Perspective from an Electric Chair

By Mo Gerhardt

Author Mo Gerhardt tells what it is like living life while being diagnosed with a terminal disease. Not only from all the bumps, bruises and surgeries from his muscular dystrophy, but also after broken bones from a bus accident and loss of vision in one eye due to a separate non-related medical condition.

Instead of taking his diagnosis as a death sentence, Gerhardt uses it as motivation to accomplish everything that a normal person aspires to. From receiving his Bachelors and Masters degrees from Michigan State University to competing and medaling in both national and international adaptive sports competitions, he continues to defy doctors predictions. He continues to give back through his motivational speaking to students and being an activist for the disability community.

Through it all, Gerhardt proves that its not the diagnosis that determines ones outcome.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467036146

Mo Gerhardt

Mo Gerhardt was born in Traverse City, MI. At the age of eight he was diagnosed with Duchenne muscular dystrophy and was told by doctors he would be lucky to live beyond his teens. In the fall of 2006, at the age of 28, Mo's diagnosis was changed to a rarer form of muscular dystrophy, Limb Girdle 2D. Along with muscular dystrophy, Mo has experienced many physical obstacles in life including being in a bus accident, multiple bone fractures, osteoporosis and loss of vision in his right eye. Mo graduated from Michigan State University with a Bachelor of Arts degree in business administration and then completed a Master of Science degree in athletic administration. He currently works in the College of Natural Science at Michigan State University and is also employed through the Spartan Sports Network as the MSU Women’s Basketball radio analyst. He lives with his service dog Ted in Bath, MI.

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Acknowldegements

This project could never have been completed without the love and support of my family. Every piece of recognition I have ever received in life includes a part of them. So many friends have encouraged me over the years to put my life in writing; thanks for the push.

Thanks to Nick Marco for my initial manuscript evaluation and Geoff Pope for editing each line with a fine-toothed comb. Your comments gave me hope when I wasn’t sure of my skills. Thank you to the whole staff at Author House Publishing for your work in making this project a reality. Rick Berkey, not only are you a wonderful radio partner, but you have become a great friend. Your writing skills are underappreciated. Thanks for taking the time to write the introduction even if it did mean having to take your foot out of your mouth. A goal without a deadline is just a wish.

Mitch Albom, it may have taken me a couple of years to get you to a wheelchair hockey game, but it was well worth it. I’ll never forget our first lunch together and your ensuing hug. Your kindness and wisdom I will never forget. Your assistance and knowledge is priceless. Speaking of hockey, Steve Nelson, it meant the world to me when you created the games in Toronto after I was injured in Calgary. The butterflies I had before starting was a once in a lifetime feeling. I never was able to have my dad as a coach, but you filled that void. Vern Mason, you took a young boy and let him explore in his career dreams even when you knew his passion would be sitting in a seat like yours. Lili Mina, you took that ensuing young man and hired him on merit and skills where others just saw four wheels.

Sue Arnold, you were the silver lining during one of my most difficult storms. Thank you for dangling a carrot in front of my nose, even when you were eating for two. To all of my teachers, thank you for not crushing the spirit of a kid who at times thought he knew it all. The love you had for your job has translated into success for me throughout my life. My fellow Trojan high school graduates, thanks for the love. I’ve never met another person with a disability who was so readily accepted and treated as normally as I was throughout school. What could have easily been the worst period in my life, turned out to be the best. You showed me that there is a lot of good in this world and the power of the human spirit can never be underestimated. Even though I may bleed Green & White my roots will always be Black & Gold.

Thank you to all of my health care aides. For the last fifteen years you have been my morning alarm clock and my goodnight moon. All of the beds you’ve made, messes you’ve cleaned and meals you’ve prepared have more than made up for the bleached clothes, coffee breath and tardy arrivals. The workers and volunteers at Canine Companions for Independence introduced me to a love and partnership that I can’t put into words. Thank you for your time and commitment.

To the staff at The Ohio State University Neuromuscular Disease Clinic and Children’s National Hospital, you have given me a gift nobody else could provide. The power of hope resonates through you and is felt by many. As long as you’re willing to dedicate your life, I’m willing to fight the battle. To all of my friends whose lives were taking too quickly by muscular dystrophy, I will never forget you. The grace by which you lived your lives was honorable and inspiring. Muscular dystrophy didn’t win. Now you are able to fly.

If a coach is loved by fans, it’s usually because they have winning teams. Suzy Merchant, I love you because of who you are as a person. I can honestly say nobody has gone to bat or put as much of their own integrity on the line for me as you have. In many ways our story together has come full circle, but the best part of a circle is that it never ends.

Who knew that one fateful phone call looking for a daycare provider would lead to a friendship like no other. Kevin Sonnemann, words can’t express how lucky I am to call you my best friend. My one wish is that your dream comes true and you’ll be a high school teacher and coach. David and Jinny, the tangibles are numerous, the intangibles are infinite. Mom and Dad, I’m sure there are parts in here that you remember differently or you never even knew to begin with. My intentions were never to hurt but rather to be open and honest. You’ve each been my teacher, my friend, my shoulder to lean on, my physical care giver, my role model, my dream maker and dream challenger. You’ve been everything I’ve wanted and everything I didn’t want at the time but needed. You are my parents and I hope I’ve made you proud.

Forward

W hat do you mean he’s in a wheelchair ?

Those were my unspoken thoughts shortly before the start of the 2009-10 basketball season upon being informed I had a new broadcast partner as I was about to begin my third year as the play-by-play voice of Michigan State Women’s Basketball.

True, I had told those who hired me originally that I would be willing to work with anybody they chose to eventually pair me with. But after two seasons in the role, there had been no indication that they were anything but pleased with my work alone and I had accepted that I was quite comfortable flying the plane solo.

It got worse.

Oh… and he’s a family friend of Coach (Suzy) Merchant.

So now I’ve been told that not only am I going to be working with a guy who might not only have trouble viewing the court and telling listeners just what he sees, but who is also getting the position mostly as a favor to the head coach. Will this guy be able add anything to the broadcasts and will his physical limitations actually detract from my ability to do the play-by play?

One of my favorite expressions is: Youth is too often wasted on the young. In this instance, God decided to show me that: Blessings are sometimes given to the ignorant.

After working just two seasons with Mo Gerhardt, I am grateful that our creator decided to show me how fortunate I am that my own lack of knowledge didn’t keep me from a great life experience—and a great partner.

Having done over 30 years of play-by-play at the high school, college and professional levels and having worked with countless accompanying analysts, I have learned the common ingredients in the good ones are preparation, knowledge of the sport, understanding of when to speak and (just as importantly) when not to and taking the time to assess one’s own work objectively in a sincere attempt to improve.

Check… check… check… and check. Mo’s work was off the charts in each category. I was as impressed with him as I thought I could be. Then we went to Traverse City.

My wife and I were proud to attend Mo’s induction into the Traverse City Central High School Hall of Fame in the spring of 2011. At this induction, I was flabbergasted to learn that the phase of Mo’s life I had been privileged to be a part of was merely the latest chapter in a novel that continues to get better. And the best part is that this novel is a true reality show. As you will read, how one person could do what he has without letting circumstances even slow him down—let alone stop him, is nothing less than amazing.

When we broadcast a MSU game together now, I can say that I don’t give it much thought at all that my broadcast partner and friend (not in that order) is allegedly limited in what he can do. Don’t talk to me about limitations. Actually you can… I can tell you dozens of my own limitations.

But don’t even think about doing that with Mo.

In the middle of this past basketball season, a friend who the day before had attended his first MSU Women’s game, commented to me that I didn’t know your broadcast partner was in a wheelchair.

His comment actually caught me off-guard as I had long-since stopped thinking about the fact that the chair I sat in had legs and Mo’s had wheels.

I kept my instinctive reply to myself.

What do you mean he’s in a wheelchair?

Enjoy the ride…

—Rick Berkey

Michigan State Women’s Basketball Radio Play-by-Play Announcer

Author of Morning Drive

Prologue

6:09 A.M. I look over at my bedside clock. Is she just running late? Has she over slept? Did something happen on her way to my house? Was there a scheduling error? At some point I’m going to have to go to the bathroom. I’m stuck in bed until somebody shows up. The sun isn’t up yet, and my day already has added stress.

6:11 A.M. A key is unlocking the door. Eleven minutes late, but eleven minutes that remind me no matter what, I’m still dependant on others. Eleven minutes others can multi-task to make up—eleven minutes for which I must prepare ahead of time in case of situations like this.

6:12 A.M. My morning routine starts. After feeding and taking my service dog out to go to the bathroom, she in many ways performs the same tasks with me.

6:21 A.M. I sit up in my hospital-style bed, and she brings a urinal for me to urinate into. You learn quickly to give up your modesty when you have a physical disability.

What pants are you wearing today? I hesitate for a brief second before she adds, Come on, Mo. You’re supposed to know this ahead of time, and you’re not helping with the time!

I bite my tongue before describing a pair of khakis, as I want to add the reason we’re late is her fault, not mine. The last thing I want to do is upset her, because of all I rely on her to do for me.

6:26 A.M. I remain in bed, and she pulls my pants up my legs as high as she can. My bed is positioned against one of the walls of my room, so when she rolls me away from her, I don’t roll completely off the other side. With one hand positioned around my hips to support me, she grabs the pants with her free hand and yanks them up again as high as she can. This process is then reversed as I get rolled towards her and the pants get tugged up over my other hip. She then reaches up both pant legs and grabs onto my boxers to pull them back down into position; otherwise, I’d be stuck all day with them riding up my crotch.

6:31 A.M. I get rolled towards the wall again as she stuffs half of a sling under me and then back towards her to stuff the other half. It’s then hooked to a patient lift that is used to transfer me from my bed over to my wheelchair, which is basically nothing more than a human crane system to transfer patients. Like a huge pile of rocks at a construction site, I get lifted into the air and then steered over to my wheelchair. After unhooking the straps of the sling from the lift, I have to make sure she doesn’t pull the sling up and out from behind me too quickly or else I’m revisiting another wedgie and we have to hook everything back up and go over to the bed again.

6:34 A.M. She raises my left arm, and then my right and applies my deodorant. After my deodorant, she puts a fresh undershirt on me—over my head first, so I don’t lose my trunk balance.

6:37 A.M. She yanks and pulls my prescription support hose up my lower legs to help with circulation and to limit swelling; the slightest wrinkle or twist will cause a sore or irritation.

It needs a turn to the left at the heel, I tell her. Pull a little forward at the toes and raise it at the top under my knee. I have to be picky and try to describe any discomfort, or else I am stuck for the whole day.

A pair of regular socks gets put on over the hose, making sure not to slide the hose up my foot as the sock is rolled and pulled up. It’s hard not to feel like a little child as my shoes get slid on and then tied for me. I remember the days I could still do this.

I’ll put on the solid light-blue button-down style dress shirt, I say, in advance. She stuffs my left arm in first, then the more flexible right arm second. I simply roll the shirt tails up and inside my shirt, giving the impression it is tucked in.

I’m still not positioned exactly where I need to be in my wheelchair. I feel like one of the Three Bears from Goldilocks: Somebody has been sitting in my chair! On the count of three, I get a push on my left knee to help get my hips back into position; the same happens on the right knee.

6:46 A.M. After getting the sleeves untwisted and the shoulders and collar adjusted, I’m finally all dressed and ready for breakfast.

7:06 A.M. I finish my cereal and head back into my bathroom to brush my teeth. I maneuver a toothbrush around my mouth by bobbing my head left and right. I wash my face the same way after finishing brushing my teeth. Shaving also takes some effort as I lift my hand to my upper lip. I have a beard to eliminate cuts or other nicks. Brushing my own hair is no longer possible for me, as I’m not able to lift my arms above my shoulders.

7:15 A.M. Finally, I’m all dressed and presentable, but there is still one more task before heading off to work: my breathing exercises. I do ten repetitions on my machine, consisting of inhaling at a steady constant rate and filling my lungs for as long as possible. Just as in any stretching exercise, it’s about being under control and trying to go a little further every time.

7:27 A.M. I have just enough time to sign her form, verifying she was there and then start my drive into work. It’s a good thing I live so close to work or else I’d have to get up at the crack of dawn. Try explaining that one to your boss: No sir, I’m not the one who overslept; it was my Personal Care Attendant. I was awake, but stuck just lying there in bed. That leaves a really nice impression and creates all kinds of misconceptions as far as my work ethic is concerned.

I’ve been up for two hours, but already it feels like it’s been a full day.

What’s your morning routine?

Chapter 1

Ten little fingers, ten little toes and a loud cry. Everything was normal as I made my first appearance into the world during the early hours of October 16, 1977. My parents, John and Ann Gerhardt, were thrilled to have their second healthy baby boy, Matthew Fox Gerhardt. Thank God, I wasn’t a girl—not that I don’t wonder what my life would currently be like if I was born a girl, but I don’t know if I could have gone through life having the name Gretchen Ann Gerhardt. My initials alone would have said it all—GAG! Sometimes I wonder what goes through parents’ minds when they name their babies. Don’t they think about the ridicule children will go through growing up?

Even though I was born as Matthew, I will always have my brother, David, to thank for the name Mo. He wasn’t yet three years old when I was born, and the name Matthew was too difficult for him to pronounce. As hard as he tried, all that would come out was Matt-Mo. That being said, my future was forever plotted as my parents also started calling me Mo.

Sure, I’ve heard my fair share of Where’s Larry and Curly jokes, and was asked when I was going to go mow the lawn,, but the name Mo has become as much a part of me as other famous nicknames have for others. Just as George Herman Ruth doesn’t have the same appeal as Babe Ruth, Matthew Fox Gerhardt doesn’t connect with me as well as Mo does.

My mom was actually grocery shopping when she went into labor. A quick ride to the hospital and a couple hours later, out I came. Dr. Don Good was the obstetrician. His wife would later be my kindergarten teacher—two early signs that, yes, my childhood, in the simplest terms, would be just that… good!

Both of my parents were school teachers within the Traverse City, Michigan, public school system. My mom took the remainder of the 1977 school year off on maternity leave, but went back to teaching the fall of 1978. That of course meant finding daycare for me. Through a friend, my mom had been advised to contact Bonnie Sonnemann, who had also given birth to a boy, Kevin, in May of 1977. Bonnie was looking to add a baby about Kevin’s age to her daycare. It ended up being one of the most significant phone calls my mom has ever made.

At eleven months, you really don’t have a say in who your friends are. It’s simply whomever your parents take you to go play with. That’s how it was for Kevin and me. We became friends before we knew we even were friends. Due to our looks, we’d never be mistaken as brothers, but I’m sure I spent more hours growing up together with Kevin than I did with my own brother. Whether it was building with Lincoln Logs indoors, making snowmen outdoors, or running around in our Underoos both in and outdoors, we did it together. After being together, just the two of us, a third was added to the mix a couple years later as Bonnie had another baby boy, Kyle.

Three is never the easiest number to play with as you always feel like you are one person short or have one too many. Even so, we always seemed to manage to come up with rules or adaptations to make sure things were even; for better or worse, that would become easier to do down the road.

I basically grew up with a baseball glove in one hand and a ball in the other. Sports are huge in my family, and baseball easily tops the list. My dad played all through his school years, spent nearly 30 years coaching high school baseball, and was the Field Director for the American Legion Junior Baseball program in Traverse City for 20 years. David was easily the top catcher in Traverse City, if not the state, for his age, and earned MVP honors his senior year on the varsity team.

I remember playing countless hours of whiffle ball with my brother in our backyard at 2206 Aspen Drive. My mom was a great sport as we literally ran permanent base paths into the