Student fulfills dream, advocates for others with spinal cord injuries

Laughter rings out as Dusty Rodes records his wife, Julia Rodes, on a camera phone, capturing her first moments operating her new standing wheelchair. She spins in neat circles, rolls backward, forward, turns tight corners and stops smoothly. Neither one can stop smiling. The brief clip contains the same kind of anticipation and excitement that is immortalized in videos of roller coaster passengers being strapped into a new and high-tech ride, but for Rodes, her new wheelchair doesn’t represent just a success of modern medical engineering. It represents the opportunity to learn and work in the anatomy lab, sharing that rite of passage with her classmates. It’s a rite of passage Rodes has worked hard to plan the logistics of, along with faculty and staff, since she was accepted into medical school as a spinal cord injury person (SCIP).

“Of course, the technology is amazing,” Rodes explains. “I’m completely suspended and held in place. But I still tire out easily, since my leg muscles are trying to work on their own. So, they spasm when I’m upright. Every 45 minutes or so, I have to lower myself and take a breather.” The new chair enables her to dissect alongside her labmates, teasing apart the intricacies of human anatomy and studying the inner workings of the human body. Other small modifications have been made to make the lab more wheelchair accessible, the kind of details that would never cross the mind of the average student. “A new sink was installed at a better height. Same with a paper towel dispenser. We also completely encased my standing wheelchair in plastic sheeting so it can stay sterile, and it remains in the lab.”

These details are important not only for Rodes but also for future students who have similar needs.

Rodes needs to learn modified versions of physical exam maneuvers, so that she can perform the same physical exam as her classmates. “I was fortunate enough to be able to travel to Atlanta to shadow Dr. John Lin, an MUSC alumnus, paraplegic and accomplished physiatrist. He showed me how to perform a physical exam on a patient lying prone. It was eye opening but also encouraging -- someone has done it before me, and someone will do it after me.”

Rodes says that she has been surprised by the willingness to adjust that she’s found at MUSC. “The teachers, the faculty, the administrators -- everyone has been helpful. And the attitude isn’t of being forced to make changes; the attitude is ‘whatever you need to learn, we’ll make it happen.’” She has also been pleasantly surprised by the amount of diversity in her class. “There are so many non-traditional older medical students. I love being able to relate to so many of my classmates.”

While some logistical details are different for her, all of the important experiences are the same. On the first day of lab, students are ‘introduced’ to the cadaver that will teach them throughout the entirety of their first year -- system by system, region by region. Rodes knows she will remember that moment for the rest of her life. She describes feeling humbled and grateful, not only to the donor, but also to his family. “Because I’ve known a close relative who chose to donate his body to science, to teach future doctors, I understand the sacrifice that a family makes and not just the sacrifice of the donor himself. They have no grave to go to and often no funeral until months or even years later. They give up a certain amount of closure or at least delay it.”

At MUSC, there is a student-led remembrance ceremony each year in honor of all the cadavers. Families and friends of donors are invited to gather with students to pay their respects to the deceased relatives or friends whose sacrifice enabled another generation of health professionals to learn the fundamentals of anatomy.

Medical school has been on Rodes’ heart since she was 12. The now 27-year-old has traveled extensively through both her own passion and her husband’s Army career, but she grew up in Indiana with a labor and delivery nurse for a mother. After meeting her first sweetheart in grade school, her mother’s rules went into effect: When any of the girls in the family started dating, she was compelled to accompany the family nurse to observe a live vaginal birth. “She gowned me up and put me in a corner and told me not to say anything. I was terrified, touched and amazed. But the person who struck me the most was the lead physician.” Before that, Rodes remembers having very little exposure to female doctors; in her mind, the quintessential doctor was male.

“But there she was in the thick of it, totally in charge of this chaotic situation,” she said of the obstetrician. “She was commanding and competent and hilarious, too, and all the nurses, everyone -- it was so clear how much they respected her.” Rodes describes feeling riveted by how balanced a physician she was, “At the same time she was giving out directions, she was also cheering on the patient and motivating her staff. She was in charge but empowering to her patients and health care team. It was one of the first examples I’d seen of true professional leadership. I loved it.”

Well, most parts, at least. “That experience was also very effective birth control,” Rodes adds with a laugh. “The next time I saw my boyfriend, I punched him and ran away. And then I didn’t date again until halfway through high school.”

While that memory may have put the brakes on her romantic life, it influenced her professional aspirations deeply, as did her admiration for her mother. “My mother was a wonderful, no-nonsense, OB charge nurse, and she didn’t hold back with doctors who didn’t truly see their patients, ignoring the whole person for the labs and the charts.” Rodes has always wanted to be a physician who connected with her patients fully, and now, six years after her motorcycle accident, she recognizes that she is even more uniquely positioned to do so. “In this aspect I’m lucky,” she explains. “Every medical student has a story, or multiple culminating stories, of how medicine has touched their lives somehow. Mine is just very visceral and visible. I believe that it will help me connect to patients right away. My story is just so upfront and obvious.” She adds that this medical equivalent of her heart on her sleeve, however, shouldn’t devalue those of her classmates, which may not be as clear but are carried just as closely.

It’s clear Rodes doesn’t consider herself handicapped in the way that others might assume upon first glance. Despite focusing on school, advocating and raising awareness for people with spinal cord injuries in the general public are still priorities in her life. She strives to set an example regarding disabilities and capabilities. “I really feel that right now we are in the first generation where you see people with disabilities working alongside those without, more openly and in greater capacities than ever before. I believe that one of the best skills I’ve learned as a SCIP is how to recognize my limitations and really be comfortable with being vulnerable and asking for help.”

Between her accident and medical school, Rodes traveled extensively in Europe and across the continental U.S. While cities in Europe may be every bit as picturesque as the travel guides would have you believe, they are definitely not wheelchair friendly, Rodes says. What enabled her to tackle these challenges was facing them head-on and admitting that she needed assistance. She was -- and is --  unafraid of her own physical limits. Also, through writing for the Christopher Reeves Foundation, and meeting other SCIPs all over the world, she realizes that no goal was beyond her reach, despite any physical limits she may possess.

“Traveling gave me perspective,” she concludes, “the Army community taught me resiliency, and my accident gave me the opportunity to learn how to be comfortable with my own vulnerability. These are traits that I think will serve me well in medical school. Moving forward, key shifts in the public consciousness will revolve around these points: that weakness is actually strength and that the similarities between me and someone without a disability far outweigh the differences.”

For information, visit MUSC’s Anatomical Gift Program or email your request to giftofbody@musc.edu.

For details about the Cadaver Remembrance Ceremony, contact David Bernanke, Ph.D.

For information about September as Spinal Cord Injury Awareness Month, visit the Christopher & Dana Reeve Foundation and the United Spinal Association.