tidbits

don't know if anyone will read this, but I wanted to share that I am beginning to work on a book about my experience. I have no idea whether anyone will ever publish it or read it, but I think it will be a cathartic endeavor for me, at the very least.

I also wanted to share my new tutoring website shaub barefoot tutoring

Strength

Shaubbie,
The three amigos (Coach Mc, Mr. Milson, and Coach P) are so impressed with your strength and perseverance (then and now).... there is nothing that stands in your future that you won't attack head on...we love you....Coach P and the three amigos

my moments are growing longer...

i apologize for the long delay and wait for this final blog, and i really don't have many good excuses except for the mounting pressure to appropriately complete the blog cycle of our lives. i didn't begin this, but i heard rumors of its growth into a life of its own, fully saturated on frequent updates, countless curious eyes, clever comments, and a wide variety of perspective and style. starting out as a simple trunk of information, it expanded exponentially, branching into the lives of innumerable people around the country and world. now, as time has passed, it has started to shrivel into itself, watching old branches complete their life spans and fall aside, ceasing to sprout new growths, and hardening the vigorous fluidity that daily fed its expansion.

thinking about the blog, i see its appropriate parallel to my experiences of the past six months. the first month flashes with intensely short moments of memory. all-consuming fear: gangsters relentlessly pursuing me and my family. searing pain, emanating from depths i didn't know i had. faces of family, friends, nurses and surgeons floating above me. my early memories cut the deepest (literally in some cases) and deliver their energy in sudden bursts soon faded. like that early poem said - they offer intense microcosms of the magnanimity of each awakening. the blog reflects those intense days - ever-changing, constantly updated with saturated microbursts of information. its updates are often unattached in time, but together they tell a story with vivid images of the present.

the next phase of my experience lengthens slightly. i remember longer stretches, conversations, basketball games, dressing changes and the rising and subsiding of pain. i no longer lived only in each awakening, but could actually experience the passage of time, the chain of cause and effect. i remember waiting for a dressing change to happen, knowing that visitors were coming and would soon leave. events didn't appear to me anymore, they happened. similarly, the blog lengthens, more detail and context appears in its entries. the writers allow themselves to focus more on what will happen in the next few days, on implications, and the entries become more regular and evenly spaced.

coming off the drugs, beginning intense therapy, walking and moving to the rehab hospital in new york stretched my experience of a moment even more. i counted days and nights, remembered walking the day before and compared my progress. i could see my wounds and i watched them heal, comparing, contrasting and beginning to anticipate transition and movement. one day i could walk five steps with a walker, and then five days later i walked down the entire hall. one day we rejoiced because i took one step without a cane, and a week later i was climbing stairs unassisted. progress came quickly, suddenly and those were the moments i inhabited. the lifespan of my physical improvement became my reality, my home. an optimistic period, the blog again mirrors my space - allowing a few days in between entries but always progressing rapidly, looking forward to the next week or two, but never beyond.

as i moved to nashville, i realized that my life was swiftly changing. for months i existed moment to moment, and then day to day, but now i started looking further into the distance. at Nashville Rehab, i realized, for the first time, that my flexibility was not going to improve significantly until i had surgeries, too far in the future to even consider. my wounds persistently blistered and bled and i could no longer see progress on a daily basis. i started to think in terms of weeks and months, anxiously awaiting the day my back would close up and my other wounds heal. i aimed at short-term goals, like Michael Ewing's wedding; there lay the limit of my vision. the blog expanded too, looking backwards to see progress instead of citing it daily. tracking life experiences and inspirations rather than a progression of steps.

finally, here at home, a month out of the hospital, a month away from the blog, my moments have elongated to capture the entire whole. my back is closed, as are several other wounds, but others persist and will for the foreseeable future. my weight has returned to normal and my flexibility and endurance will remain what they are until further surgical intervention. i don't think in terms of days, weeks, or even months anymore; i know time will bring its future at its own pace. i still feel as if my life is suspended, like a thick haze descended on me on February 19th and i am still feeling my way out. at first i could sporadically see my hand or a nearby face emerging from its embrace, but those spaces of insight grew until i am able to see all of my surroundings, to see what lay ahead pretty clearly, but my sight is still bounded by the edge of the fog. what it contains is clear, but i cannot glimpse what is outside - what life will be like when it is finally lifted, although i know shards and ribbons of it will always remain. 6-10 months from now, i will be undergoing a series of surgeries to remove the heterotrophic ossification in my hip and leg and reverse my colostomy. until that time, i am waiting, and healing. we see small improvements in my grafts and donor sites, but we see them weekly, or even bi-weekly. i can walk around, get out, and participate in life, but i am limited and frustrated many times.

slowly, i have begun to consider life outside the haze, but the white veil still ensures its mystery. i do not know what my final state will be, who i will become, how i will function. i know that life will continue to change, moment by moment, but now those moments are longer. i cannot express adequately how humbling an experience it has been to have so many people care for me, love me, pray for me, write to me, cry for me and even cheer for me, when all i did was get myself hit by a big old fat oil tanker.

i am slowly reacquainting myself with the idea of the future. i plan to spend this year healing, reading, writing, playing boggle (anyone up for a monthly game?) and other board games (bring it on, franklin), tutoring, doing physical therapy, waiting in doctors' offices, and (unfortunately) watching TV. one mystery has been solved - Mr. (or should i say Mrs.) Penguin is/was/will be none other than Ginger Handy (Joey, how could you deceive us?), but there are many mysteries still ahead of me. i am accepted to Oxford University, in England, starting in Fall, 2006, but i have no idea if i will be able to go, or still have the desire. the questions have started to layer themselves on my mind - will i ever run? drive a stick shift (my precious miata)? walk normally? sit on a regular chair without my special cushion? use the toilet for #2 (sorry, i had to include it)? return to new york? sleep on a normal bed (i'm still on the clinitron here at home)? etc, etc, etc. at times i want more than anything to stop living in moments, to fast forward to the future and know who and how i will be.

but then i have to pause and catch myself. life is not meant to be fast forwarded, moments are not meant to be skipped or wished away. God has given me a time of peace, of family: a time to suffer and a time to praise Him. this blog is a moment of completion. like me it has undergone a progression of transitions - each extending time and perspective to a slight degree. written to conclude the crisis, it also reflects my new environment of suspense and question, not about what will happen tomorrow or next week, but what my life will be ultimately, what infinite moments will define me.

to conclude i want to do what i seldom do - share a poem i wrote in the hospital (this time without the influence of painkillers)...

as i watch the hours
i search for myself

months and minutes gone
blur montage of forgotten pains
severity lost in memory

days leading only to the next
a ladder, one rung in sight

floating faces and words
gathered around without order
outside time

circular expanse of struggle
experience destroying the linear
ever-spinning clouds
thoughts, suffering, voices, dreams
centered on immobile me

bed-ridden shell, constantly feeding
aware only of present

now emerging, cracking
infant anew
vision lengthens to see the days
beyond and before
life past in mind
separated by cloud
body unable

beyond the shell
its shards remain
reminders of its present

life begins unknown and new
hours stretching

past confronts the future
self restored
present

looking backward

Well, it's Jonathan again, rising movie star according to Mrs. Hillenmeyer, though i personally thought my cheeks (the ones on my face, of which i still have two) looked kinda chubby in those close-ups. i guess that's a good thing, though, compared to their formerly sunken appearance. Thanks to John Dwyer and Tim Hardiman over at Channel 2 for doing a great job and sincerely caring about the whole situation.

this past week with the news story and talk of going home on friday has caught me up in a little backward reminiscing, but on to that later... first, the medical update (drumroll, please)

the wounds on my back donor site finally seem to have started healing (thank the Lord!) although there are still several open areas on it and my other donor sites. the other open places on my skin grafts also seem to be closing and now i can almost believe, almost, that there will be a day in the future when my body no longer bleeds regularly (on that day i will be the crazy guy in the street laughing and singing like a little girl with a pink puppy). my ingrown toenails have healed, though i had to have the nail on my second toe cut off today, but it is minor compared to my former difficulties. in therapy news, the stretching continues on my knees and hips, sometimes involving one therapist sitting on one leg and another on all fours with my foot on his shoulder "cranking away." my flexibility is improving slightly, but the heterotopic ossification (HO) in my hip still severely limits my movement and has left me with a bit of a gangsta limp to attract the ladies. that's a brief medical update for those interested - i'm sure our friends in new york would love to come down and have a look for themselves to make sure i'm healing and being treated properly, but you'll have to take my word..

on that note, though, looking back as i am, i did want to send a little "shout out" to our NYC family - my beloved therapists: Shin, Malvina, Carrie, Matt, Tatiana, Gerrard, et al; and of course the vigilant nurses: Kelly(s), Meighan and Jen ("magic milk" party, anyone?), Actor Andrew, Eugene (i need a haircut), Dennis, the "cool" Megan, John, my Bunin sharer, Patty, Brian, Rob, Frank, Raina, Jacob, Kim and so many others...

moving along in the newscast, i have been escaping from the lovely confines of Nashville Rehab quite a bit lately... some highlights include a trip up to Otter Creek's Camp where a road full of gravel and 100 applauding campers greeted our arrival, and where i also broke out my latest dance move that i like to call "The HO" (modified from Lisa Turtle's "The Sprain"); a lunch trip to Monell's in style with mom, Che Che (my physical therapist) and her boyfriend, who happens to be a limo driver; a july fourth cookout at the house; enjoying "Batman Begins" with my mother and then cringing and crying through "War of the Worlds" with Hunter; a couple of board game marathons (Cranium - win; Boggle - loss; Scattergories - win) with my college friends and then a Sharon Shaub spectacularly salivating Steak and Salmon Spread for supper (don't you love alliteration?); and finally a Trivia Night at the Flying Saucer where we barely missed third place but might have had the best team name, i.e. "I got run over by an 18-wheeler but i still made it to Trivia Night"...

Tomorrow brings a trip back to Vanderbilt to check in with the doctor and hopefully get the release slip to come home... watching that day approach, with the news story and looking through old pictures has forced me to do lately what my mom has continually urged me to do. "Look backward to see how far you've come, not forward to the long road ahead," she chides whenever i seem daunted by the upcoming path. on the cusp of a return to "normal life," fear and frustration claw at me and tempt me into their webs with flashes of the immediate future. i wonder if i will ever stop bleeding or sit comfortably without concern for my leg, back, or feet; i despair at not being able to drive my car or feel the wind as I sprint on a Frisbee field; i resent having to be cared for, my socks and shoes put on for me and trivial tasks turned impossible.

however, more powerful than these negatives is the backward vision that my mom so sagely advised. i look at pictures of gaping holes in my leg and then look down to see them filled with healthy skin; i see my emaciated face in the NYC ICU and compare it to the chubby cheeks i saw on TV; i remember the dizziness after standing for a few minutes and realize that i plan to stand for an entire wedding ceremony next week; i remember questioning my dad, "will i ever walk?" and his uncertain reply and now i'm ready to go walking at Radnor Lake, hoping my stylish limp will catch some female attention.

on friday, almost five months to the day after the accident, 21 weeks exactly, i will most likely be coming home. i know i'm in for a long road - surgeries for the HO - 8 months to a year down the road, the colostomy reversal, therapy, etc. - and it looms ahead obscuring my entire vision at times; but glancing behind me at the past 147 days allows me to see a continual, miraculous, and ardently prayed for progression of healing. That backward vision enables me to see further into the future, to look past the immediate hurdles and imagine a day of restored health, of healed skin, of unimpaired walking, even running. Looking at the past creates for me the hope of the future, the knowledge that a year from now i might be able to look back at the past 17 months and see an even more miraculous, even more ardently prayed for progression of healing. standing on the last 147 days allows me to see over the next 147; looking backwards trains my eyes to look forward in a new way, to look forward standing on a foundation of hope.

i don't know what the future holds, but looking at the past allows me to walk into it smiling.

Television

Surprise! Surprise! Surprise!

Jonathan's story will be featured on Channel 2's Sports Extra at 10:20 this Sunday night, July 10, at about 10:20 pm. (That's ABC-WKRN in Nashville.) You may have seen a teaser last Monday night.

John Dwyer and Tim McDaniel have been absolutely marvelously in dealing with our family and with Jonathan as they have prepared this story. Kudos to them and their organization for acting with integrity, class, diligence, and kindness - traits not found often enough among sports media these days.

As for our non-TV reality world, the routine goes on at Nashville Rehabilitation Hospital (which you will see on the TV piece and deserves all the good PR they can get.) Jonathan has therapy 3 hours each morning, followed by an hour or so of dressing changes, afternoon food and rest, and then usually a nightime activity or visit. Last night we had a bridge party with Mimi (aka, Mary Letta, paternal grandmother) and Doty (uncle) until 11 pm. It's likely Jonathan will be released for home care at the end of next week.

Thanks, thanks, thanks for the cards and food and prayers that continue to inundate us. We will forever grateful.

DAD

The view from here

It is Saturday morning once again at the Shaub house and we are still waiting for the day when Jonathan comes home for good. He is still a patient at Nashville Rehab Hospital, although he manages to get a lot of day passes! I will let Jonathan fill you in on some of his adventures later.

Jonathan contiues to need the skilled nursing care he is receiving at NRH as his donor sites for his grafts are taking some time to heal. There is progress, it is just very slow, probably due to the intense trauma his body endured. Jonathan is learning what the "patience of Job" means first hand. Even though these donor sites contiune to test his patience, Jonathan is making great strides physically. He has gained back about 30 pounds of the 40 he lost and continues to gain strength and stamina every day. He really looks great!

We are all beginning to adjust to the reality of being in Nashville. It has been wonderful to reconnect with our friends and family here and Jonathan has really enjoyed all of his visitors. It is beginning to feel like home again-especially with all the wonderful home-cooked meals being brought in!

My creative juices are running dry and I suspect this will be my last blog entry. I want to thank you all for your constant prayers on our behalf. Without those prayers, we might not be where we are today. Those of you who are in New York reading this, we miss you very much! Our little New York family truly sustained us during our ordeal there. There are days I even think fondly of the Pres as it was the medical staff there that saved Jonathan's life. The view from Jonathan's window on 8 West(East River) does beat the view from his window here (blacktop). Just before we left New York I took a few pictures of that view. I wanted to remember the many hours I stood by the window looking out upon the reflections on the water as I petitioned God for Jonathan's healing. I hope to never forget the powerful way that God has held us in His arms throughout this whole ordeal. You have all been a big part of that.

Hopefully, Jonathan will come home sometime next week. We will try to do a better job of keeping you informed.

Blessings to all,
Mom

walking in the light of life

"for you have delivered me from death and my feet from stumbling, that i may walk before god in the light of life" psalms 56:13

i received this verse last week from that wacky blogger formerly known as carrie and i have to admit, tears streamed down my face because it struck so close to home. "stumbling" is a constant fear and concern of mine, but nothing brings me more joy now than "walking in the light of life." the days are passing slowly and rapidly at the same time - each one brings the frustrations of a constantly burning/itching back, bleeding wounds, and my severely limited flexibility - and i will admit that it overwhelms me sometimes. however, each hour passes and there are many moments of progress and joy mixed with and even deepened by the sadness they accompany.

i've officially moved to the Nashville Rehab Hospital, which is a wonderfully air-conditioned and receptive place, though i've definitely noticed many cultural differences from my former new york haunts (e.g. my physical therapist on friday had overalls on). i work out for about three hours every morning and then spend the afternoon "jus chillin." i've gotten to visit with family, friends and any others who wish to come are welcome (between 3pm and 8pm) - a reversal of my family's former protective measures. they too wanted to welcome anyone who wanted to come by or share a meal or whatever.

actually, today was my first venture into polite society. my good buddy matthew "ian mortimer" griffith was "gettin hitched" (as i'm sure my therapists would say) and i couldn't miss out on the party. my mom busted me out of the rehab center, brought me home, where she paranoidly harried the dogs, emerson and waldo, away from me and my fragile skin while they went crazy. my grandfather was kind enough to loan me a cane, at my mother's insistence, although i didn't use it for much except to poke people with. a few hours at the church in the groomsmen's pictures, several hugs and a lots of cheese cubes later, i came back home to a wonderful home-cooked meal from Domino's. needless to say, it was quite the adventure and it still continues as i write this blog from home, at 8:30 pm, and they are supposedly "locking the doors" of the rehab center at 8:00 pm - so we shall see.

nicole leaves for new york tomorrow and it will be sad to see her go. i cannot even describe how amazingly supportive and loving they have been - megan even sang me to sleep on a particularly sad night this week - a rousing version of "you are my sunshine" that i'm sure she will be glad to reproduce upon request.

i guess it's back to rehab - to my fellow inmates - average age: 70; who all call me a "young whippersnapper." progress is slow now, and the road ahead looks impossibly long at times. a series of surgeries to take out the ossification that strangles my hip, grafts and donor sights that stubbornly refuse to heal, orthopedic surgery, and a reversal of the colostomy all lie on the horizon. i have a vision in my head, though, of a day when i walk without fear of stumbling, even run in the nashville grass, with only memories holding me back: it is that vision that sustains me. my prayer lately has been: lord, give me strength to conquer the day's pains, hope to sustain me for the dauting road ahead, and an unfailing awe and wonder to be "walking before god in the light of life."

this has been jonathan, from home, where i hope to be permanently in the next week or so