"Richard, Stay As Long As You Can"

On that August evening in 2008, Richard Bagby and a band of 20-something buddies were hanging out, horsing around, and running, then belly-flopping into a cheap, three-foot-deep, above-ground swimming pool.

They hadn’t a care in the world. They were living in the moment.  Then came that moment…that single, unpredictable, unfathomable, transcendent, life-altering moment.

“I’d done two previously,” Bagby, a 2002 Collegiate graduate, recalled of his third, ill-advised torso-first plunge. “This time, I jumped too far.  I was going to land on the opposite side, so I ducked my head so I’d land in the water, not on the concrete.  
    
“That basically shot me to the bottom and jammed my head back into my neck. I felt a warmth over my body where I should have felt cold water. I knew right away.”

At first, Bagby’s friends thought he was joking.  

“I was face-down in the water and wasn’t moving,” he continued.  “I couldn’t alert them that I wasn’t OK.  In a matter of seconds, I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to drown. Luckily, they figured it out.”

Recognizing that Bagby was paralyzed, they gently removed him from the pool and called 9-1-1. Medics arrived promptly and transported him to the Virginia Commonwealth University Medical Center.
He spent two weeks in intensive care, then a month in the inpatient rehabilitation unit. Upon discharge, he moved into an apartment that his parents James and Mary Ann had constructed in the back yard of their home in the Westham neighborhood near the University of Richmond and became a regular at the outpatient program at Sheltering Arms. Ultimately, he spent a month at the Shepherd Center in Atlanta for intensive rehab to strengthen his biceps, triceps, and upper pectoral muscles. Essentially, he focused on what he could do, not what he couldn’t.

“I learned the skills to become mobile and independent,” he said.  “It was there that I got into a manual chair so I could push myself rather than using a power chair.  I learned how to transfer myself.  That was the biggest gain in independence just being able to get myself out of bed and into a chair.  I basically had the tools.”

These days, Bagby drives a black modified 2011 GMC Sierra pickup, goes pretty much where he wants to go, and does what he wants to do. He still lives in the apartment contiguous to his parents’ house, and, though he never minds eating Mom’s cooking, he’s perfectly capable of preparing his own meals and attending to most of his daily needs.

At the time of his accident, Bagby was 25 years old and strongly considering pursuing a career as a Marine Corps officer.
    
At 6-6, 215 pounds, he was an oft-honored, highly recruited athlete in high school (football, basketball, and track).  His name still appears on the Collegiate record board as the leadoff runner (in 49 seconds and change) of the 4x400 relay team (with Josh Stiff, Peter Farrell, and Chris DeCamps) that set the school record (3:25.29) and won the state championship in 2001. He played basketball at Boston University before transferring to Richmond for football.

He operated, as many young adults do, under the myth of indestructability. Then, in an instant, his life changed forever. By necessity, he began to develop coping strategies he never could have imagined.  

“I received immense emotional support from family and friends in a multitude of ways,” he said. “When I woke up the morning after the accident, I don’t know what it was, but something had switched in my mind that said, ‘Your life’s not over. It’s changed.  It may look a little different, but you’re OK.’ I was distracted quite a bit by everything going around me where I didn’t have time to think about ‘Woe is me.’  I got into the athlete mindset of setting goals. You have two options.  You either go with it, or you don’t.  The latter was never acceptable.”

Not that life has been “all sunshine and rainbows.”  Since his accident, Bagby has dealt with a variety of challenges that spinal cord injury survivors often encounter. When he was able, he worked at the Mobility Super Center, which sells handicap-accessible vans and driving aids, but a bout with autonomic dysreflexia returned him to the sideline until his medical team found a solution.

In recent years, he’s found meaning and fulfillment in his volunteer work at the VCU Medical Center.  Using his life experience and the credibility and empathy its created, he counsels spinal cord patients who are embarking upon the same devious path that he has traveled.

This past October, he partnered with Sharon Drennan (a former Collegiate parent) to create the United Spinal Association of Virginia. Drennan is executive director. Bagby serves as deputy director. The organization’s marquee program is structured peer and family mentoring. In addition, the leadership team has consulted with Gov. Terry McAuliffe about ways to make the Governor’s Mansion more accessible and inviting to disabled citizens.  It’s also developed partnerships with several organizations including VCU Health Systems, Sheltering Arms, Samaritan’s Walk, and Sportable.

“When I meet with newly injured people,” Bagby said, “my message is to look at your life in chapters.  You’re starting a new chapter.  You can’t dwell on the last chapter or expect the next chapter to be exactly the same as the last. People see a drastically different person when they look at me and start thinking about all the things that are bad about my situation or how they might think they’d rather not live than experience what I do.  I’m the same person.”

Bagby doesn’t waste time or energy dwelling on the question, What if?  The memories of his golden years as a high school and college athlete are just that: memories.  He appreciates the past but doesn’t live in it.  He simply moves forward, one moment at a time, with a smile on his face.

“One thing I’ve gained is a better perspective on what success is,” he said.  “Most of society defines success in a monetary way, which is fine.  I did too. I’ve come to learn that success is really how you affect other people’s lives in a positive way. It feels really good to be able to help people.”

Several years ago, James Bagby, Richard’s dad, was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. He met his challenge as his son has met his. Ultimately, thanks to a bone marrow transplant, he defied very long odds and regained his health. In the aftermath, though, he was found to suffer from a rare disease (PLM) which shows as rapid-onset dementia. Within a few weeks, he was incapacitated physically and mentally. Though he was virtually unresponsive, Richard sat with him often and read to him.

Two days before he died, as their session concluded, he uttered, three times, the last words his son would hear him speak: "Richard, stay as long as you can.”
    
Richard was stunned.  The meaning of his father’s words eluded him.
Time and reflection have brought clarity. He understands now.
                                         -- Weldon Bradshaw