February 22, 2005|
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February 22, 2005 |
Christopher Reeve's doctor brings his groundbreaking research to Kennedy Krieger. By Sarah M. Richards "That night when I got the telephone call, someone from the media asking to confirm Chris's death, I just didn't believe it," he reflects quietly. He had reason to be skeptical. He'd gotten calls from reporters in the past about Reeve's health-some even suggesting the actor had died. So McDonald simply hung up the phone and went about his business. But the phone kept ringing. "It took a while for it to really sink in and to really realize how much I'd lost and what the world had lost in this individual," says McDonald. We don't expect our doctors to be human; we like them better as brains attached to a pair of eyeballs that oversee our medical charts. Scientifically speaking, McDonald knew Reeve was going to die. He knew that anyone paralyzed and dependent on a ventilator like Reeve had a decreased life-expectancy about seven years. But such was the bond he'd developed with the actor he didn't want to think about it. "When I went to Chris's memorial service, it hit me that he was really gone," he says. "I found myself looking back at the role he played in my life, everything from a father figure to a colleague to a patient." And so the past few months have been a time of transition for McDonald-but not just because of the loss of his good friend. Kennedy Krieger had seen his groundbreaking work with Reeve and with other spinal cord patients, and they wanted him in Baltimore. It was time for a new challenge. VISIT MCDONALD'S FIFTH-FLOOR OFFICE on N. Broadway, and you'll see how crazy things have been for him lately. The freshly-painted walls have yet to be hung with pictures; the industrial carpet and office doors are all new, scuffless. "We got here in November from Washington University [in St. Louis]," says McDonald, talking over the squeal of a constriction worker's drill. "We're expecting the clinic to be up and fully operational in May." It was just last July when McDonald announced he was leaving Washington University's spinal cord injury programa program he founded-to join Kennedy Krieger and focus his award-winning spinal research and rehabilitation program on children. Although Kennedy Krieger specializes in neurological disabilities in children, it hasn't done much in the area of spinal cord injuries. Kennedy Krieger president Gary Goldstein knew that McDonald could fill a niche. "The child's nervous system is just more healthy to start with and has more ability to recover," says Goldstein. "So if you're going to test new treatments, why not do it on children, where the chance of success is greater than adults?" McDonald relishes being one of the field's pioneers. "What's amazing is there's no pediatric paralysis center in the world that focuses on restoring function, so there really is a tremendous need," he says, his feet jiggling under his desk with restless excitement. "We believe there's so much we can do for these children. If you just try with them, they do well." Back when he was in St. Louis, McDonald had a reputation for being a tireless workhorse. He often visited hospital patients at night. His yellow Alfa Romeo Spider was so often parked in the same spot, some people thought he actually lived in the hospital. "I'm trying to turn a new leaf here in the sense of not doing that," he says, with a skeptical grin. To that end, the native of Chicago hopes to spend more time with his family-which at the moment consists of pugs Moet and Chandon and girlfriend Cristina Sadowsky, a spinal cord injury specialist from Romania who moved with him from St. Louis and works with him at the center. The couple bought a condo in Canton. "He's as close to a genius that I came to meet in all my studies and travels, so I guess that's what attracted me to him in the first place," says Sadowsky. "[His] being good-looking is not a bad thing either," she adds with a chuckle. Ah, yes, the blue eyes, the blond hair. Did we happen to mention that the man famous for treating a movie star looks a bit like one himself? MCDONALD BECAME INTERESTED IN neuroscience while studying electrical engineering at the University of Illinois. Although his father was an electrical engineer, McDonald quickly discovered that he found medicine and working in the lab more intriguing. "The brain and neuro- sciences are the final frontier with regard to the human body," says McDonald. "It was really fascinating to me." He was good at it too, gaining a reputation as one of the bright young minds in the field of spinal cord research. And then he met Christopher Reeve. Their paths crossed at a series of fundraisers. Reeve, who'd been injured in a now-infamous equestrian accident, had been left paralyzed from the shoulders down and broken in spirit. He was suffering from numerous complications brought on by his paralysis and having to breathe on a ventilator. "When I first met Chris, he was kinda like `wheel me down to the river and throw me in,"' says McDonald. "I would have bet that he would have been dead in a year." The two began working together on an activity-based program that would improve Reeve's health. McDonald had long believed that physical activity could help regenerate a damaged spinal cord. Put simply, he thought that if a patient's nervous system was constantly "reminded" of how it works, the activity would help maintain and even grow new spinal cord cells, cells that could help a person regain lost function. A variety of activities were incorporated into Reeve's routine, including more consistent exercise on a special electrical-stimulation bike, as well as water therapy-an idea that McDonald says was met with initial resistance by some of his colleagues. "We had to go through this huge rigamarole to get Chris into the pool," remembers McDonald. "But Chris had a way of getting people to overcome artificial barriers. So I remember those things, crossing barriers with Chris." The big news had yet to come. Until then, it had been widely held that patients suffering from spinal cord injuries could not recover further function after two years. But in 2001-six years after becoming a quadriplegic-Reeve began to recover movement in his left toes. He'd already regained a sense of touch and movement in his left index finger, but now his legs were beginning to move, if slightly. As Reeve's recovery crept along, the developments sent shockwaves through the medical community. Suddenly, everyone wanted to know about the doctor named John McDonald and how he'd hooked up with Superman. "It was very simple," explains McDonald. "No one wanted to touch Christopher Reeve with a 10-foot pole, because he was a guaranteed failure. There was no way he could recover function, so they stayed away from him like the plague." To the untrained eye, it may not have seemed like Reeve made much progress before his death from complications caused by a pressure wound. But in a paralyzed patient, even the tiniest movement is a major victory. "Small improvements in function-both sensory and motor function-translate into large changes in daily abilities," says McDonald. The fact that Christopher Reeve was able to eventually breathe without a respirator most of the day was in a way its own small miracle. MCDONALD HOPES TO SEE SEVERAL MIRAcles at Kennedy Krieger. Along with his research and treatment of children, like the 11-year-old boy who was paralyzed after a blood-vessel malformation in his spinal cord ruptured, or the 14-year-old girl who broke her back in a car accident, McDonald will also continue to see select adult patients like Vicki Rosellini, who lives in Baldwin, became paraplegic after falling down an open stairwell in a house she was building for Habitat for Humanity. She now attends weekly rehabilitation sessions at McDonald's clinic. "The doctors said, 'Vickie, go home, face reality, this is your life, you're not going to get any better,"' says Rosellini. "Dr. McDonald is the first one that has given me hope and a place to go." Rosellini can be especially heartened by the story of Joy Dobler, who sought out McDonald in 2001. Dobler, the wife of retired NFL offensive lineman Conrad Dobler, fell from a hammock at her house in Kansas, broke her neck and became a quadriplegic. Today, she still follows the weekly activity-based rehabilitation program that McDonald set up for her, which includes weights, pushups, and sit-ups. Dobler says it has helped improve her sense of touch and the use of her arms and hands. "I know I'll walk again," says Dobler. "And I suppose John McDonald is a big reason for my constitution. He has dedicated his life to finding the cure, and I don't believe he'll rest until he does." © Copyright 2005 Baltimore Magazine not available online
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