My summer Un-vacation

In a few days I will be traveling to New Haven, CT with my wife and daughter & close friend/caregiver Jeff for the trial of the suspect arrested for the murder of my son Mitchell. This will not be fun. The weather forecast is hot, with high humidity. Emotional forecast is cloudy, painful, on edge, & could storm at any minute. This will be the weirdest thing I’ve ever done in a lifetime of doing some unusual things.

Our friends George and Cathy will be coming to join us for a few days, my niece from North Carolina is coming up, some of Lauren’s friends from New York.  Mitchell’s friends from New Haven will be there of course, they’re planning a dinner for us on Sunday night before the trial. Aside from that, we will be a long way from home. Originally I did not intend to go to the trial. I thought – what difference would it make? It wasn’t going to change anything, it certainly wouldn’t make me feel any better. If anything, emotionally this is like volunteering for a train wreck. I’m not doing it for closure. I don’t want closure. I want my son back, alive and well. Closure is for those that can’t handle pain; & pain is a subject I’ve learned more about than I ever wanted to know. Some pain makes you recoil in horror, other times it makes you lean into it.

As the reality of the trial drew near, I started to change my mind about going. I thought about being there for his birth, his bris, his first pair of glasses, and too many birthday parties to count. I changed his diapers, wiped his nose, assembled his toys.  Graduation from daycare, preschool, kindergarten, first grade through high school. Back-to-school night, Christmas pageants, Little League, choir performance, music lessons, drama, band practice, swim meets, more band practice… Why should I stop now? We went to these things because we love our son, and we always want to be there to support him. That seemed to make enough sense to me. I couldn’t stand the thought of afterward feeling like I wish I’d gone but didn’t. I had felt that way before about inconsequential things, like going to Woodstock, or seeing an Apollo moon launch; and I didn’t like it.

Shortly after Mitchell’s death, I developed a phone friendship with the lead detective in the case. I wanted to know if anything was happening. Morbid curiosity was getting the better of me. At first I called every week, and I realized as nice as the guy was (he always took my call) I was annoying the shit out of him. I stopped calling so much. By the time he phoned me about the arrest; it had been a couple months since we last spoke. I’d been thinking about him that morning. Several times over the course of a few hours he called me to say the arrest warrant was submitted & signed, that they were looking for the suspect, that he had been picked up. I went through all these feelings of revenge and rage; More than at any time in a year and a half. I was happy that he was behind bars not because it made the world safer place, but that I could imagine he was suffering. The tide has gone out on that, at least for now. I don’t know if seeing the defendant (I can’t even write his name, let alone say it out loud.) will get me on the launching pad all over again or not. I’m not sure if I know entirely what to expect, or what I want to happen.

I’m going to be there for Mitchell. I want the person who is responsible held accountable.

… From my chair to yours.

There is an important lesson I learned at the Craig Rehab Hospital in Denver: when you wake up in the morning and can scarcely believe what has happened, and you feel really sorry for yourself (you think you’re entitled); a small team of people comes into your room with breakfast and medications, to clean you up and get you dressed and into your chair and down the hall for therapy… And no matter how dire your circumstances are, no matter how badly you’re injured, no matter what your disability is, or who you are envious of that day, there is someone right in front of you who has it worse. Can’t move? Meet someone who can’t breathe. Can’t eat? Meet someone who can’t talk, or doesn’t know what day it is.

For those of you that don’t know me, on January 10, 2009 I suffered a catastrophic accident, resulting in a broken neck and crushed spinal cord. I’m paralyzed from the shoulders down, have no functional use of my arms or hands, and no sensations below my neck with the exception of pain. I am confined to either my wheelchair or a hospital style bed, and require round-the-clock care. For the most part, I cannot do anything unassisted.

As if the physical challenges were not enough, the loss of job, purpose, income and savings; our family has suffered personal loss in extraordinary ways, including the tragic loss of our son Mitchell. Thank you all for your kind words of support, your compassion and your tears.

This has been a transforming, humbling experience for everyone, full of surprising and challenging moments. Friends and family from long ago that I had lost touch with have been reconnected. I have been blessed by incredible generosity by all who know me, and some who don’t. My role in life as a helper and a doer was changed in some ways to helpee, but I found I was not helpless.

As I get closer to 4 years since my accident, I’m looking forward with a sense of optimism that I only get from my relationship with all of you. It’s hard to conceive of any aspect of my life without the kindness and generosity that has been extended to me by everyone from random strangers to my closest friends and my dear family. The smallest thing can make the biggest difference sometimes.

Bloggetty Blog

So what is this all about? What am I all about? How did I get here? Two years and eight months later I’m still struggling with the big questions. You would think I would have figured it out by now. I do know I need help. We keep three people employed part-time rotating in and out of the house as my caregivers, and in a way if this event is about anything besides me, it’s about them, because without them, I am just slab of Larry. Sponge job no pants. These are the new members of our family. Someone feeds me breakfast so I don’t get sick to my stomach from all the medicine and supplements I  take in the morning. The caregivers help me go to the bathroom, check my skin for sores, manipulate my limbs through range of motion exercises, bathe me, change my catheter, shave me, flush my bladder, dress me, brush my teeth, put my sunscreen on, transfer me from the bed and into my power wheelchair, set me up straight, put my shoes on, get my elbow pads and wrist guards on, put my hat and sunglasses on, and escort me out the front door. That’s probably not half of it, and it takes all morning.

I never would’ve made it out of the hospital at all if it weren’t for Jeff. He has been working at Craig Hospital so long that he commands a great deal of respect from the rest of the staff, the    nurses, and the doctors. He is often called on to help train new hires. Jeff’s the man who taught me how to be a quad. He was a tech mostly working night shifts whenever he wanted, very calm, very efficient; and we just sort of connected. One of the great ironies for me as a patient at Craig, was if I hadn’t broken my neck I never would have met any of my doctors and nurses and techs; many of them snowboarders, mountain bikers, kindred souls in many ways. We had so much in common even though we would never do any of these activities together. Anyway, Jeff is my consummate “Brother from another mother”. He lived with us when we came home two summers ago, he helped set up the house and get us into a routine. Jeff helped interview and hire our  original caregivers. He understands my wife, which is sometimes more than I can say for myself; and she tolerates him, which is sometimes also more than can be said about myself. He is there for me in a way that no one else on earth is. Until I met him, I would never have used the words meticulous, fastidious, and chews tobacco in the same sentence to describe anyone.

sad day

dear friends and family,

I thought I had seen the worst day ever, but I was wrong. Last Thursday night our son Mitchell was murdered. Someone shot him when he answered the door. I thought my world had been turned upside down by my accident, but it was barely jostled. The outpouring of anger and grief and love and compassion is as incomprehensible as his death. Tonight his friends celebrate Mitchell and his life in the music he loved at a special show in New Haven, and on Wednesday he will be laid to rest here in Los Angeles.

newhavenindependent.org/index.php/…/bike_enthusiast_shot_dead/
http://www.yaledailynews.com/…/bike-shop-service-manager-mourned

Our eternal love and gratitude

(More to follow).

Larry Dubey

Services Wednesday, April 6 at 2 PM
MOUNT SINAI HOLLYWOOD HILLS
5950 Forest Lawn Drive
Los Angeles, CA 90068
(800) 600-0076
(323) 469-6000

is it OK?

Is it OK to not be OK? I know that people worry about me. I know that I worry about myself, especially when I don’t feel well. What I mean is I worry about how I react to not being well. When I feel the need to hide my un- wellness from other people, is that for myself, or is that for them? Do I talk myself out of feeling shitty by telling someone else I’m feeling great, or am I just fooling myself. One of the coaches at the gym used to say “it’s not what happens to you, it’s how you handle what happens”. Trite but true.

Everyone, please forgive me, I’m not very good at this yet. The note that I put up the other day was actually an e-mail I started sending to someone specifically, but then I started thinking I had no idea when he would receive it, and I was wondering what would happen if I just threw it up on the blog. (Sort of like barfing, and then you feel better). So much to my surprise, people did read it, and George and Cathy called Randi later that evening to see if I was OK. My brother called the next day to see what was going on, so… Mission accomplished! I had connected. Now I just have to learn how to read the comments and stay up to date. Is there a responsibility to maintain a conversation, or can I just share what’s on my mind? Impulsively, like buying candy at the cash register. Today is partly cloudy — partly sunny — fresh clean day after a storm. Matches my mood. My goal for today is to join a support group for tethered spinal cord patients. I’m scheduled for un-tethering surgery in three weeks, and I’m going to try and crawl out of my shell and connect with other people who have suffered through this procedure. I’m not sure how many of you out there know about this upcoming event, so within the next week or so I shall explain further. That’s all for today.

rainy afternoon

So here I am on this rainy day, just barely out of bed at the crack of noon. It’s been one of those days of pounding headache high blood pressure — arm pain, neck pain, I just don’t want to do this anymore pain. I’m writing because someone goofed when they plugged in my Bluetooth and it did not get a charge, so I am phoneless. Sometimes it just happens, oh well. I don’t think I’m complaining about that, per se, but it does make me think how limited I am, how I should use my blog more, or my Facebook or something. I’m just not a happy camper. This is one of those days when I’m just having a hard time getting out of my own way.

August is over

This has been quite an eventful month, now drawing to a close. As many of you may know, we had an incredibly successful picnic. In so many ways it was exactly what I envisioned, but even more. From time to time I would just sit under a tree and look across to where the kids were playing with bubbles, where people were paddle boating and horse shoeing and volley-balling. Music was playing, people were chatting it up. It was a great gathering and I enjoyed every minute. From a fund-raising standpoint, it was also successful beyond my wildest dreams. I remain totally humbled by everyone’s generosity. Thank you all, for every minute, every day.

The Monday after I was exhausted. By Tuesday our houseguests who had come into town for the event were on their way home. By Thursday I was in perhaps the worst pain I can remember since the accident. Maybe worse. Afternoon doctor’s appointment, and I’m admitted to the hospital running a high temperature and delirious with pain. Being in the hospital was not necessarily the safest place for me, since most of the staff have little or no experience in dealing with a quadriplegic. The source of this pain and fever appeared to be that some form of staff infection had set in the pressure sore in my left elbow. This sore has been a chronic problem for me, and has been under the care of a special wound care nurse for going on close to two months. It seemed to be getting worse instead of better for a while, and was the ugliest thing I have ever seen. I was in the hospital for five days, and then on home bedrest. The combination of the intravenous antibiotics and the (now daily) treatment from the wound care nurse seemed to turn things around, and about a week and a half ago I started to feel better. My last day of IV treatments will be Wednesday this week. I’m feeling better, much better.

I went to Malibu today, to building and safety, and said hello to Craig George (chief building inspector), and to Roberta who issues the permits. She and her husband came to visit me in the hospital when I was at Craig. Something like they had a timeshare in Denver, and knew I was in the hospital there so they came to look me up. Anyway, it felt good to cruise into the office there and see familiar faces. Craig had an interesting suggestion for me about learning about the California accessibility program. Possible source of future work. The reason I had gone in was to track down the answer to a question for Dan, but I think the real reason was just to show up.

Some of you may also know that I’ve been suffering from pain and spasms ever since my release from the hospital a year ago. In the spring of this year I went back to Craig Hospital for a reevaluation, which revealed I have some posttraumatic buildup of scar tissue, and I’m a candidate for surgery to fix it. My insurance company originally denied preapproval for the surgery, and I spent several months composing (procrastinating) an appeal letter and gathering my backup information. Immediately after the benefit my friend John Robertson helped me with the final draft and I sent the appeal in to the insurance company. They actually received it while I was in the hospital a few weeks ago. The fantastic and slightly scary news, is that they have reviewed my appeal and reversed their previous position, granting me preapproval for the surgery. There are quite a few details to work out still, and I don’t know when I’ll have the surgery, but hopefully before the end of this year.

So there you have it.
Gratefully yours,
Larrydubey

PS — I would’ve loved to add pictures, but I just didn’t have my act together, and I wasn’t about to let that keep me from making a post.

SuperDubey Times Edition #2

If you’re having trouble reading the newsletter, please click here: SuperDubey Times Edition #2

Extra! Extra! Read All About it!

Hey Folks!  Check out the first edition of the SuperDubey Times!  We look forward to seeing old faces and meeting new friends on Sunday, August 1st at Calamigos Ranch…for more details check out our events page!

If you’re having trouble reading this, you can read the newsletter in a new screen by clicking here: SuperDubey Times #1

He Did Surf Again!

This post is by Larry’s friend Mox:

This all started when I got a phone call. I look at my phone it’s my pal Larry Dubey. We don’t get to talk much so I’m elated when I find out who it is. “Larry so good to hear from you, what’s up”. “Not much” he says,” What are you doing?” I tell him I’m headed home from a surf trip, went down to my house in Baja Norte with Cooper . “What a coincidence” he says, “That’s what I’m calling about. I’m going surfing Sunday and I want you to paddle out with me”. Now normally when someone asks you to paddle out with them you don’t think much about it. But, you see the crazy thing is, about a year and a half ago, only a few weeks after finishing the Malibu triathlon, Larry, while snowboarding with friends in Mammoth, suffered a cervical fracture and had broken his C5, C6 and C7 vertebrae, damaging his spinal cord, resulting in what is considered a C5 complete spinal cord injury,. He can pretty much just move his head. That’s it.

Larry Dubey riding a wave!

Larry tells me he’s registered for the go out with Jesse Billauer’s Life Rolls On Foundation. He registered for the event before, but his body could not do it last time. He thinks he’ll be ready this time and he wants me there. My response, “Totally cool! I’ll be there. Where do I need to be and what time?”

The event was held at El Porto in Manhattan Beach . Not far from home. Never having been to a They Will Surf Again event, we had no idea what to expect. I arrive with my son, Cooper, who happens to be an L.A. County Beach Lifeguard and my wife, Lisa, the photographer responsible for the images you are seeing.

After a short while Larry arrives with his entourage, his wonderful Daughter Lauren, her boyfriend Juan, Christy his daily caregiver and close friends Lynn and John. Larry is looking stoked with that ear to ear grin that has never left him in spite of his injury. There is just a hint of fear in his eyes. Similar I’d guess to when I’m looking out at a double overhead day.

The event was so well organized. Everyone involved was great, cooperative, knowledgeable of the foundation and mostly, aware of responsibilities of themselves and other volunteers in the water. After registering as a water safety volunteer and answering their important question.” Are you comfortable in the water?” We were ready. Well we thought. Cooper and I then attended an informative orientation of how the water safety volunteers are to interact with the “athletes/surfers” and the different responsibilities of the water safety teams, the land team, the shallow water team, the mid water team and the deep water team, who were also responsible in getting the athletes out to the line-up and successfully catching a wave.

The orientation is over. I glance over Cooper’s shoulder and Jesse is seated just to his left. I have watched as this ambassador of good will and hope cordially accepts requests for pictures being taken with him. I smile at him and he smiles back .I get up to walk towards him and notice the guy just wants to finish his breakfast. But, I’ve already started towards him. Oh well. I start off by telling him , yesterday I surfed with a buddy of yours, Zinger. He told me if I saw you I needed to tell you hi from him. Well, the eggs got a bit colder as Jesse warmed up. His smile now a legitimate smile and he thanked me and said He’d call Zinger later.

We meet back up with Larry. We are talking for a bit then Cooper and I are called to the water for our first go out. The first surfer is just the cutest, little, blond, braided, pigtailed girl of maybe about 20. She was transferred from her wheel chair to the surfboard in knee deep water and then we swam/paddled her out to the line-up. She was beaming, talking, laughing and just so excited all the way out. We spun here around and pushed her into her very first wave. We have a few more surfers and then It’s Larry’s turn.

Larry is one of the most severely injured surfers of the day. The head of the water safety teams, Cory Staley, goes out with us and shows just why he is the man. The only guy wearing a yellow jersey. This guy extraordinarily displays capability, control and clarity in his directions of all the water safety volunteers. As Larry is wheeled to the water it is Cory who is speaking with Larry all the way from the dry sand to the location of transfer from the wheelchair to the surfboard. He rarely breaks eye contact with Larry. He assures Larry he is in good hands, all will be well, and he will surf again. At the point of transfer there are one dozen people helping to get Larry on the board. We all get Larry onto the board and swim/paddle him out, not just to the whitewater, but out to the line-up. I am at his right side and Cooper, at his left, has his hand cupped under Larry’s chin, holding his head out of the water. It is difficult to get Larry situated on the board. A clean-up set looms on the horizon. Despite the amount of people around him, one wave clears Larry off the board. We get him back on. We get him back out.

Now again it is difficult to get Larry situated on the board. It is Cory who sits atop the board with Larry and taking him by the shoulders of his life vest pulls Larry into proper position for the wave to come. A small wave comes. Larry is pushed into it. It is enough so that he feels the glide, but he rolls off the back. His fear is nearly gone and he says, he can do this. On the next wave it is Cory who maneuvers the board and makes it possible for Larry to get the wave all the way to the sand. The ride was so amazing Larry and Cory are sitting in the shallow water, laughing and talking until Cooper and I body surf in and run up the beach to them and the crowd that has gathered to celebrate this incredible display of surfing, stamina, strength of mind and stoke.

Larry is so emotionally and physically exhausted , not to mention freezing from the days events that he needs to leave. Cooper and I head out with the red team and take a few more surfers out. While we are out my wife sits and talks with Cory about the event, the organization and feelings he enjoys when helping these surfers out. It is Cory who joins in with Lisa as they weep together as the joy of the day simply overtakes their emotions.

The day is over ,the last surfer has ridden his wave. It was so emotional taking part with other surfers to come together to bring joy to people whose lives have been affected by spinal cord injury. It’s just mind-blowing helping and watching these athletes as they experience something that we as surfers get to do when ever we want. We are now leaving, walking through the parking lot. A participant, that we did not even see at the event, yells out to us,” Thank you for helping out and making this day possible.” Lisa tells her,” Thank you for being so brave”. Even though this girl’s ride could have been many hours before, she still has that surf stoked smile sitting on her face.

It’s now the day after the event. I get another phone call. I look at my phone it’s my pal Larry Dubey. We spoke of the day, the excitement, the ride, the fear, the emotions . He said that it was the second time he had been prone on his stomach since the accident. Now he has something else to work on. “Will you do it again?” I asked. ” La Jolla , September 11,” was his answer.

“Totally cool! I’ll be there.”