Paralyzed player making steady progress [Archive]

GrandeDavid

01-25-2007, 11:45 AM

Here's a nice story to take our minds off the Spurs' poor play of late...

Jeff Goodman / FOXSports.com
Posted: 10 hours ago

One year ago, Khaliq Gant's life changed. Forever.

Gant collided with two teammates while diving for a loose ball at practice, an impact that left the Cornell sophomore unable to move. Gant doesn't remember a thing from the incident other than not being able to get up. He was paralyzed.
That was exactly one year ago.

Now Gant is back on campus, taking classes, jogging, and moving forward with his life.

"It's almost surreal to see him now," Cornell coach Steve Donahue said. "It wasn't that long ago that he was living his life out of a straw."

Gant is in the weight room. He's back up to his playing weight of 175 pounds. He travels with the team. He's even back on duty as a residential advisor.

"If you saw him now in the weight room, you wouldn't know any different," added Donahue. "It's the same watching him walk around campus."

http://msn.foxsports.com/id/6403218_36_1.jpg
(Courtesy of Khaliq Gant / Special to FOXSports.com)

He'd like to play basketball again, but Gant realizes that it's not the end of the world if he's unable to take the court again in a competitive situation.

The end of the world is something he nearly experienced.

Gant dislocated two vertebrae in the collision, and was airlifted to a hospital in Elmira, N.Y., where he underwent a seven-hour operation three days later to fuse and secure the C4 and C5 vertebrae.

He then was transferred to Atlanta's renowned Shepherd Spinal Center near his hometown of Norcross, Ga., where he began a strenuous and lengthy rehabilitation process that took the next four months. At first, he was unable to care for himself and was completely reliant on his parents and nurses for pretty much everything.

They brushed his teeth, fed him meals, even bathed him. All of a sudden, the always independent Gant, who spent much of his high school years thousands of miles away at Tabor (Mass.) Academy, was unable to do anything by himself.

"All I could do was lie in bed," Gant said. "The only thing I was able to do was shrug my shoulders."

"It was definitely a challenge and was frustrating," he added. "All the things that you take for granted, I couldn't do. The hardest part was at night when I was alone and not being able to move."

Gant gradually progressed, and was able to take a step a few months after the accident. Through it all, the most amazing part of his recovery has been Gant's attitude.

Very few times has he felt sorry for himself.

In fact, Donahue recalled, Gant had a recovery plan almost immediately after being transferred to Atlanta,

"He's so mature," the coach said. "The first thing he did was put his goals on a board on the back of his door so he'd see it every day. First, he wanted to be able to go to the bathroom by himself. Then, he wanted to walk. That's what he's like. He's always been the type of kid who knew what he needed to do to get better. That's how he approached his recovery."

Now Gant is still trying to cope with the fact that he can't join his teammates on the court.

"One of the hardest things was the first practice," Gant said. "Just watching the guys. I should be out there and I want to be out there, but I'm a spectator."

Gant may watch his teammates, but he doesn't plan on letting life pass him by.

"I'm enjoying the moment and not taking anything for granted," he said. "I'm going to take it easy on Wednesday and not do too much. Just enjoy the fact that I'm able to walk around and able to be back at school."

"I'll probably just reflect and relax," he added. "I remember what it was like a year ago, and I'm thankful for everything."

Gant remains hopeful that he'll continue to make strides and get back on the court with his teammates.

"That's my goal," he said. "I don't have any concerns, and while my parents are supportive, I know they are concerned — especially my mom."

Donahue, meanwhile, wants to be as supportive as possible even if he doesn't agree with Gant's plans to return to the court.

"I don't want to discourage him because that's not what he needs to be told," Donahue said. "That's not what's best for him, but I have no idea if that's a realistic goal or not. The most important thing for Khaliq is just to get better every day."

Jeff Goodman is the senior college basketball writer for FOXSports.com. He can be reached at [email protected].

Johnny_Blaze_47

01-25-2007, 12:40 PM

Similar story, and much closer to home (figuratively and literally for me) is James Ortiz from Texas State (and my actual hometown of Uvalde).

James is pretty damn inspirational to the Texas State community and he's kept us informed of his progress at BobcatFans.com.

----------------

http://img.coxnewsweb.com/B/04/01/51/image_5051014.jpg

http://img.coxnewsweb.com/B/06/03/51/image_5051036.jpg

The loss of a leg can't crush this runner
His brother helped him win. Now, he helps him heal.

By Kevin Robbins
AMERICAN-STATESMAN STAFF
Sunday, January 21, 2007

UVALDE — From the bedroom where their medals hang, it's 23 miles to the Frio River. The landscape changes from flat to pleated to pure shin-splitting Hill Country by the end of the run, which once seemed impossible, even to the Ortiz brothers. Until they tried it.

Reuben, the older, ran the entire distance. At the time, he was a middle-distance track athlete at Texas State. But it still took every degree of his will to stay on the shoulder of U.S. 83 all the way to the bridge over the river.

Reuben made James quit after 15 miles. James was eight years younger than Reuben, still in high school and more vulnerable to all those hours in the sun, running those hills. Reuben had a way of looking after James. He always had. He knew his brother's limitations. And he knew whathe needed to be for James.

So last June, when James had his bicycle accident, Reuben understood exactly what it meant.

Doctors told Reuben they were unsure how much of the leg James would lose. But it was clear to Reuben, who was looking for job opportunities in San Antonio, that he would not be moving there to coach. His brother needed him.

"I could tell," Reuben said, "in his eyes."

In the hospital, James asked Reuben to come over to his bed and wrap his arms around him. James could recall one other time his only brother ever hugged him.

It was back when James was a senior at Uvalde High. He was preparing to run the mile and two-mile events at a regional meet in San Antonio. He made Reuben promise to hug him if he won both.

Reuben promised. And James won both.

James knew his older brother cared about him. But he also knew Reuben, and Reuben rarely betrayed his emotions, even around their mother, Pura Elia, or older sister, Laura Lea. Reuben displayed his affection in quieter ways. He showed what mattered to him — duty, loyalty, responsibility and sacrifice — rather than speaking about it out loud.

So, when it was time in the hospital to start making decisions, Reuben merely remarked to James, as casually as if they were planning another weekend run to the Frio: "We're going to have to find a place to live."

James ran because Reuben ran. He became a runner — an elite, competitive and record-setting runner — because he wanted to run as fast as his brother ran. When he caught Reuben, James wanted to run faster still.

The brothers ran for the same high school team, the Uvalde Coyotes, Reuben before James. As boys, they mapped a training route that began at their small house on the north fringe of Uvalde, about 80 miles west of San Antonio. A rooster lived outside the back door. The route passed the gun shop and the feed mill and the taqueria on U.S. 83.

It took the brothers to a football stadium called the Honey Bowl a mile from their home. Then it splintered off to neighborhoods, business districts, wind-swept fields and parched riverbeds. James did his best to keep up with Reuben, which is part of the reason he eventually ran faster at Uvalde High than his brother ever did.

Running gave the Ortiz brothers opportunities. Pura Elia Ortiz made enough money to pay rent, cook her three children warm calabaza, keep them in clothes appropriate for the weather and hide a couple of lottery tickets in their Christmas stockings. But there was nothing left after that. When Reuben decided to run for the track team, part of his decision had to do with earning a varsity letter.

"I needed a jacket," he said. With a varsity letter came a warm coat to stitch it on.

Reuben joined the Uvalde track team as a junior and the cross-country team as a senior. The cross-country meets were on Saturday mornings in the fall. When he returned from a race one Saturday during the season, James asked Reuben where he had been all morning.

Cross country, Reuben answered.

What's cross country?

You run in the woods, Reuben replied.

Reuben never used a lot of words when a few would do. Slightly thicker than his younger brother but with the same rich, brown eyes, Reuben was the more private of the two, the one who wore his hair conservatively shorter and spent less time debating the meaning of events that change the course of a life.

Their father left the family when the children were young. Reuben, the middle sibling, became the patriarch. His mother relied on him to make decisions, share burdens, solve problems — everything one would expect of another parent. Reuben raised a brother while sharing a bedroom with him halfway down the hall.

"I depended on him for everything," Pura Elia said.

When Reuben left Uvalde after high school, James lost more than an older brother. But it was time for Reuben to go. He had other races to run. And James, who had spent so much time trying to keep up with Reuben, was ready to peel away from the pack and pace himself to his own rhythm.

Reuben attended a junior college. Two years later, he enrolled at Texas State, where he ran the 800- and 1,500-meter races for the Bobcats. He ate oatmeal and animal crackers.

"I had to cut every corner I could," he said.

Back in Uvalde, James and his Coyotes won three district titles. James set the AAU national record in the 2,000-meter steeplechase. He wasn't just as good as Reuben anymore.

He was better.

One day, when he was home from college, Reuben showed James his ring from the Southland Conference championships. James knew then where he wanted to run next.

In 2002, he left his mother's house on the north fringe of Uvalde and moved to San Marcos.

James went off to run with Reuben again.

James lived his freshman year with Reuben, who was a senior after five years at Texas State and had exhausted his eligibility in track. James had an acceptable year on the track and cross-country teams, recording times that hinted at his future success. He never won a race. But he proved he belonged in the race.

Reuben graduated at the end of that year with political science and marketing degrees and options his ancestors never had. He was the first in his family to graduate from college. He became a teacher at Gonzales High School. He coached the girls cross-country and track teams, a job he believed would be his destiny in his sport.

In his heart, Reuben reasoned, he would always be a coach.

James bloomed as a sophomore at Texas State. But his junior year there justified his faith in himself in ways he never dreamed. He won races. He was named to the all-SLC team at the outdoor championships. He broke a 12-year-old record at the school with a time of 3:48:35 in the 1,500. He pushed so hard through the final 100 meters that he saw stars.

"That one race just opened my eyes. I imagined myself in places I'd never imagined myself. Runners, they don't hit their prime until 25, 30. I was 20 when I ran a 3:48," James said.

In his heart, James believed, his destiny was to run.

Then, on Monday, June 5, James left his apartment and got on his bicycle. He coasted down North LBJ Drive toward campus for his summer class.

As he approached an intersection, he tried to avoid a trash truck and laid the bike into a slide. One of the truck's tires rolled over his right shin. His leg was severed below the knee.

Reuben met James at the hospital in Austin. Doctors told the brothers they feared they would have to amputate more of the leg, but they hoped to save James' knee. He would need a prosthetic leg. But life after the injury would prove much more complicated if he lost his knee.

James spent more than a month in the hospital, through surgeries and recoveries and the first agonizing stages of rehabilitation. Reuben remained with his brother throughout.

He told James they would find a house in San Marcos, where they could stay as James finished his degree and learned to live without a leg. In July, Reuben quit his job in Gonzales.

"I told them I needed to stay around here," he said. "They understood."

Reuben decided to live off of his savings. He enrolled in graduate school in sports management at Texas State. He joined the track and cross-country teams as a graduate assistant, which let him keep a fingertip on the coaching profession while his younger brother healed. Reuben and James leased a tumbledown house across the street from a soccer field. It happened to have a ramp to the back door.

Reuben and Tenley Determan, James' girlfriend, accompanied James to visits with his surgeon, therapists and prosthetic specialist.

When they passed a track, James would stare, lost in his confusing new life, sentimental for his old one.

"Makes me kind of sad," James would say.

His doctors saved James' knee. Somehow, the remaining muscle around the bone below his knee had remained healthy, probably because of James' athletic build. The survival of that muscle meant James would be able to use a prosthesis attached below the knee.

At James' request, doctors also salvaged a tattoo on his thigh as they cut skin to graft. James had gotten the tattoo — the Bobcat mascot — after he broke the school record in the 1,500.

James and Tenley started exercising together as soon as James could. Tenley, who runs distance events for the women's track team at Texas State, drove James to the athletic complex at the football field. They rode stationary bikes, side by side, facing the track through big glass windows.

On one afternoon in July, James pumped the pedal with his left foot until sweat beaded on his face. Tenley listened to "The Runner's Literary Companion" on her iPod.

They pedaled alone. The Food Network droned on the television above their heads. James didn't notice. His eyes rarely left the track outside. Nearly two months after his accident, James had not yet made himself go outside and touch the track. At the time he had no idea when he would.

Suddenly, James confessed that he felt guilty about his scholarship, which his coaches insisted he keep. He said they should award it to someone who deserved it.

"It's just going to sit there."

Tenley looked up, shocked.

"No," she barked.

James pumped the pedal. Nothing was the same. But everyone around him wanted him back with the team, which helped him feel connected. James made a commitment to himself after the accident. He would run again.

"I want my life to go on like it never happened," James said.

He plans to petition the NCAA in May for a medical redshirt for the season he missed on the track team, giving him another of eligibility. If that is granted, James said, he will try out for the team in spring 2008.

"I won't do it unless I'm fast enough," he said.

James got his new prosthetic leg on Aug. 22, the day he turned 22, and it seemed to him the best birthday present he could ever want. He wore it for short periods as he learned how his strange new 3-pound appendage worked.

Reuben shuttled James to campus, to cross-country prac- tices and to rehabilitation appointments. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, when James was with his massage therapist, Reuben ran for 20 minutes, showered and was back at the therapist's office in time to pick up James.

Tenley cooked. She dabbed James' wound, she returned his books, she held his hand when he needed it held, and she lay silently with him when all he wanted was her quiet presence. Tenley spent her time away from classes and training with James. She and Reuben and James have made James' life close to what it was before June 5.

James learned to endure a new kind of pain. It was nothing like the pain of sprinting the last 100 meters of a 1,500-meter race. It was the pain of putting his 128-pound frame on the tender stump a few inches below his knee.

At practice, James worked with the medicine ball to keep his core strong. He met his teammates on the track and performed "high knees" — track parlance for a stretching exercise that involved walking with dramatic, pronounced steps. But when his teammates broke off for a run through San Marcos, James could only find a treadmill, which had support bars and a switch to turn it off.

Reuben enlisted James to help at fall cross-country meets. James served as a marshal at the Texas State event. He drove around in a golf cart, watching and wishing. He traveled with the team to meets in Nacogdoches, College Station and San Antonio.

James did what he could, which was cheer.

September arrived. Reuben took James one day to his appointment with his therapist. The therapist challenged him to attempt a series of long, quick strides. James did.

"That was the closest I got to running," he said. "It made me feel like I was one step closer to getting to where I was."

Then he fell. It was a rainy day, and he was using crutches instead of his prosthetic. As he walked through Jowers Center, the crutches slipped on a wet spot. James landed on his right leg, reopening his wounds so badly they required stitches and time away from the prosthetic so he could heal.

James spent a month without wearing his leg, delaying by another month his hope of learning to run on it. Meanwhile, his medical expenses grew to more than $95,000, according to the family's attorneys at Tinsman & Sciano law firm in San Antonio. The lawyers expect to see additional bills.

November came. Reuben and James drove to their mother's house the week before Thanksgiving for the Uvalde Turkey Trot, a short race around town before the holiday.

Reuben had won it before. So had James. They had pushed each other. Many times, the question was not so much if an Ortiz brother would win, but which one.

Last year, Reuben won the Turkey Trot. James was the honorary starter.

"I ran a lot slower," Reuben explained. "It didn't feel the same without him. Without us competing against each other, I didn't have much in me."

In December, Reuben returned to Uvalde before James finished his finals. The Christmas tree sat on a coffee table in a red and white skirt. The garland glinted blue from the bulbs strung around the needles.

Many of the brothers' medals still hung in the house. So did a dry-erase board, which carried a faded message of congratulations for James after he set the national AAU record in the steeplechase.

"I had this done for him," Pura Elia Ortiz said proudly.

Reuben had no idea what the spring semester held for him and James.

"I go month by month," he said. But he knew where he would be. He knew why he would be there.

"He's worked so hard," Reuben said.

"And because you care, mijo," their mother said to Reuben.

Outside, the trees in the yard were beginning to lose their leaves. A few cars traveled up U.S. 83 toward the Hill Country and the Frio River. Reuben thought about his long run to the bridge, which made him think about James.

"We always talk about it," he said of that day long ago.

Someday, Reuben mused, they could do it again. Maybe James would run all the way to the river.

Or maybe James could just run again, which would be enough for Reuben.

---------------------

http://www.statesman.com/sports/content/sports/stories/other/01/21/21ortiz.html