finding brings us closer to a breakthrough, but it could be many years before people can finally rise out of their wheelchairs. During one speech, Reeve described an experiment in which rats with severed spinal cords regained the ability to walk, then cracked ruefully, "Oh, to be a rat."

While lobbying for more research, Reeve worked to give spinal cord injuries a public face. He and his wife became active supporters of the American Paralysis Association (which eventually changed its name to the Christopher Reeve Paralysis Foundation) and the National Organization on Disability. Reeve traveled the country giving speeches, lobbying in Washington, D.C. and raising money, but he never gave up his "real" job. He directed the HBO movie, In the Gloaming and played the lead in the remake of Rear Window. He also wrote two books: Still Me and Nothing Is Impossible. After describing Reeve’s busy schedule a Time reporter quipped, "We should all be so disabled."

It goes without saying that his books are enormously inspiring to those with spinal-cord injuries and other disabilities. But anyone who has lived through a major loss -- and even those who haven't -- would likely find Reeve's books gripping. In Still Me and Nothing Is Impossible, Reeve talks with honesty and insight about the event that robbed him of his body and about his efforts to put his life back together. Taken together, the books effuse a hope and optimism rarely seen these days -- not even in the movies.

The Superman movies’ mainstream appeal -- and Reeve’s brief stint as a soap opera heart throb -- may obscure the fact that he was a serious actor trained at Cornell University and the Juilliard School, with major stage credits to his name. Reeve’s injury occurred just before he was to fly to Ireland to begin work on Kidnapped, a Francis Ford Coppola production.

It was a freak accident. Reeve was in excellent physical condition, a skilled and cautious rider. He had been trained in dressage and stadium and cross-country jumping by some of the top trainers in the country. His horse, Buck, was calm and reliable, and the two had a strong working relationship.

At the time of the accident, Reeve was in Virginia, preparing for a cross-country jumping competition. Everything was going smoothly when Buck approached a hurdle that wasn’t particularly challenging. But instead of jumping over the hurdle, Buck came to an abrupt halt. Reeve flew over the horse’s head and, unable to break his fall because his hands were tangled in the reins, fell full-force on his head. He fell only a few feet, but the impact broke his neck. Physicians later told him that if he had fallen with his head only slightly more to the left, he would have died instantly. If his head had been twisted slightly more to the right, he would have sustained only minor injuries.

Reeve describes regaining full consciousness five days after the accident, still groggy from medication, and gradually realizing that his body simply didn’t work anymore. At first, he tried to deny how serious his condition was. "I needed some kind of surgery, but I’d be up and around before long," he told himself. The reader shares his mounting horror as the reality of his situation and its implications gradually become clear. He could not walk, go to the bathroom, scratch his nose, or even breathe without assistance -- and doctors said he never again would.

Reeve recounts sleepless nights alone in his hospital room and his tortuous ruminations: "It always began with: This can’t be me. Then it went to: Why me? Then to: There’s got to be a mistake. Then finally: Oh God, I’m trapped. I’m in prison…I tried to focus on all the love and affection that was coming to me. But much of the time I thought to myself: I don’t care if anybody likes me or doesn’t like me. I want to walk. I’ll trade all this affection just to walk up a flight of stairs ..."

Reeve’s voice is so engaging, his story so raw and compelling that the reader loses the luxury of distance. We are no longer reading about a movie star’s accident in the newspaper over breakfast. We’re in that hospital room with him as he and his wife, Dana, discuss whether he should live or die. Dana leaves the decision up to Reeve, telling him the choice is his to make. But then she speaks the words Reeve credits with saving his life, "You’re still you. And I love you."

Reeve writes, "If she had looked away or paused or hesitated even slightly, or if I had felt there was a sense of her being -- being what? -- noble, or fulfilling some obligation to me, I don’t know if I could have pulled through. Because it had dawned on me that I was going to be a huge burden to everybody, that I had ruined my life and everyone else’s ... My job would be to learn how to cope with this and not be a burden. I would have to find new ways to be productive again.

And that is essentially what these books are about: Reeve’s search for the means and the motivation to go on living. Still Me, which Reeve wrote first, is a longer book, more comprehensive and autobiographical. In this first volume, Reeve weaves scenes from his past through the ongoing narrative of his life post-accident. Nothing Is Impossible is comprised of short, meditative essays on a variety of themes, including faith, recovery, humor, and hope.

Both books are filled with love and respect for his wife Dana, his three children, and the many friends, family members and health professionals who have helped him since his accident. His son Will, 3 years old at the time of the accident, provides cheerful and noisy company during long days in hospitals and rehabilitation facilities. Frequent visits from his college buddy, the actor Robin Williams, lift Reeve’s spirits. At one point Williams bursts into Reeve’s room, dressed in hospital garb and pretending to be a zealous proctologist. We get to know the aides and nurses who provide daily support, and who Reeve credits with helping him through dark times.

Up until the day of his death, Reeve made steady and sometimes amazing progress. After his accident, he had no sensation or motor function from the neck down. But as the years went by, he regained some feeling all over his body and could even move some joints without assistance. He could sit for longer periods and had fewer medical problems and hospitalizations than he did in the first years after his accident.

Reeve attributed his progress to the intensive exercise regime he followed after his accident. (Experts say that there is no way to determine the cause of Reeve’s progress, but all agree that it was remarkable.) Unfortunately, most people with spinal cord injuries lack the resources to follow such a program: The exercise machines and hours of physical therapy are wildly expensive. Reeve could afford to pay for much of his therapy, and because of his prominence, several companies donated expensive exercise equipment. To his credit, Reeve lobbied for insurance and other reforms that would make these resources available to those who are not so fortunate.

Reeve managed to go on with life, but it never was easy. In his books, he acknowledges that he has experienced bouts of anger, fear and self-pity. And it never got easier with time: "I was told by so many ‘experts’ -- doctors, psychologists, physical therapists, other patients, and well-meaning friends and family members -- that as time went by not only would I become more stable physically but I would become well adjusted psychologically to my condition. I have found exactly the opposite to be true. The longer you sit in a wheelchair, the more the body breaks down and the harder you have to fight against it. Psychologically, I feel I have established a workable baseline: I have my down days, but I haven’t been incapacitated by them. This doesn’t mean, though, that I accept paralysis, or that I am at peace with it ...

"The sensory deprivation hurts the most," Reeve muses. "I haven’t been able to give Will a hug since he was two years old, and now he’s five and a half ... I’m jealous when someone talks about a recent skiing vacation, when friends embrace each other, or even when Will plays hockey in the driveway with someone else."

We ache for Reeve for all he lost, but his courage and refusal to despair prevent us from pitying him. Before his accident, he wrote, he used think of a hero as someone who commits a courageous act without thinking about the consequences. But his definition changed: "A hero," he wrote, "is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles." It is not a part Reeve would have chosen, but it is one he played with astonishing grace.

-- Connie Matthiessen is a former staff writer for the Center for Investigative Reporting who has written widely on health and medical issues.

First published October 11, 2004
Last updated December 5, 2007
Copyright © 2004 Consumer Health Interactive

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