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on track personality trumps paralysis Jake Walther regains control of his own life

August 5, 2007 12:35 am

By MICHAEL ZITZ

Jake is still Jake.

That's all that really counts. The motorcycle accident that made Jake Walther a quadriplegic two years ago didn't snuff out the personal pyro-technics that made his life so interesting before.

Before a car stopped short in front of him in Memphis in June 2005, the Stafford County resident had been a Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus lighting technician, climbing 40-foot trusses, then fearlessly dangling upside down to plug in spotlights.

His unabated joy for living should be an example not just for those adjusting to life with a disability, but for all of us.

He has the same passions and dreams--bigger ambitions, in truth, than before--and sees no reason to limit himself because of a wheelchair.

And there continue to be fireworks in the 25-year-old Walther's life--a life fuller because of an indomitable spirit that attracts good things.

He's in a relationship with a young woman who's working toward her doctorate in physical therapy.

Introduced by their parents, Walther and Lake of the Woods resident Sarah Poor, 23, became friends. A year ago, when he went away for a week, he realized just how deep his feelings had grown.

"She's a gorgeous woman," he said. "I was insane about her. I couldn't live without her. When I came back, I said 'That week was way too long' and asked her to be my girlfriend, and that was it."

There was no hesitation because of Walther's disability. Quite simply, Jake was Jake, injured or not.

"She knew what she was getting into and I knew what I was getting into," he said.

And there are literal fireworks.

On the way back from a recent trip to see Poor at the college she's attending in Savannah, Ga., Walther stopped in South Carolina to buy the baddest fireworks he could for Fourth of July.

"Mortar shells," he said. "The biggest ones I could find."

Before the accident, one of his responsibilities with the circus had been as a pyrotechnician.

Appropriately enough, he celebrated Independence Day boldly. He supervised friends in taking fuses out of the mortar shells and wiring them to batteries for remote detonation from his wheelchair.

"The coolest thing was as soon as I hit the switch, there was no waiting for the fuse to go. It was like, 'KABOOM, KABOOM, KABOOM.' It was instant--just great."

On that June day two years ago when his motorcycle was hurled over a car in Memphis, he injured three cervical vertebrae in his spinal column. He found himself paralyzed from the shoulders down.

His spinal column was knocked out of alignment, but not severed. Doctors were hopeful some mobility will return--and it has. He now has some movement in both arms, and expects continued improvement.

Meanwhile, his level of dependence on others is gradually deceasing.

In February, Walther got a service dog--a 3-year-old black Labrador named Jackson from Blue Ridge Assistance Dogs in Manassas. The dog has greatly increased his freedom to be on his own.

There are ropes on all the doors in the house so Jackson can open them.

The dog is trained to hit buttons to open electric doors and a button on the Butler Road crossing light near the the Rappahannock YMCA, across from his house. He lives with his parents, Kit Carver and Randy Walther, his 17-year-old sister Liz Walther and his 93-year-old grandmother, Ruth Carver.

He roams with Jackson, going down YMCA trails or sometimes into Fredericksburg, a couple of miles away.

The dog can even give Walther's wallet to clerks when a purchase is made.

An indication of his growing independence: He recently spent a week with the dog at the 1,000-person Southeast Unitarian Universalist Summer Institute, essentially a church camp, at Virginia Tech.

Progress toward physical recovery has been slow but steady. In 2006, Walther had to "drive" his motorized wheelchair using a chin toggle. Then he began to regain the use of his left arm. He got rid of his chin controller in December and replaced it with a left-hand joystick.

Now he's developing movement in his right arm.

"My right arm is moving forward and back, where my left arm was a year-and-a-half ago. There's been improvement. It's coming back more and more. Slowly."

He said he has "good sensation all over, except for my left foot. Someone can touch me anywhere and I can tell you where they're touching me." He considers himself fortunate "that I've had good sensation and I'm still getting more and more."

Carver, his mother, an occupational therapist in the Fredericksburg school system who often works with people in rehabilitation, said he's lucky he doesn't have any pain. He does have to take medication to control injury-related spasms.

The doctors haven't offered any predictions.

"One of the first things I was told is that every single spinal cord injury is different," Walther said. "There is no way any two injuries are going to have the same [outcome]."

Bouncing back from the injury seems to have opened his mind to new possibilities as he looks for a job. He'd like one that could lead to producing entertainment events like concerts, organizing and supervising crews.

He also hopes to become an advocate for the disabled--perhaps working to get people out of institutions and home where they have a chance to lead fuller lives.

He's talked to NORML about being a spokesman for the cause of legalizing marijuana use for medical purposes with a doctor's prescription. His own problems with muscle spasms, he says, can be helped by marijuana. And, he said, the drug eases the chronic pain and anxiety commonly experienced by spinal cord injury victims.

Carver said the family's doctor, Dan Muldoon, who became a paraplegic due to an accident as a teen, told them his life changed because of his injury--but he had been afforded opportunities he never would have had before the mishap.

And Carver does believe that sometimes a tragic event can open doors.

"People want to give you opportunity, I think."

People certainly want to help Walther.

Rob Gollahon paid to build a sidewalk from Walther's house to the YMCA.

Before Walther came home from the hospital, Dan Constantine, husband of Carver's hairstylist, spent three weeks remodeling a bathroom so Jake could use it.

First the family's church, the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Fredericksburg, built ramps for him to use at home, then raised money for a home elevator.

A family friend, Ray Lambert, creatively rigged a lift for a hot tub so Walther could get into it.

Perhaps the biggest reason life is good for him, according to his mother, is simply "because he's a great guy."

He's so much fun to be around that he has many friends who hang out with him and even help him into bed at night.

At times, he explained, "the problem had been that my parents go to bed at 10 or so and they'd have to put me down at 9:30. When you're a 25-year-old, that doesn't fly." His friends help him get around that.

One friend, Dan Miller, built a permanent wheelchair ramp at his Lake Anna home to give Walther access, and another bought a portable ramp.

Miller and Walther had carpooled together in their senior year at Stafford High School.

After the accident, Miller, a computer analyst, said many of Walther's friends were concerned about whether "he could bounce back from that kind of accident, that kind of trauma. It made us question whether we would be able to do that ourselves in that given situation."

Remarkably, Miller said, "Even during rehabilitation, he seemed like the same old Jake we knew before the accident happened."

Randy Walther, a Realtor for Coldwell Banker Elite, said he saw a chink in his son's seemingly invincible armor for only a fleeting moment.

"Only one time. The night before he left Richmond to go to rehab he broke down with me and let me know how scared he was. After the rehab, it really was his spirit that kept him going. He's sure there's going to be some kind of fix for this. And even if it's 10 or 15 years out, he's young."

Carver said her son's resilience has been "beyond unbelievable. We think he has tremendous grace. I do get pissed off at him on a daily basis, but generally he has tremendous grace that's just hard to believe."

Jake Walther credited his upbeat attitude in part to a little-known film with an unlikely title: "Murderball."

On his first day at the Kessler Institute therapeutic hospital in New Jersey, a doctor gave him a bootleg copy of the documentary about paralympic quadriplegic wheelchair rugby.

The uplifting film covers everything from cutthroat, rough-and-tumble wheelchair competition to practical jokes like hiding a legless player under a box, to quadriplegic sex tips.

It was a revelation.

"'Murderball' framed his whole attitude about the injury," Carver said.

Walther agreed.

"All of those guys in 'Murderball' were like, 'I've done more in my chair than I ever did when I had legs.' And I'm like, 'If they can do that, why can't I?' "

He's still Jake.

Kaboom.