Bill Sweeney and Cynthia Schmitz (Photo by Jay Paul)
Bill Sweeney and Cynthia Schmitz are counting their blessings in public this Thanksgiving weekend.
They’re joining their lives on Saturday, and they’re celebrating their union in a very public way. The ceremony that afternoon at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Oregon Hill will be an intimate affair of close friends and family, but afterward, they — and a few hundred of their closest buddies — will celebrate with a reception that will double as a fundraiser for Sportable: a Richmond-based nonprofit that seeks to transform lives by providing adaptive sports and recreation opportunities.
It’s a group whose work is a passion for Sweeney, who has been paralyzed from the diaphragm down since 2012. He’s a Sportable athlete, and he’s participated in activities including adaptive cycling, swimming, track and kayaking. In a way, the nonprofit reflects Sweeney’s belief in “boundless possibilities,” as he calls it. That phrase also serves as the title of an inspirational video Sportable crafted in which Sweeney tells his story and discusses some of the life-changing activities made possible through the organization. He is on disability because of the paralysis but continues to serve as a mentor and coach to Hallmark Realty Group, which he founded. He also serves as treasurer for Sportable.
The reception and fundraiser is another way to give back to the group. “It’s something that transforms me,” he says.
“It just seemed right,” Schmitz adds.
And their efforts are appreciated.
“I was kind of blown away [that] they would take that kind of level of generosity for us,” says Hunter Leemon, Sportable’s executive director.
It’s an uncommonly loving gift from a special couple. And to understand the depth of Sweeney and Schmitz’s love, you have to start with his death.
That happened Feb. 22, 2012, inside an MRI machine.
The cause turned out to be an aneurism in his spine; a stroke, if you will. Doctors revived him, but he was put into a coma so they could operate and stop the bleeding. He lingered on life support until it was disconnected after five days. The expected outcomes were grim: death, or survival with brain damage and paralysis, or, best-case scenario, be left paralyzed. It turned out to be the optimal result, but optimal is relative: Sweeney was paralyzed from the diaphragm down. He left the hospital on April 12.
Rehabilitation and life never follow a slow, steady trajectory, and Sweeney has faced a plethora of problems in the ensuing years.
In 2013 he was diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia and says he died a second time, sort of. Pumped full of medication, he was delirious. “If I had waited a day, I probably would be dead,” he says. He opted for a combination of Eastern and Western medication, resulting in a treatment regimen of chemotherapy and doses of an arsenic compound.
His GI tract shut down. He suffers from extreme pain from nerve neuropathy. Earlier this year, he went through eight procedures in one operation to stop nerve damage that was causing him to lose use of his hands and arms. That left him without use of his hands or arms for four weeks.
Dealing with paralysis and cancer, Sweeney was weak and overwhelmed physically and emotionally to the point that he couldn’t lift his head from the pillow.
That’s when Sweeney and Schmitz crossed paths. They met in October 2013 at their church, St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Oregon Hill.
That first time, she didn’t know his story, all she knew was he couldn’t breathe. “He was just struggling,” she says.
The following May, they finally talked. They shared some time over coffee, and a relationship slowly bloomed. Neither was looking for it at first, but it grew.
“Bill intrigued me,” she says.
Schmitz, spiritual director for her business, Sacred Spaces for the Soul, also felt a connection in that she, too, had experienced a close call with death. Hers came soon after her first husband died, when she went into cardiac arrest and doctors induced a coma for 24 hours as part of her treatment.
“I felt like early on [he had] a sense of flowing with life … that not everyone has,” she says.
As for Sweeney, when he was with Schmitz, he felt safe enough to be himself, to be transparent, even with his physical limitations.
“I wasn’t looking at church, and I ran into her,” he says. “It’s grown into this kind of magic I didn’t know was possible.”
He proposed that fall. A year later, she accepted.
EVER AFTER
Dealing with death, paralysis and cancer has a way of changing one’s outlook, and Sweeney was no exception. “It brings a reality no one else would understand,” he says.
It empowered him to keep dreaming, and to live life well.
Sweeney had always been active, a participant in marathons, rock climbing and hiking. Sportable helped him reconnect with that part of his life.
They also got him into adaptive kayaking and he found himself this spring paddling in the James River near the Pump House.
Sweeney is still dreaming big. At some point, he wants to be able to go fishing on his own. It’s a reflection of his life philosophy, that he condenses into a tagline: “Be courageous enough to live beyond your dreams.”
“Activity is a big part of everyone’s lives,” says Leemon. “Bill got it back, and he got it back from us.”
The reception is set for the Sports Center of Richmond facility on Overbrook Drive.
If things go as planned, Sweeney may walk into the reception.
Bill Sweeney and John Kobal at Sheltering Arms (Photo by Jay Paul)
He’s been working at Sheltering Arms with an Indego, a new mechanical device from Parker Hannifin that enables people with spinal cord injuries to walk. An Indego is a five-piece modular device that snaps together and kind of looks like a two-legged AT-ST walker from “Star Wars.” Motors at the hips and knees help with standing and walking, says Amber Devers, a physical therapist for Sheltering Arms Rehabilitation Centers. There are no cables: It’s run with an app on a mobile device. You use a forward tilt to activate the device, and the user communicates with the device through changes in posture. It responds with a vibration and a sound, so it works when used by people with spinal cord injuries, and they don’t feel as if the device is moving them, according to Devers.
“The user really is in control of the device,” she says.
It won’t replace a wheelchair, which is faster and easier to use in providing mobility, but it’s a complement to other devices and technology. Dever notes that it helps with physical fitness by allowing users to work muscles they wouldn’t otherwise use, and promotes emotional well-being, too. Everyone who gets in the device smiles, she says.
Sheltering Arms received its units in March. They cost about $180,000. An Indego is approved for use by the FDA in people with spinal injuries at T7 and below; Sweeney is a T4, with an injury higher up the spine, so he is not a candidate for independent use. But the device does have a therapeutic use for Sweeney and others with his type of injury, as long as a certified specialist is present.
Sweeney volunteered to help with testing. He describes himself as their “crash test dummy.” It’s well worth it, he says: About once a week, he gets to walk. The first time was a shock to his body. The second, he walked 348 steps in 31 minutes.
“I couldn’t even describe the feeling,” he says, “because it was way beyond my imagination.”
