This is the final piece in a four-part series exploring University of Oregon junior Calee Williams’ diagnosis of a transverse myelitis. You can begin at part one here.

January 2014 – Series of treatments

Calee Williams is frustrated. Another inconclusive appointment two days ago has left her noticeably unsettled.

“To hear that we still don’t know is the most upsetting thing,” she says wearily. “Personally, it’s a better experience to hear bad news than nothing at all.”

Her doctors were trying to localize where her potential brain tumor is through a series of shock tests. But the tests ended without answers.

Even worse than the confusion for Calee is the disappointment – not in her doctors, but in herself.

“It’s almost like a kind of distrust,” she says in a tone edging closer to defeat than ever before. “I feel like my body has kind of lied to me in a way. I don’t believe in myself as much.”

The consistency of the beeping heart monitor is nearly in perfect sync with the drip of the IV bag hanging above Calee’s bed. Antibodies flow from the clear, plastic bag through a narrow tube that connects to a PICC line that disappears into the cephalic vein of her right arm.  

The PICC line — peripherally inserted central catheter — was surgically inserted several months before, a common procedure for patients receiving prolonged antibiotic therapy. The line is threaded into the vein for the intravenous delivery of immune globulin – an antibody used for patients with immune deficiencies and other various conditions. The usual veins in her arms and hands have been picked so often they now lay too flat to insert an IV line, so the PICC line was her best option.

She lies curled under a fluffy cheetah print blanket wearing a green Duck football T-shirt in the dim, windowless room in the corner of PeaceHealth Hospital’s Infusion Center just a few blocks from campus.

It’s the end of January and Calee’s fifth IGG treatment. She comes for an infusion once a month – a seven-hour process – to restore her antibodies to normal levels, ever since her relapse back in August.

Her condition – transverse myelitis – results in viral infections, abnormal immune reactions and insufficient blood flow through the vessels in the spinal cord. The nervous system scars, interrupting communication between the nerves in the spinal cord and the rest of the body, creating weakness of the arms and legs, localized lower back pain, sensory alteration and extreme fatigue.

For Calee, these symptoms are partially alleviated from these monthly treatments. She feels at her strongest within a few days of each treatment. Usually, transverse myelitis is outgrown with time but can take anywhere from a couple of weeks to a couple of years to fully recover. The chances of relapsing are as rare as 10 percent, and Dr. Miguel Estevez admitted to Calee that he had never seen it happen to a patient before. But back in August, Calee’s symptoms had returned in full force and Estevez concluded that she was one of those few relapses.

But there’s more on her mind today than her unsatisfying trip to the doctor earlier that week. Fall term she got her first D in a course and her mom wants to pull her out of school while she’s undergoing treatment.

“We had to go through family therapy to help her understand my stress last term and how it impacted my grades,” Calee says.

It wasn’t an easy decision for her mom, who worried about her daughter having too much pressure with school and not being able to focus on her health. “We told her we would take it term by term,” Cindy Williams says, patiently explaining the position that any worried mother would take. “I didn’t want to bring her home and have her have nothing to look forward to. We just had to figure out what the best thing is for her health.”

The therapy sessions ended with a consensus that Calee could stay in school for winter term, given that she is able to maintain her grades.

The pressure of understanding that this term is Calee’s last chance to stay enrolled is burdening, yet it is matched with relief and gratitude for the opportunity.

“People are giving my mom a hard time for letting me stay in Eugene and not forcing me to come home if my health is so serious,” Calee admits. “But I think she’s an amazing parent for letting me stay. It wouldn’t make sense to go home. I have no goals there. Here, I do.”

A series of high-pitched beeps set off by the now emptied IV bag lure a curly haired staff nurse in pink flower-print scrubs into the room. “Oh it’s you – hello!” says Annie, Calee’s favorite nurse. “Looks like you’re done early today!”

She detaches Calee from the IV drip and slips the cuff around the patient’s arm to take her blood pressure.

“Calee is our favorite patient because she’s got the best personality out of everyone,” Annie says as she jots down the numbers on Calee’s charts. “We just liked each other right away because I have a daughter her age – she’s the youngest patient in here.”

Calee’s youth is painfully obvious in the hospital corridor. Several elderly patients have slowly made their way past her door, leaning their weight against metal walkers or submissively slumped into a wheelchair.

Calee doesn’t belong here.

May 2014 – Climbing to the viewpoint 

It’s a longer, steeper trek than the walk to the river the week before. Calee pauses frequently to rest before continuing the hike up Spencer Butte.

“I sometimes think about being back in the hospital,” she says in an oddly cheerful tone. “I replay the moments when the doctors told me to squeeze their fingers and I couldn’t do it, or the day the paralysis went up to my neck, or the nights I thought I wasn’t going to live.”

She pauses to catch her breath. She’s been talking less than usual, concentrating her energy on the uphill climb – something she’s been doing more regularly between her spring term classes as her health stabilizes.

“But it’s inspiring to remember those lows and see how far I’ve come. I can walk. That’s why I do this hike. I want to experience these moments of being able to walk by myself. To reach a goal. It’s symbolic.”

She follows the dirt path as it curves around a set of Douglas firs, whose thick trunks hide the foreboding incline on the trail behind them.

Back in October, Calee sat in her living room with her two cats, shuffling through medical records. The freshness of her disease and its uncertainties still tipped her off balance and forced her to question the finiteness of life. Without prompt she said, “You know, I’ve changed my perspective recently. I’m prepared to die.”

It was silent for a long moment.

“I’m prepared for bad news but am not going to dwell on it because it’s out of my control,” she continued in a tone brimming with self-assurance, not defeat. “That’s been the hardest thing to learn – to be ready for the unexpected but still continue to live.”

Now, over seven months later, it’s clear how unwaveringly committed she’s stayed to this presumptive and preternatural statement. The months that followed that October interview were anything but easy between the countless doctors appointments, invasive tests, procedures and treatments, nights of chronic pain, days of exhaustion and the fight to continue her education.

But a year of unanswered questions created an ability to accept. Her erratic health conditions forced her to adjust. Learning how to prepare for bad news facilitated an urge to continue forward.

As Calee hikes the remaining hundred yards to the rock where she has sought solitude several times before, she savors a moment of quiet observation at the view before her. It’s a magnificent outstretch of trees whose top branches peak out through a thick sea of clouds – so smooth and dense it’s as though they would hold the weight of your feet if you could just step out and walk across their soft surface.

She looks content. At peace. It’s clear that she has gained insight that is perhaps beyond the reach of most 20-something-year-olds.

Something that maybe has more to do with perspective than circumstance.

Something that might have to do with learning how to become more mindful of thought and more present in time.

Something perhaps about developing a new sense of consciousness – with a deeper devotion to acceptance and appreciation for resilience.

I eventually break the silence, curiosity gaining the best of me, and ask what she’s thinking about.

She glances back down the trail we just trekked up before resettling her gaze on the scene in front of us. She takes in a deep breath and beams.

As she slowly lets it out she breathes four simple words.

“I just did this.”

Follow Julianne Parker on Twitter @juliannedparker

This is the second in a four-part series exploring University of Oregon junior Calee Williams’ diagnosis of a transverse myelitis. Part three will be published online Wednesday. The final part will appear in Emerald Wknd on Thursday. You can read part one here.

October 2013 – The ticking time bomb

“I’m developing a brain tumor.”

The words linger in solitary for a moment. Calee collects her breath and smiles in annoyance at the tears that gather in the corner of her eyes.

“It’s a hard thing to understand. It’s too small to find in the MRIs right now, but they think it’s in my somatic cortex and that’s what’s causing my numbness,” she said.

Calee gestures at her body – something whose competence she no longer takes for granted.

It’s the day before Halloween and Eugene has finally begun to show evidence of its surrender to the cold winter months ahead. The campus café fills and empties of students whose regular routines are momentarily interrupted for a quick recess. Coffees are ordered and friends tuck themselves into familiar corner booths. A pair of similarly dressed women in colorful scarves and knit sweaters comment about their Halloween plans for the next night.

Calee watches as they pass the table – perhaps in envy of the inconsequentiality of their conversation, yet she shows no sign of grievance.

“This thing that’s growing in my brain – they can’t just take it out because they can’t find it yet,” she says from afar – distracted as she watches the women leave the café in a surge of laughter. “It’s like a ticking time bomb.”

Calee’s neurologist, Dr. Miguel Estevez, can’t confirm if there is a tumor growing in Calee’s brain with certainty. If there is, it’s at such a preliminary stage that it’s undetectable in an MRI scan and might take years to discover. But after hours of shock tests confirming that her nerve circuits aren’t properly connecting, he feels that the possibility of a brain tumor is the likely explanation of Calee’s perplexing symptoms.

For now, Calee can only wait.

November 2013 – The fight to stay enrolled

Calee sits cross-legged on a dark brown couch in her living room, sorting through a jumbled stack of medical records.  Her apartment’s temperature reflects the quickly approaching winter that brews outside the door, yet Calee still sits comfortably in her T-shirt, unaware of her chilly home.

“I haven’t been able to feel temperature in months,” she said. “I don’t have a sense of touch.”

Two identical black cats roam the single bedroom apartment, prowling underneath the thick dark curtains and pawing at their reflection on the glass door that looks out onto a soggy grass field. Rascal, the eldest of the two brothers, presses himself under her arms and into her lap, paws sliding out in either direction as they step on two separate hospital bills.

“Get out of here, Rascal,” she mutters as she shoves the cat, who lands on the floor with a flutter of papers. “There are all kinds of stuff in here,” she murmurs as she fans out the papers on the couch cushion.

Hospital records with their checkmark boxes and tedious, untranslatable language detail blood infusions, drug prescriptions, hospital exams, spinal taps, and MRI’s. And then there are the bills. Piles and piles of bills.

“The bills are stacking up,” she says with a shrug. “My mom won’t tell me the exact details anymore – she doesn’t want to stress me out. I know that my first visit cost about $120,000, but with insurance we only paid $12,000.”

As the appointments and treatments become more frequent and expensive, the financial stress pressured Calee’s mom to apply for disability for her daughter, though her request was denied last month.

“They basically said since I’m a functioning college student, I could also find a job,” Calee says. “So my mom wanted me to drop out of college and move home so I could qualify for disability.”

But Calee is determined to stay. Staying enrolled means a kind of future that no one in her family has yet to achieve. But it’s a daily fight between maintaining grades and convincing her mom to let her stay. Taking classes has become both a struggle and a privilege.

Her goals here are sharply focused. Despite the year’s setbacks, Calee is working toward a double major in anthropology and psychology. But her passion has always been athletics. She played several sports in high school but was forced to quit after a volleyball spike to her right temple caused a major concussion.

It was this experience that inspired her interest in sports psychology — not in the typical sense of the profession that uses psychology to increase optimal performance of athletes, but instead focusing on helping athletes understands and deal with the aftermath of a traumatic head injury.  She knows from her own experience that things such as memory loss, mental fatigue, physical pain, personality shifts or learning disabilities that arise post-concussion can benefit from psychological attention, which she hopes to provide for athletes one day.

The past year of various treatments and hospital visits has further enforced and encouraged this professional goal.

“At first, I just wanted to better understand my own conditions, but then I realized how much I enjoy trying to understand other people,” she says. “My friends always say I’m the caretaker.”

While her friends have played an important role in lifting her spirits as she continues her journey fighting transverse myelitis and enduring months of unanswered questions, they are also a large part of what Calee has had to sacrifice this year.

Evidence of a once gregarious college student line Calee’s walls in picture frames holding cherished photos of her family and friends. But Calee now lives alone. She’s in need of a secluded place to regain her strength. The apartment is dimly lit and quiet– a cozy den to accommodate the 16 hours of sleep she must get every day.

“I’m up for two hours, sleep for six, up for two, sleep for six,” she says, a hint of frustration breaking through her otherwise composed, cheerful tone. “It’s a full-time job.” She pauses and glances back at the documents spread out in her lap, regaining steady conviction in her voice.

“But I have to do what I can to stay alive.”

Read part one here.

This is the first in a four-part series exploring University of Oregon junior Calee Williams’ diagnosis of a transverse myelitis. Parts two and three will be published online Tuesday and Wednesday. The final part will appear in Emerald Wknd on Thursday.

May 2014 – By the riverbank

Look at Calee Williams. You might never guess the year she’s gone through. She’s the typical 20-year-old college student – long blonde hair pulled into a clip at the base of her skull, jeans, strappy sandals, backpack and cell phone in hand.

Today we walk along the footpath towards the river on a mid-May afternoon – a symbolic trail whose familiar trek brings back memories of the days when she struggled to complete the journey.

“Last summer I could only make it to the stop sign,” she says gesturing behind us. “Slowly each day I was able to walk a little farther – a little closer to the river – until I finally made it one day.”

But today she walks steadily. Focused. More surely than she had the morning we first met in October.

“It’s consistent,” Calee says gesturing to the river.

Consistency. A whimsical notion holding so much significance to someone whose past year has been filled with so many uncertainties.

She tells me the doctors have come to the end of the road for treatment – that they can only recommend she go to the Mayo Clinic for further testing to solve her case, but the treatment would likely be the same. She and her mom deliberated the possibility for weeks.

In the end, they decided against it.

“But what about answers?” I ask, agape by the conclusion of her story. “Don’t you still want to know what exactly is wrong?”

“Why?” she asks. “Now it’s been almost a year and I’ve made it. I’m still myself.”

July 12, 2013 – The sudden loss of feeling

The fire alarm rings. Hundreds of annoyed students gather their things and file out of the classroom. Calee can feel a migraine coming.

After the students reenter the classroom and continue their interrupted psychology exam, a sharp pain pierces through her head. The words on the exam begin floating out of order. They rearrange themselves into a series of unidentifiable characters.

Her legs are numb.

She panics. Turning in her uncompleted exam, she makes it outside of the classroom where she collapses. She’s taken to the hospital.

After hours in the ER’s grim waiting room, Calee’s name is finally called. With each tap of the doctor’s fingers Calee’s spine erupts into pain, her senses misfiring from one vertebra to the next down the length of her back.

Seven hours of poking and prodding, blood samples and a spinal tap leave the doctors bewildered. They exhaust a list of possible diagnoses and conclude nothing is wrong with her.

They send Calee home with a bottle of pain medications and no explanation for her sudden symptoms.

July 14, 2013 – Waiting for answers

Nothing can be wrong with her daughter.

Cindy Williams sits on the couch next to Calee as they watch a movie and eat chicken noodle soup like all the other times her youngest daughter was home sick with the flu. She had driven to Eugene for the weekend to take care of Calee after what was surely only a deceptive and brief response to the stress of college.

Her daughter gets up and walks to the kitchen to get a glass of water, and Cindy hears a crash. She spins around and sees Calee lying on the floor, shaking.

Until this moment Calee hasn’t felt scared. But as she lies on the floor and looks up to see her mom’s eyes brimmed with tears and mouth agape, she is.

By the time she and her mom get back to the E.R., she has lost feeling up to her neck. She is unable to speak.

By Tuesday Calee is paralyzed up to her rib cage.

The doctors run more tests, but have few answers for Calee and her mom.  As the days in the hospital wear on, the seriousness of her situation begins to sink in.

 “I remember thinking, ‘what are they looking for?’ It was scary when it finally hit me that whatever it was, was a lot more serious than what the doctors were telling me.”

Discussions of exploratory surgery, steroid injections and blood transfusions circulate over her hospital bed. She can’t speak, move or feel anything except for the stabbing pain in her spine when the pain meds wear off.

As the days wear by in the hospital and Calee grows weaker she redirects her attention to her mother.  Memories of the construction accident that took her father’s life when she was a child resurface, and fear of putting her mom through more grief is a constant burden.

“After my dad’s death I couldn’t act like a selfish kid – I didn’t want to cause my mom any more stress,” Calee remembers. “So I wouldn’t cry in front of her when I was in the hospital.”

But her mom knows better. Cindy spends over a week at her daughter’s bedside, encouraging and reassuring her, watching movies and doing puzzles. She watches as her daughter perks up anytime a nurse, doctor or friend visits her room – cheerful and positive, unwilling to let vulnerability surface.

“All the nurses said they’d never seen a patient so upbeat – that was a common thread that continued through her hospital phase,” her mom says with a short puff of laughter. “She’s always been the happiest kid.”

But unlike the guests who came and went, her mom sees past the façade. Her daughter is as scared, exhausted and confused as she is.

No one is giving them answers.

July 14-21, 2013 – Regaining strength

Calee’s body is shutting down. By mid-week she has lost feeling up to her neck.

It isn’t until the day her mom gives her a sponge bath one afternoon does the stress of the uncertainties come crashing down on Calee.

“A daughter should never have to be bathed by her mother,” Calee sobs to her mom. “You should never have to see me like this. You shouldn’t be worried about burying your own child.”

Cindy grips Calee’s arm and forces her daughter to look at her.

“I wish this wasn’t happening to you,” Cindy says, her eyes watery, but tone steady. “You don’t deserve this, but you’re the only one who could handle it.”

That night Calee can hear the familiar screams of the woman next-door – tormented by some unknown misery. Her fear for her own health is at times crippling, but the woman’s cries inspire a new perspective.

“You get selfish in the hospital and start thinking, ‘this is all about me,’ but seeing others was a reality check that maybe what was happening to me wasn’t as bad as other people.”

This realization marks a turning point for Calee. On her sixth day in the hospital her strength suddenly begins to improve.

“I wanted to walk again,” she says simply. “I didn’t want to be another statistic.”

But it’s an uphill battle. Her doctors are preparing her to accept that she might spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair. But Calee’s focused. Each day she shows slight signs of improvement until finally one afternoon a nurse helps her onto her feet and guides her down the hall with a walker.

“That was the happiest moment I had all week. I kept thinking, ‘I can walk!’” she remembers. “It was the first sign that I was starting to recover.

August 7, 2013 – Transverse myelitis

The lights are too bright. Her mom is trying to make small talk in a vain attempt to distract her daughter – but Calee isn’t listening.

Though her health has stabilized some, she still tires easily and has no physical sensation. She has a keen sense that the news wouldn’t be what she wanted to hear.

 Three soft raps on the door wake Calee from a trance.  Dr. ­­­­­Miguel Estevez enters his office and takes a seat in front of Calee and her mother.

A funky sci-fi tie hangs tightly around his neck – a playful staple to his wardrobe, which juxtaposes the somber expression he wears on his face.

He speaks with the carefully acquired patience of a doctor accustomed to delivering bad news. Slowly. Gently.

“You have transverse myelitis,” he says. “Your antibodies are attacking your system and shutting your body down.”

The room stills. His lips move, but Calee can no longer hear as Estevez explains the disease. Select words break into her silent world.

Surgery.

Possibility of paralysis.

Cousin disease to multiple sclerosis.

Her blood pulses through her veins in intense waves of heat flushing her face with warmth before draining the color from her cheeks in a daze of faintness.

She stares at the sci-fi tie – its colorful planets spotting the black fabric. She hears her mom asking questions. And suddenly, she’s in the car driving home.

Further visits provide insight into Calee’s newly diagnosed disease. Transverse myelitis, or TM, has symptoms that are nearly identical to multiple sclerosis. It’s a relatively rare inflammation disease that causes extensive damage to nerve fibers of the spinal cord.

Most cases, including Calee’s, are idiopathic – their cause is unknown.

But the disease results in viral infections, abnormal immune reactions, and insufficient blood flow through the blood vessels in the spinal cord. The nervous system scars, interrupting communication between the nerves in the spinal cord and the rest of the body, creating weakness of the arms and legs, localized lower back pain, sensory alteration and extreme fatigue.

While there is no effective cure for the disease, it is usually outgrown and until then, treatments exist to reduce spinal cord inflammation and manage and alleviate some symptoms.

Recovering from TM usually begins two to twelve weeks after the initial onset of symptoms and can last up to two years.

More often than not, transverse myelitis is a one-time occurrence, but approximately 10 percent of cases will relapse. Calee is one of those cases.

But several weeks after her diagnosis, the results from a series of shock tests are concerning Estevez even more than Calee’s disease. Her nerve circuits aren’t properly connecting and the sensations in her body aren’t recovering as they should.

He suspects something else – something unrelated to transverse myelitis.

He suspects something in her brain.

Continue to part two here.

Follow Julianne Parker on Twitter @juliannedparker

By Cailin Wolff

I won homecoming queen. I spoke at my high school graduation. I attend an incredible university. But none of that means a thing because in actuality I don’t know jack shit. This essay is the first in a never-ending installment of events where I realize I am 95 percent unaware of the affairs of the world. These are experiences that grab me by the shoulders/throat/ponytail and shake me rapidly/choke me wholeheartedly/yank me zealously. They taunt me for how little I know and cackle as I face palm.

Months ago I attended a memorial service for a classmate who passed away following a head injury. His family moved from Uzbekistan to Walnut Creek, Calif., just two years before the accident. I didn’t have the chance to get to know him, so I attended the memorial in hopes of learning about his life.

The memorial took place at a mosque a few towns over, alongside a busy street I drove down every time I went to Water World as a child (and as an adult). I had never been to a mosque nor did I know a thing about Islamic practices. I wore the dress I own specifically for funerals with tights underneath, just in case. As my friend and I drove past the mosque, I saw a group of men standing in the parking lot waiting for the service to begin. It looked fairly casual, so I chose to take off the tights, not wanting to look unfashionable. Because a thing like that matters when grieving.

I stood in the parking lot with the men until a woman approached me and asked me to follow her. I entered the side of the mosque for women. I did not know that was a thing. I was asked to take off my shoes. I did not know that was a thing, either.

Next a young woman politely requested I change because what I was wearing was inappropriate. She handed me a stack of bed sheets, which I put on as quickly as I could to cover up my blushing face and unsuitable outfit. When I say bed sheets, I’m not being a fashion snob.

I’m no Mugatu (“Zoolander” reference. That’s the knowledge I do have). The light pink floral sheets had been sewn into an abaya, covering me from head to toe with just a slit to see out of. Out of this slit, I looked at all the other women in headscarves made with elegant fabrics. Children laughed at me and some of the older women cracked a smile. The only other time I’ve felt so out of place is when I showed up to a frat two hours before the actual party and had to participate in brotherhood activities.

That day was the first time I heard the Quran. (You know, that religious book 1.6 billion people read.) I saw the side of Islam that is rarely shown in media-loving families, an accepting community and dank food. I met students in the English Language Development program at my school. Although this experience was valuable, it was not one hundredth as valuable as the life of my classmate.

I left the mosque more curious than a baby who just discovered it has arms.

Fast forward to winter class registration. Cailin, how about you take politics of the Middle East? OK, is it a red flag that all of your classes are 100 level and a 399? Nah, it will be chill.

Not chill. While I did sit solo for the first few weeks, it was obvious that my classmates were primarily senior political science majors. The only times I felt more out of place were that one time I wore bed sheets to a mosque, played flip cup as an honorary frat bro and middle school.

Similar to my first trip to the mosque, this class showed me that there is constantly information waiting to be learned. You know the feeling of being behind on reading? We’re all behind on reading all of the time. I suppose this is the “call to action” part of my essay.

Appreciate the complexity of the world and learn cool shit about it. What is colony collapse syndrome? Is Guantanamo Bay like Chesapeake Bay? Is Frogg ok? Research, bitch (“Breaking Bad” reference. Remember, I do know some things).

Shout out to Professor Malekafzali. Don’t think I’m writing this to get a higher grade —  I already switched to Pass/No Pass (but please, please pass me). Shout out to the Internet. Although I spend too much time surfing on you, I also can keep up to date on bees and lakeside vacation spots and Eugene comedians. Lastly, shout out to those who make the conscience effort to recognize ignorance is blissless.

Cheers to learning.

Former Interim Provost, Scott Coltrane, was appointed Thursday by President Michael Gottfredson as the Senior Vice President and Provost of the University of Oregon.

A national search for the university’s vice president and provost began in the spring of 2013, in which over 200 applicants were reviewed and eventually narrowed to 25 candidates for consideration. The 11 semi-finalists participated in a series of campus interviews and a public presentation.

From 2008 to 2013, Scott Coltrane served as dean of the College for Arts and Sciences at the University of Oregon before being selected as the interim provost last spring.

He earned his Ph.D. in sociology from the University of California, Santa Cruz in 1988, and was a professor of sociology for 20 years.

Coltrane’s familiarity with the campus is a strong asset for him as he transitions into his five-year-long term.

“A lot of [the job] is problem solving and bringing together the right people to solve those problems,” Coltrane said. “I won’t have to take a year getting to know the university because I already know it.”

According to Gottfredson, the underlying issue with the university has to do with finances and this will be at the core of Coltrane’s responsibilities.

“We’ve been in a process, in the last several years, of refinancing the university — finding new ways to support excellence, in light of the state withdrawing so much financial support form the university,” Gottfredson said.

Generating revenue to supplement where the state has “faltered its obligation to support higher education” is on the forefront of the issues Gottfredson and Coltrane will face in the near future.

“One of our strong missions is to provide access —very broad access— to the highest educational experience. We’re redoubling our efforts to assure that [the university] is affordable.”

Among many of the other foreseeable issues Coltrane plans to address with his new leadership position, retention rates, financial stability and tenured faculty are highly stressed on his agenda.

An essential part of Coltrane’s goals of balancing the rising cost of tuition will include seeking financial grants, convincing the state to continue its investments, hiring strong faculty and seeking outside private funding.

“We need to look at the cost of education and we have to consider not burdening our students with tuition,” Coltrane said.

Above all, Coltrane stressed the importance of hiring quality faculty as the university continues to grow in size and status — one of the primary responsibilities of his new position.

“We’re a research university that thrives because our faculty are the creators of knowledge,” he said. “We are decentralized in that we trust faculty to come up with right research questions and to prepare students for jobs that don’t exist yet.”

It’s Sept. 21 and Irene Awino’s eighth day in the U.S. She’s up early and begins her morning with a quick scan of the day’s headlines. The words isolate themselves on the page:

Nairobi.

Terror attack.

Westgate shopping mall.

Gunmen.

She calls her husband. Somewhere in the 9,230 miles between them, the connection is broken.

On this day, as an internal terrorist attack occurs at a mall Irene and her family frequently visit, everything she’s sacrificed to come here no longer matters. But when the news of her family’s safety reaches her, she becomes more determined than ever to continue her education in the U.S. and return to Kenya to be a driving force for political peace and progress.

Awino grew up in a village called Siaya, just north of Kisumu, the third largest town in Kenya. Though currently a greatly impoverished region of the country, Awino believes the town is sitting on a gold mine of untapped resources and unlimited potential. One day she will return to her home village to run for political office but for now she’s focused on her education.

“I wanted a quality education and to improve my prospects for getting a better job,” she said. Her words trail off in a tone of self-critical hesitance as her gaze meets the edge of the table in front of her. She pauses. “I tell myself it was a worthy sacrifice.”

She came to University of Oregon this September to enroll in the media studies master’s program after earning a similar degree in communication studies from the University of Nairobi in 2007.

Upon earning her first degree, she worked in the editorial departments of several leading East African dailies for six years but always dreamed of something more.

That’s when she met Leslie Steeves.

Steeves is the associate dean for graduate affairs and research in the School of Journalism and Communication.

Steeves has worked, studied and traveled in various countries in West and East Africa, including teaching for a year at the University of Nairobi in 1991. A former colleague recommended Awino to Steeves, and after months of communication, Steeves helped Awino obtain a scholarship to enroll in the master’s program this year.

“In Kenya there’s no university that offers the same quality of doctoral-level coursework that she can get here,” Steeves said. “So hopefully people like Irene can go back to build those types of programs and take what she learns here back to Kenya.”

Awino’s passion for journalism stems from her dreams of influencing her hometown, where she believes media illiteracy is one of the biggest obstacles the country faces in creating responsive leadership. When she returns to Nairobi she will first become a communications professor, as media professors in Kenya are few and far between.

Eventually, she also hopes to build a communications research center in Kisumu to help citizens better understand their rights and boost civic engagement in the local and national government.

“The media system is very political back home,” she said. “Politics are not about ideologies, but ethnicity. As journalists, we put our loyalty with our tribes.”

These journalistic practices are why Awino is passionate about pushing Kenya’s media to be less responsive to politically set agendas and create a press more tenacious in its pursuit of full independence.

The end goal for Awino is to run for local governor.

“I don’t know where this interest in politics came from,” Awino said. “But there are a lot of issues that need the right leadership, and I know the issues that affect the people of Kisumu.”

Despite her enthusiasm to be studying in the U.S., the sacrifices Awino had to make to be here far surpass the average college student. The trajectory to pursue a Ph.D. may keep Irene away from her husband and two young children, who are back home in Nairobi, for up to five years.

“The time I’ve been here has not been easy,” Awino said. As if finally succumbing to the exhaustion of the last four months, her chin lowers and her gaze once again retreats downward. “I feel like I’m doing a lot of injustice to my sons by leaving them there.”

She returned home to Nairobi on Dec. 6 to spend time with her family but is now back for winter term to resume her studies. Her next step is to bring her children and husband here to the U.S.

“There are students here with families,” she said, repetitively pressing her index finger into the table. “I realized I can have them here. If I can’t bring them here I won’t continue with the education. I’m supposed to be with my children.”

But to go home would mean giving up a dream that Awino has waited years to pursue and opportunities that an American university could open up for her professional career. She knows she won’t give up without a fight — there’s too much she owes to her home country.

“I want to give back to the people of Kisumu,” she said. “They deserve better.”

Oregon United for Marriage, a coalition of organizations with the same end goal, is in the process of getting Oregon voters to sign the petition to put the Freedom to Marry and Religious Protection Initiative on the November 2014 ballot.  

In order for the initiative to go on the ballot, Oregon United for Marriage must gather 116,284 valid signatures from registered Oregon voters.

As of last weekend, a total of 118,176 signatures have been collected, according to Colin Crader, state chair for Oregon United for Marriage. However, not all signatures will be valid. Crader said that their goal is to collect between 30 and 50 thousand more signatures by July 2014. 

Students United for Marriage, part of Oregon United for Marriage, have formed campaigns at Portland State University, Oregon State University and the University of Oregon. In total, these three universities have collected 6,000 signatures for the campaign.

If the initiative goes on the ballot and voters pass it, Oregon would join the 16 other states in the nation that allow same-sex marriage. It would also protect the right of religious institutions to refuse to perform a marriage.

In addition, it would overturn measure 36, a constitutional ban on gay marriage passed in 2004 that explicitly outlines that marriage in Oregon is between one man and one woman.

The campaign is endorsed by the Democratic Party of Oregon as well as other businesses. In October the Portland Timbers, Portland Thorns and Portland Trail Blazers all were the first professional sports teams in the U.S. to publicly endorse same-sex marriage. Last month, Nike announced its support of the initiative and formed the Nike Equality PAC to raise money for the campaign. So far they have given $280,000 to Oregon United for Marriage. 

A Public Policy Polling from December 2012 showed that 54 percent of Oregon voters are in support of same-sex marriage, 40 percent do not support it and five percent are unsure.

“Now is our moment,” said Peter Zuckerman, press secretary for Oregon United for Marriage. “Especially for students. It’s a historic time and people who want to make a difference, people who believe in treating others as they would want to be treated, people who want to be part of history, now is their chance.”  

Since 2008, Oregon has allowed broad domestic-partnerships between same-sex couples. Domestic-partnerships offer the same rights and benefits, but none of the federal protections of marriage.

“Marriage says family in a way that no other word does,” Zuckerman said. “Marriage matters. There have been attempts to create marriage, like relationship systems, but they don’t provide the same protection or meaning. You don’t have to explain what it means when you are married.”

Kay Mellenphin and her husband Clark Compton have been volunteers with Oregon United for Marriage since this summer. Inspired to provide equality, they set up a committee within their church, the First Congregational United Church of Christ in Eugene, to raise more support community members.  

“We believe that it is important for the faith community, specifically in Eugene, that’s in support of gay and lesbians to get married to speak out as loudly and as sincerely as faith communities that oppose same gender marriage,” Mellenphin said.

University of Oregon President Michael Gottfredson on Monday issued a statement on the snowball fight that went viral over the weekend.

In an email Gottfredson sent out to the entire student body, he stated that the UO Police Department, the Office of the Dean of Students and other campus officials are investigating the snowball incident that occurred on Dec. 6, which was captured on video and posted on YouTube. The video garnered attention everywhere from NBC’s Today to The New York Daily News and even reached the No. 2 spot on Reddit Saturday night.

“We have identified several of the individuals involved as UO students and are determining appropriate disciplinary actions to be taken in accordance with the university’s established policies and protocols,” the statement read. “In cases where those involved are student-athletes, additional disciplinary action is being carried out by the Athletics Department.”

After speaking with the drivers of the vehicles shown in the video — an emeritus faculty member, Sherwin Simmons, and another staff member — UOPD, Dean of Students Paul Shang and football head Mark Helfrich released a public statement:

“The University of Oregon takes the conduct of its students seriously. Consequences are clear for those whose actions reflect poorly upon the university or violate its standards for student behavior. However, until the facts of the snowball-throwing incident are sorted out, it would be premature to speculate about any potential outcomes in this case.”

Shang’s full statement is available here.

“As president, I assure you that the University of Oregon will not stand for behavior that threatens the safety of our campus or violates our code of conduct,” the statement continued. “This unacceptable incident is not being taken lightly, and we continue to take swift, appropriate action to address the matter.”

Here’s the full text of Gottfredson’s statement:

Members of the Campus Community:

On Friday, a short video was posted to YouTube depicting an incident in which several individuals inappropriately interfered with two vehicles attempting to drive through a snowball fight on our campus.

The UO Police Department responded to the situation quickly, and in concert with the Office of the Dean of Students and other campus officials began an immediate investigation of the incident. We have identified several of the individuals involved as UO students and are determining appropriate disciplinary actions to be taken in accordance with the university’s established policies and protocols. In cases where those involved are student-athletes, additional disciplinary action is being carried out by the Athletics Department.

Over the weekend, the UO Police Department, Dean of Students Paul Shang, and Coach Mark Helfrich spoke with the motorists seen in the video, an emeritus faculty member and a current staff member. Dean Shang issued a public statement on Saturday that read, in part:

“The University of Oregon takes the conduct of its students seriously. Consequences are clear for those whose actions reflect poorly upon the university or violate its standards for student behavior. However, until the facts of the snowball-throwing incident are sorted out, it would be premature to speculate about any potential outcomes in this case.”

Dean Shang’s full statement, as well as other statements regarding the university’s response to this incident, will be posted on the UO Communications website as they become available.

As president, I assure you that the University of Oregon will not stand for behavior that threatens the safety of our campus or violates our code of conduct. This unacceptable incident is not being taken lightly, and we continue to take swift, appropriate action to address the matter.

Regards,

Michael Gottfredson, President

Sherwin Simmons was on his way to the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art to donate some of his old paintings on Friday afternoon when he drove his gray sedan down University Street. The retired art history professor was late, but drove slowly on the snow-covered asphalt. As he neared Johnson Lane, he noticed the street was lined with students — dozens of them. They shouted and started closing in on him, surrounding the car and forcing Simmons to stop.

University of Oregon student Liana Lis was at the snowball fight that UO football players organized to celebrate the first snowfall of the year. She witnessed as participants redirected their aim — rather than chucking snowballs at each other, they focused on passing cars, bicyclists and pedestrians traveling down University Street.

“At the time I had been in the snowball fight it was cool because the people who were there wanted to participate,” Lis said. “But then they started throwing them at cars and I had the gut instinct it was just wrong.”

The first snowball hit Simmons’ car like a fist pounding against the window, followed by a surge of many more. Suddenly, he was blinded by a thick blanket of snow covering his windshield as students pushed snow from his roof across the front of the car.

Simmons figured students would cease fire if he stepped out of the car and they saw a 68-year old retiree standing in front of them.

They didn’t.

“I just decided maybe if I get out, they’ll see that I’m 60 years old and I’m a human being,” Simmons said.

The moment he opened his car door, Oregon tight end Pharaoh Brown tossed a bucket-full of snow into Simmons’ face.

Journalism major Tommy Pittenger, who also works for The Emerald’s business department, caught the incident on video. It was posted on YouTube by the Emerald, gaining rapid momentum and spreading across news and social media platforms. The video eventually took the No. 2 spot on Reddit and it’s received more than 1.8 million views on YouTube.

All of that attention and the criticism it inspired has led the university to launch an official investigation.

The University of Oregon Police Department and various university departments, including the athletic department, are working together to identify the people shown and review the conduct depicted in the video to determine possible disciplinary action.

“As far as I can tell, the person in the vehicle was just going about lawful business as a driver and wasn’t asking to be in the situation,” UOPD Communications Officer Kelly McIver said.  “It’s one thing to have fun with people who agree to do that and another to involve people who are unwilling.”

Head football coach Mark Helfrich also chimed in with a written statement, as some of the students involved are believed to be the football players who organized the snowball fight.

“On Saturday, I was made aware of an incident that occurred Friday afternoon during the snow day involving multiple Oregon students including members of the football team,” he wrote. “The behavior exhibited in the video is completely unacceptable and dangerous. We take this matter very serious and disciplinary actions have begun.”

After watching the video, UO psychology professor Sara Hodges recognized a typical pattern in the crowd’s behavior, something commonly understood as what’s known as crowd psychology.

“A crowd can be a pretty powerful force when you’re caught up and not thinking of yourself as an individual,” Hodges said. “People might do things they wouldn’t normally do without a crowd’s influence.”

Hodges described the behavior as de-individuation, the social psychological phenomenon that occurs when an individual loses self-awareness in a group setting. Persons in a de-individuated crowd can begin thinking of themselves as part of a group that’s throwing snow and stop thinking of the consequences of their individual relationship with the person in the car who’s not part of the game.

But crowd de-individuation does not always have negative outcomes.

“When cheering at a football game, you’re not thinking of yourself as an individual,” Hodges said. “You’re contributing to something bigger than yourself.”

In this case, Simmons was clearly not a voluntary participant in the activities.

As Simmons exited the car, several snowballs were chucked at him, hitting his jacket and the side of his face. He attempted to talk to several students but with little resolution — no student would admit to involvement when singled out.

“I was disoriented and all I wanted to do was ask why they were doing this and to ask them to please stop,” he said. “That’s it.”

In the background of the video, little can be heard over the cheering, laughing and shouting coming from the crowd surrounding Simmons.

Hodges explained the cheering as a possible motivating factor for the students involved in the snowball fight.

“The crowd is in this mode of cheering people on,” she said. “There’s almost a social reward for participating and being a part of the fun.”

Hodges distinguished several other factors that may have contributed to the progression of what began as a friendly snowball fight and escalated into an aggressive and potentially dangerous situation for the retired professor.

The rare heavy snowfall in Eugene on Friday may have created a situation so unfamiliar to students that they didn’t recognize appropriate behavior, according to Hodges. A university in a snow-heavy location, like Colorado, for example, may have established norms that make an incident like this much more rare.

Other universities across the nation have faced similar issues when fresh snow hits the ground. In 2009, students at East Carolina University organized a snowball fight with more than 200 participants that led to local officers using pepper spray. Earlier this year, a student at Boston University who allegedly threw a snowball at a campus officer was chased down, arrested and charged with disorderly conduct. But in that case, the Boston student also pelted a police officer with a snowball.

Hodges also said that the physical veil the layers of winter clothes created for individuals, paired with the excitement of school closing at 2 p.m. with many people still on campus created an arousing atmosphere where all bets were suddenly off.

Simmons also recognized the crowd’s mentality, expressing relief that he didn’t panic behind the wheel and step on the gas. He feels that could have been an instinctual reaction for some.

“When someone stops a car and stands in front of it, you don’t really know what might happen,” he said. “But the idea that I was parked in my car and would joyfully take part in a snowball fight at 68 years old is absurd.”

Ever since the video began to spread, Simmons has heard from many former students from across the country and world, reflective of the attention it has received. Simmons has made it clear that he has no intention of pressing charges.

“I have confidence that the reaction of the university given what has happened will be proportional,” Simmons said. “It will consider these young people and their futures and will also, I hope, suggest to them that they need to rethink behavior like that.”

Follow Julianne Parker on Twitter @julianneparker

Sherwin Simmons the retired University of Oregon professor, who was pelted by students with snowballs on Friday, told The Emerald that he is not pressing charges today.

“I have confidence that the reaction of the university given what has happened will be proportional,” Simmons said. “It will consider these young people and their futures and will also, I hope, suggest to them that they need to rethink behavior like that.”

Simmons was on his way to the campus museum, the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art around 3 p.m. on Dec. 6 to donate several of his own paintings to the museum’s collection. As he drove north on University Street, his car was blocked by a group of students who were participating in a UO football team organized snowball fight.

“Someone started banging on the car and it was like the snowballs were fists hitting the car,” Simmons said. “Then I was blinded by people both tossing snow on the window and racking snow off the roof. They were out of control.”

Not wanting to injure any surrounding students by driving any farther, Simmons put his car in park and got out.

“I decided maybe if I get out, they’ll see that I’m 60 years old and I’m a human being,” Simmons said. “I was disoriented and all I wanted to do was ask why they were doing this and to please stop.”

Immediately after Simmons opened the door of his car, somebody dumped snow out of a bucket into the driver’s seat. He expressed his belief, however, that these actions were a reflection of mob mentality, not individual character.

“People were cheering when snow was thrown into my car,” Simmons said. “I don’t think people do that except under some sort of psychological mechanism that comes with people feeling they have permission because other people are doing it, and to act in a way they maybe wouldn’t act individually.”

Simmons spoke with several students who he says denied having been a part of the snowball attack on him and his car. He returned to his car and proceeded to the museum where he alerted security to call the University of Oregon Police Department to monitor the situation.

As Simmons left the museum and proceeded back up University Street, three cop cars and about six UOPD officers had arrived at the scene of the snowball fight.

“I just rolled down the window and said, ‘Thanks for coming here,’ because I was hoping no one would have happen to them what happened to me.”

Continuing coverage of the snowball fight and its consequences can be found on our topics page.

Follow Julianne Parker on Twitter @julianneparker