Musician performs after paralyzing episode

It was supposed to be a season to remember. The final quarter of 2019 held the promise of a milestone 30th anniversary for the beloved local band the Glass Camels. Guitarist Dave Hendershott was looking forward to celebrating the long, strange trip fronting the band known for channeling the soul and spirit of the Grateful Dead.
Over the last three decades, The Glass Camels became regulars on the festival circuit and shared the stage with such notable performers as Vassar Clements, Donna the Buffalo, Foghat, Col. Bruce Hampton, Ziggy Marley, Merle Saunders and Peter Rowan. But last September, the music stopped when a freak accident left the guitarist paralyzed from the chest down.
“There is a road, no simple highway, between the dawn and the dark of night ...”
On Sept. 9, Hendershott arrived in the ER after experiencing violent back spasms. He would need an MRI to diagnose the cause of the excruciating pain and was given a Valium in the hospital corridor en route to the procedure.
“I was in a great deal of pain and I couldn’t get on top of it. So, we went to the emergency room and I was forced to lay flat before I was properly medicated to be able to do such a thing. I felt and heard an audible ‘pop.’ So, they got me out of the MRI and I’m screaming and crying in a lot of pain,” said Hendershott, who was admitted to the hospital and administered a cocktail of painkillers to provide some relief.
He was returned to the MRI where he was relaxed enough to lay flat but within a couple minutes, he felt a burning sensation from his shoulders down the length of his arms. When he realized he was unable to move his toes, panic set in. Hendershott said when he reached for the trigger to alert the nurses, he was unable to squeeze the mechanism and started to scream.
After he was finally removed from the machine, Hendershott was paralyzed from the chest down. A nurse tried to sit him up after the procedure but he would just topple over. Doctors performed an emergency discectomy to remove the excess material between C6 and C7 and fused the discs together.
“The surgeon told us there was an abnormally large amount of healthy disc material that had shot between the two discs and hit my spinal cord, damaging the insulant material around it. That wrapped around my spinal cord and strangled it,” Hendershott explained.
“From there it was a month in between the critical care unit at Baptist South and Brooks Rehabilitation. I started to be able to wiggle my toes a little bit and I could move my knees back and forth. They had to get me out of bed with like a cherry picker type thing because I couldn’t move and they taught me to walk again.”
“When I had no wings, you flew me …”
Hendershott credits his wife, Deb, whom he married last May, for helping him through his ordeal. When the couple’s insurance refused to cover the cost of rehabilitation, she wrote a lengthy letter describing both the circumstances of the medical event and her husband’s spirit. Other friends penned similar character letters explaining that this wasn’t the kind of guy who would learn to live in a wheelchair. It would be unfair for a bright light like Hendershott to be relegated to a nursing home. He deserved the opportunity to fight for his life.
“My wife was the picture of calmness. She is an amazing woman and was the Rock of Gibraltar for me. She didn’t leave the hospital when I was in critical care. I was in shock for about two weeks until one day she was finally able to take me outside at Brooks and roll me around in a wheelchair,” said Hendershott, his voice trembling. “When we got back to the room, I came to, so to speak. This is a hospital room, that is the bed I’ve been laying in for two weeks and I really can’t walk. It was way too real because I’d been telling myself this is going to go away.”
There’s still no definitive cause for the initial muscle spams in his back that brought him to the emergency room. Temperatures were still in the 90s and Hendershott reasons that he may have overworked himself working outside and moving sandbags in preparation for Hurricane Dorian. Medical officials are also unable to determine exactly what caused Hendershott’s paralysis, calling it “a freak accident.”
“I’d had a little bit of a tweak in my back for a few days but we’ve all done that. I didn’t really think anything of it until that Sunday when I woke up with those spasms that wouldn’t go away. I played a benefit gig the night before that and it was super hot and I had some heat exhaustion going on. It might have something to do with it being dehydrated and overheated. But I didn’t have any back problems. The spasm was in the middle of my back and this happened at the base of my neck,” he said.
“Once in a while you get shown the light in the strangest places if you look at it right …”
Hendershott initially started his recovery with a program of simple stretching exercises to refamiliarize his muscles with movement and is now able to work out with five-pound weights.
“I can curl seven pounds,” he said. “I just went and saw another surgeon and let him look at all my MRIs and Xrays and he was astounded that I was walking and alive because of apparently where the accident happened in my C-6 and C-7 is near where the nerves work your respiratory system. It was very close to taking out my ability to be able to breathe.”
Today, nearly four months after the accident, the musician is struggling to make peace with his “new normal” which includes playing the guitar. Against the odds, Hendershott was able to perform with his bandmates on stage for the 30th anniversary of the Glass Camels.
The lingering exhaustion and fatigue is caused by sustained nerve damage. A recent trip to Tampa to see his son left him recovering in bed for two days. He was also diagnosed with neuropathy and is anemic. Hendershott attends physical therapy three times a week to hopefully regain full sensation in his limbs.
“It’s still ongoing but it’s better than it was, for sure. Just laying down for a month, your muscles atrophy. I had basically not much left so I had to rebuild from scratch,” he said.
“My new normal is new. I’m an insurance adjustor and a musician. Part of my job is to climb up on roofs and around in attics and underneath things and I can’t do any of those things anymore. I’m lucky I can play guitar but my stamina is greatly damaged. That was my biggest concern right away that I can’t play guitar. When I was in the hospital, they brought me a ukulele. At first when I picked it up, I couldn’t even press the strings down let  alone strum it and it was real frustrating.”
He relies on muscle memory to play the music he loves. After plunking along, he finally hit a note. Then another. By the end of his stay, he was giving lessons to his occupational therapist.
“I still have challenges, especially when I first get up. My arms and legs, hands and feet tingle constantly. They never stop,” he explained. “There are times I am up all night and I have to put like a hair brush in my hand to get something to stimulate my hand to not feel that. It’s really horrible. My ability to feel any kind of sensation is diminished by about half.”
“Every silver lining has a touch of gray …”
Looking back at those first dark days is different now that he’s making progress. The physical fight to regain movement was painful, willing his body to find the right neurological path back home. But the emotional struggle took the biggest toll.
“My story is a good illustration of even though you may look fine on the outside, you never know what someone is going through on the inside. I’ve been there and back, so to speak, and I don’t think a lot of people get that opportunity,” mused Hendershott, who has suffered severe survivor’s guilt in the wake of his recovery.
“When I was at Brooks, I was starting to get better and learning how to walk again and I was really enthusiastic and then I would see other people who were not nearly as lucky as I was. I couldn’t even look them in the eye. It blows my mind. Why was I chosen? A couple different times I’ve had a breakdown and I’ll just sob. That still happens but for the most part, my family and friends won’t let me be negative. If I start showing any of that ‘woe is me,’ I get kicked in the ass pretty quick. I’m really thankful that’s around me like that because it would be pretty easy to let it swallow you.”
Music has remained the driving force to help him move forward.
“A random guy came through with his accordion and sat down and played for me on one afternoon,” he said. “He was just wandering around Brooks playing for anyone who wanted to hear it. So, I invited him into my room. It was really nice.”
Friends, family and fans of the Glass Camels also helped raise nearly $15,000 in 48 hours to help with medical bills totaling well over $250,000.
“It’s really comforting to know how much people care and how much people were willing to unselfishly give. Believe me, the first couple months it was a Godsend. I don’t know what we would’ve done without being able to pay that initial round of bills,” he said. “I’d really like to get back to work to give me some purpose. Right now, my job is getting better so that’s what I’m doing.”
Hendershott kept his mind and fingers nimble plinking away on the ukulele before he finally picked up his guitar. His eyes remind his fingers where to go but it’s his heart that leads the way.
“I can’t really feel my fingers so I really have to watch what I’m playing because I have to make sure the fingers are doing what they’re supposed to be doing. It’s weird,” said Hendershott, who will complete nerve conductive testing to help determine the extent of the damage.
He recently returned to the stage and standing beside the bandmates who share the history, playing the music that brought them and so many others together, he never imagined he’d be in that place again.
“When I was in the hospital, I was telling all my nurses that it was my goal to play Nov. 2 and 3 and I did it. That date came up really fast and it was difficult but we got through it,” beamed Hendershott. “After the show at 1904, I got real nostalgic. I filmed the guy cleaning up and mopping the floor because I was like this could very likely be the last time I ever get to play. As I was walking in, I couldn’t even imagine that I was ever going to be able to do this again. It was almost surreal. I had tears running down my face of joy and thankfulness.”
Looking ahead into 2020, Hendershott is excited to get stronger and keep truckin’ on. He’s built a small studio upstairs in his home, a place where he and his 21-year-old son can get together and play. There’s even some new music brewing, though he’s not ready to reveal the nature of the project.
Said Hendershott, “We’ll see which way the wind blows. I’m not one to plan things really. Like any Deadhead, I like improvisation so I live my life like that, too. Nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile.”