After months and months of preparation, the Miscellany has finally shown its colors all over Georgia Southern’s campus. Full of artwork, prose and poetry, the magazine can be found on George-Anne stands. We are extremely proud of what the magazine turned out to be. We had 152 submissions this year, more than any other year! We’re already working hard on our plans for the spring edition. Where there things you loved about the magazine and want to see again? Let us know!
Hello, Summer! June 6, 2011
After spending a substantial amount of time in the brick cell of the Miscellany office, I have started my journey as an Editor. This journey first required my introduction to a Mac. For me, this Mac equals complete disaster. With assistance from every George-Anne staff member within ten feet of my office, I was able to learn how to turn it on. After a creating a complete mess of archives, emails, and files, I have managed to get a few things together for the new semester. I look forward to reading all of the submissions that will be flooding our new submission hub in the Fall. (Last minute, of course.) This Fall has a list of exciting events to come, including the Second Annual Dress in the Press! Have any ideas or questions about the Miscellany? I’d love to hear from you!
miscellany@georgiasouthern.edu
“Paralysis of Body: Animation of Mind” (Continued from Spring Edition) April 20, 2011
At the dealership, I handed the envelope full of money to the owner and got on the motorcycle, feeling like I belonged there, like I was stronger. Slowly, I turned the key and the motorcycle vibrated and purred underneath my body. At that moment, I felt like I had been given my life back. I had no idea I was literally holding my life in my hands.
I pulled out of the driveway. My parents were behind me, following “just in case”. After riding dirt bikes all around my neighborhood as a kid, riding the Vino felt natural. The asphalt gave way to the wheels and welcomed my presence. The vibrations that reached the handlebars reminded me how close I was to the ground. The helmet muffled the roaring of the wind as I pushed my motorcycle to see how fast it could go. I glanced down at the speedometer a few seconds before everything turned to mush: 55 mph. I think I needed to see that to prove to myself that what I had bought wasn’t a “moped”.
I suddenly felt my body getting weak. Since I had band practice for the talent show after school, I had only eaten 600 calories that day. The adrenaline of buying the motorcycle and riding it for the first time had sustained me up until that point. My head felt incredibly heavy and my hands were having trouble staying gripped on the handlebars. Just keeping my body straight was incredibly difficult. And then, at 55 mph, the front wheel of the Vino started to shake. I knew from reading that it was best just to slow down a bit and allow it to straighten out, but I didn’t do that. I wasn’t thinking about what I had read in a textbook or online– I just knew I needed to slow down. I took my left foot off of the footplate and put it on the ground. I completely lost control of the motorcycle. I vaulted into the air. I slid about ten feet on the concrete and ten or fifteen more feet down a bank into trees.
My parents told me after the accident that I was rolling and my limbs were flailing as I hit the ground, but I don’t remember that. From my point of view I was just sliding. There was only one horizontal direction, instead of three dimensions. That might be for the best. Sliding is much easier to deal with than flips and flailing.
When my body stopped, I remember my father told me everything would be okay. My mom’s voice shook as she tried to comfort me. My father called the police. I told her I couldn’t feel my legs and she assured me it was probably just a pinched nerve.
It was hard to breathe: there was tightness in my chest; it felt like a black hole was sucking all of the oxygen out of the center of my body. I tried to get up but my mom yelled at me to not move. I might have easily broken my neck instead of my back and I could have injured myself even more. I layed there and I didn’t really know what was happening. Ambulances and police were making their way towards us. Traffic was stopping to let them through traffic lights, just like I had seen so many times before, but this time they were moving through traffic to get me. A kid was going to be late for soccer practice because of me. A birthday celebration was going to be put on hold and the manager of a store would have to wait another thirty minutes to see his kids. It was just a nuance for them, like the effects of a stubbed toe a few days after the fact.
The emergency crews kept repeating to me not to move. Hands touched my body. My brand new, sleek, cool jacket was cut off hurriedly. They were adjusting my body to get me ready for the stretcher. They pulled at my body but I didn’t move like they expected so they immediately stopped. My father yelled from the side of me; there were tree roots around my neck. A policeman cut the roots and they had me in the ambulance within seconds.
I hadn’t lost consciousness, so the ambulance crew was doing their best to keep me awake. I remember telling jokes like “well, I hope this will help me on all of those scholarship applications!” I don’t remember if they laughed or not, but the fact that I wasn’t screaming or crying probably made their jobs easier. Also, broken ribs and punctured lung probably meant I couldn’t have screamed too loud anyway.
Being in the ambulance is the last thing I remember. I didn’t learn about the subsequent events until after I was in the hospital for a few days. When they got me inside the emergency room they had to insert a chest tube to help my collapsed lung. My father was with me still and the surgeon told him not to watch. I don’t remember screaming, but my dad said he had never heard anything like it in his life. Before he was forced out of the room, he says I told him to give Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut back to one of my friends. I’ve had a hard time believing that. I wonder why my semi-conscious mind would automatically jump to giving a loaned book back to a friend. Maybe I didn’t think I would live past that moment and I wanted to make sure he got his book back. I don’t know and I don’t think I ever will.
At that point in my life the majority of the people I knew thought I wasn’t going to live. My teachers, friends, and soccer teammates had all arrived at the hospital within a few minutes of my arrival. My mom said it looked more like a group of kids waiting to get into a concert than a hospital waiting room. It’s hard to imagine people worrying about my survival… and even harder to imagine that my life could have ended so easily. When I lost consciousness I could have easily been dead. Would I have known it? Would I just not have woken up again? I wonder if black in death is the same as black in life… or would they have changed?
I woke up that night. There were oxygen tubes in my nostrils that had rubbed the skin beneath them raw. There were beeps as constant as my breathing as I fell in and out of sleep. My parents and my doctors explained that the fifth and sixth vertebrae in my back (T5/6) were crushed due to the impact. The bone fragments shredded my spinal cord. I didn’t really know what that meant. Before, I had barely even knew what a spinal cord injury was.
The next morning I underwent a spinal fusion. Doctors placed titanium rods in my spine to fuse the vertebrae together. The titanium, or Harrington rods, were placed from the third vertebrae to the eighth (T3-T8), a distance of about a foot. This allowed for my spine to heal normally and prevented any extra damage from occurring. My surgery was at Floyd Hospital in Rome, Georgia– the same hospital in which I was born.
Most people assume I’m paralyzed from the waist down, but that’s not the case. I am unable to move or feel anything below my nipple line. That means I could shoot myself in my foot and I wouldn’t even know it had happened. It also means that I can’t control my abdominal muscles. Balancing without abs is like trying to breathe while submerged in water: you remember how to do it and your brain tells your body what to do, but it just won’t work. Also, if I put both of my hands straight out in front of me, I’d just fall over; I always have to have a hand on my lap or legs to hold my upper body up. It also doesn’t help that all of my abdominal muscles have atrophied to near nothing. There’s not even a possibility for me to get those rock-hard abs you see advertised on TV.
After my stay at Floyd, I went to the Shepherd Center in Atlanta for my rehabilitation. Every morning at nine, I had occupational therapy. They taught me how to dress myself again, bathe, and take care of other personal things. Honestly: I could not even get my own pants or socks on for the first couple of weeks, and I couldn’t even get my shoes on until I was an outpatient. Next, I had a counseling session or physical therapy. In physical therapy they taught me how to maneuver my wheelchair effectively and efficiently through obstacles. I learned how to hop curbs, do wheelies, and transfer myself in and out of my wheelchair. I literally learned how to live again: emotionally and physically. It took three months, but I did it.
I had some friends visit me once or twice while I was at Shepherd. The first Saturday they came, I was unable to get out of bed. I don’t remember why. When they got there, I wanted to be the Luke they knew from high school. I wanted to be up out of bed, and I wanted to sit with them and joke about things you would joke about at lunch table before the bell would ring. But I wasn’t able to. I was stuck in my hospital bed while they all had to cram into the tiny space inside my semi-private room. Their presence was great, but it wasn’t until they left that I realized it was just a facade of normalcy the entire time they were there. I didn’t really realize how internal my struggle was until the external presence of friends were gone and all I was left with was myself. The reality of what I was facing hit me. And with the television turned to a low volume and the lights switched off, I cried for the first time. I cried for my friends that felt obligated to make a drive from Rome to Atlanta; I cried because the chairs they were sitting in ten minutes before were empty; I cried for my soccer team, who would have to play the season without me; I cried for my mom because she had to leave home and stay at the hospital with me. After about two hours of crying, I fell asleep. I’m sure my roommate was glad I had shut up.
When I arrived home, it was the first time I realized that nothing was ever going to be the same again. My parents had to modify our house with a wheelchair ramp, sliding doors, and a roll-in (walk-in) shower. And I wouldn’t be who I was four months prior to the moment I entered my kitchen for the first time since the accident. People would never see me the same way. I would never think the same way. Everything had changed. I cried again,, but at least I was home.
After spending November through January in the hospital, I returned to school in February. It took getting used to people staring at me every time I was in the halls. One time I heard an ignorant boy say, “I bet it’d be fun being in a wheelchair… doing wheelies all the time.” I could have punched the kid in the face right then and there, but then I’d just be misrepresenting. That wouldn’t be cool at all.
In March, the school installed an automatic door. My family and I pushed for its installation not much for my benefit, but for every other person that may need to visit or attend the school. Through my experience I learned what accessibility really means. It’s not about having curb-cuts or special parking spaces, it’s about providing a universal design for everyone and anyone to have access to anything and everything, be it information or a building.
I was only the second person using a wheelchair to graduate from my school. I received two rounds of applause after I got on stage and received my diploma. I had never felt so connected to myself and other people before. I had never smiled so wide.
The summer before my freshman year in college at Georgia Southern, I took advanced physical therapy so I could learn how to get up a few flights of stairs if I had to or go down in case of an emergency. I learned how to get on and off of the floor and back into my wheelchair. I pushed up hills steeper than I could’ve walked up easily before my injury and did so with pace. I prepared myself for the rest of my life and I still am today. I’ve never been in better shape than I am now, but I know I can improve to make my life easier and more enjoyable.
At Georgia Southern I lived by myself in Kennedy Suites. One of my main reasons for going away to college was that it forced me to be independent. I chose to go four hours away from home. I was lost when I first got to Georgia Southern, but I needed that. I had to do things on my own. I excelled in most of my classes and was on the President’s List the first semester. I loved being alone the majority of the time and still do. However, Kennedy is one of the farthest dorms from the center of campus, so I had to push about a mile or two a day depending on my schedule. I learned which routes are the easiest on my wheels and hands and which ones were impossible to travel on.
Navigating on wheels is difficult, but it’s like everything else that happens in life: you get used to it, just like I got used to having to go in a special door after parking in a special space to sit in my special desk in the special part of the lecture hall. I figured out where the bad curb-cuts are that will break your front casters and which sidewalks have the highest slopes. I also tend to take the least crowded routes. I mean, let’s face it, some people freak out when I come towards them on the way to class. You don’t have to jump off the sidewalk because I am coming towards you. I do not enjoy bowling for able-bodies with my wheelchair. But after some embarrassing moments, I’ve realized that dealing with other people is another part of my adaptation. I try my best to be understanding of their ignorance just as they are of mine.
So, now as a sophomore in college and a paraplegic, I am embracing who I have become and all that has happened to me. There’s a tendency for people to feel sorry for someone in my situation, and I understand that. When I push down the hallway at school I can see others watching me. It’s a different experience to see a 19-year-old guy — who looks quite healthy — in a wheelchair. So they might feel sorry for me that I take a little longer to put my clothes on in the morning or a little more effort to break down my chair and put it in my car. But it’s not how long it takes. It’s that I can do it myself. That’s what’s important. I could ponder what life would be like if I could get up out of this chair right now and just go for a jog, but where would that get me? It is what it is, and that’s the way I like to live.
I can honestly say that if I could get back on that motorcycle again and everything would work out the same way, I would strap that helmet on and slide the jacket over my shoulders in an instant. I am a better person because of the injury, and my openness towards situations and people have brought me my girlfriend of a year and a half, a rewarding year at college, and knowledge some people don’t receive in a lifetime.
My name is Benjamin Lucas Easterwood. On November 13th, 2008, I left my house for an errand; I didn’t return home for three months. I’m a paraplegic, and I am lucky to be who I am.
“The Long Fifteen” (continued from Spring Edition) April 20, 2011
Elias took a deep breath of precious air. His eyes flickered over the various messages and readouts scrolling by on his viewscreen. “CO2 valve failed. Killed all my leg thrusters. I’m at bingo fuel. Suit integrity is green. What about that flare?” he asked, gulping.
“It’s thirty seconds out,” his mother responded. “Elias, baby, you’re moving too fast for me to get you in time. After the flare hits, I’ll have to turn the ship and catch up. Your suit isn’t shielded, so you’re going to go dark. Mechanical air recycling will kick on, and it’ll take fifteen minutes for your suit to reboot. I’m on my way, honey” she said, and he could hear her straining in her last few words.
“Mom,” said Elias, his radio turning to static as his viewscreen flickered and fell black, “I love you.”
Now he was alone in the darkness of his own vacuum suit. He could hear high pitched pings and whines as the solar radiation knocked out his systems. The static cut off, echoing in his helmet. The vibrations of his suit slowed and it stilled around him. It was harder to move his limbs, and his legs ached.
Spacers called it the Long Fifteen. Nobody, not even the crustiest old Jovian surveyor, wanted to be stuck inside a vacuum suit with no radio, viewscreen, or even light. Now Elias could see why. He could feel the gentle buzz of the mechanical air scrubber against the small of his back, the only thing keeping him from sucking in his own carbon dioxide and slowly dying.
Sighing, Elias let his bladder release. “Well thank God the catheter doesn’t leak,” he said aloud, letting the words keep him company.
He tried to focus on his trajectory, recalled the last readings he got before the flare hit. He didn’t want to plow into something out here at this speed. Elias supposed it didn’t matter, because he’d be paste before he knew what was happening. He had no proximity sensors to tell if his mother was closing in.
He closed his eyes, not that it mattered in the void-darkness of his helmet. He took deep breaths, imagining the air scrubber breaking down. They had taught him about it in school. Many spacers had died peacefully in their suits or their ships, breathing their own waste air until they fell asleep and asphyxiated. It was better than the slow, gasping death of a suit blowout, he supposed, and far better than the poor Earthlings who thought to hold their breath in during a decompression.
Elias shook his head. He was getting ahead of himself, imagining scenarios in which his suit ruptured or the scrubber broke down. He had to remain calm, like his mother had taught him. Panic killed more spacers than vacuum or radiation. His mouth was dry, and the sucked on the water tube but nothing came out. He clenched his fists in frustration.
He wished he knew how long it had been. His mission clock had been knocked out with the rest of his suit. Elias was used to the Cererian forty-five minute day-night cycle, which threw off the natural human sense of time, or at least that was what old spacers said. Elias wondered if he would know when fifteen minutes was past, if his suit didn’t come back online at all. He could hurtle through space for days, still wondering. In the darkness of his helmet, how would he really know if he’d gone mad?
Elias wanted to scream when he slammed into something hard and flat. He bounced off, his face smacking into his viewscreen. He yelped as his lip busted and blood floated out. Something closed around his foot, hauling on his leg. Whining back to life, his viewscreen snapped on. Elias bent over, seeing his mother gripping his foot, leaning out of the Grissom. She’d let him bounce off the opposite wall of the craft, but his speed was too high, she was losing her grasp.
Elias knew what he had to do. He tongued the emergency air-release button and exhaled. The seal on his neck opened up and he felt the air in his suit vent into space. The force was just enough to push him back into the Grissom. Hastily, he resealed his suit and waited, gasping for air. His mother resealed the airlock and new air pumped into the cabin.
After a few moments the green pressure light flicked on and Elias peeled off his helmet. His mother knelt beside him , “I’m sorry about the rough entrance. It was the best option I had,” she said, touching his busted lip.
Elias winced, “It’s okay. Anything is better than being out there,” he said.
She nodded, “You didn’t panic, that’s the important part.”
Elias frowned, “No, but I think I went a little crazy out there, Mom.”
His mother smiled, a rare sight, “We’re spacers, honey. We’re all a little crazy to begin with. But we have to. Somebody’s got to come out here. You did great, Elias.”
He nodded, wrapping his arms around her as they floated. Elias thought of the pale blue dot, hanging in all that black. He’d kissed it just moments ago, felt it come into his suit and tug at him. It pressed on the walls and hung outside the windows, always pulling. Scary and lonely as it was, the black was home.
It’s Called College… April 13, 2011
During these last couple weeks of school, almost everyone has set up camp in the Henderson library, or are running through Monster’s like they are going out of style. Many of us are choosing lab write ups and papers over laying out by the pool. Typical crunch time for students everywhere.
The setting of this picture? My apartment. Two a.m. Jotting down ideas for my next paper. and my next paper. and my next. During the end of the school year people tend to get like me…stressed, unorganized, and ready to pack their bags and head to the next big thing in life. These last couple weeks can usually make or break those grades you have been working so hard to get all semester, or not so hard in some cases. Just remember, only a few more weeks to go!
Also remember to be on the look out for the Spring Edition….coming soon!!
“Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting. So… get on your way.” -Dr.Seuss
“A Small Thing of Beauty” April 6, 2011
“A Small Thing of Beauty”
By Nancy Franklin
Submission, Spring 2011
“It’s whatever you want it to be. Most fractal art is. I see it as a starburst of beads.” -Nancy Franklin
Time to Get Excited… March 29, 2011
It’s time to get excited about Georgia Southern’s Spring edition of The Miscellany!
What can you expect to find filling the pages of this edition?
- Art, poetry, and prose by Georgia Southern students
- Selections from the Powell Award recipients
- Pictures of our winning design from our sponsored event, Dress in the Press.
The Miscellany is set to hit George Anne stands in April, so don’t miss your chance to see what’s in store. Check back next week for a preview of what you’ll see in The Miscellany!
The Miscellany staff would like to thank all who submitted work- we had so many great entries this semester to choose from! We would also like to thank our judges for providing us with their support and skill.
Meet Our Staff… March 11, 2011
Christina Riley – Editor in Chief
To tell you about myself would take more than a paragraph on a blog but I’ll just give you the basics. I’m a Senior at Georgia Southern University majoring in English with a minor in Linguistics, and a minor in Fashion Merchandising. I do a little bit of a lot of stuff. I tutor student of all ages in myriad subjects, go to school, publish a magazine, volunteer at local schools, and some other stuff too. I’ve never been one who was good at telling people about myself, I’d rather you just look at my life and go from there because to me, that can say a lot more than I ever can. However, if there’s one thing I’d like you to know about me as Editor of the Miscellany, I would want you to know that this is more than just a job to me. To me, being Editor-In-Chief of the Miscellany is the opportunity and honor to take the talented work of the Georgia Southern community to the next level. It’s the chance to provide a substantive platform for student to use their voice and for the community to observe the work and skill of remarkable individuals. I Whenever I come into the office to respond to an email or work on layout, it’s not a dread or tiresome task but a welcomed opportunity to make a difference in the life of another.
That said, keep doing good stuff and keep being awesome!
Meet the Staff… March 1, 2011
Kayla Hurley-Staff Assistant
So, the loaded question. What to do with…well, forever? Some people know in kindergarten what they’re destined for. Me? Well…I was destined to spend my first three years in college completely lost, wondering what relevance electron configuration had to the world. Relying on faith, I dropped my major and ended up on the fast track to success under the outlines of an English major. I don’t think I’ll ever regret choosing to go to school for something I love, even if it means I don’t get to live in Beverly Hills. Coming from a small town, all I want is to get out and explore! After graduation I want to be a Flight Attendant just for kicks. Maybe after I grow up a little more I’ll snatch a job in Publishing, but until then I want to fulfill my dreams. I found out that life is about doing what you want to make YOU happy. Maybe I’ll go to Grad school or write a novel, but until then I’ll just make my own path.
Meet Our Staff… February 22, 2011
Gracie Kessenich-Managing Editor
What if you had this amazing ability you never knew about? Like a super hero…or something. I’m Gracie. I am a Sophomore. This is my second semester working with the Miscellany though I’ve had three years of Literary Magazine experience before this. I am an English major with an Art History minor. When I grow up (cliche start to this sentence, I know) I want to change people’s lives. I want to be in book publishing. I want to be that person that says ‘Yes, you are good enough to have your book published.’ With the Miscellany, I have a similar job. I hope very strongly for you guys because a lot of you have great talents (some you don’t even know about). The Miscellany is a way for you to be recognized for just how much talent you have. I love working for this magazine because we’re a way of giving you a particular type of hope that otherwise you wouldn’t know of.
