[nabs-l] Fwd: [Blindmath] Blind Ambition: Tim Cordes one of the fewsightless doctors in the country

[Nicole B. Torcolini]

I like the part about the guide dog.  That's kind of my joke:
Sighted people can drive at 16, blind people can get a guide dog at 16.

----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Mary Fernandez" <trillian551 at gmail.com>
To: "National Association of Blind Students mailing list" 
<nabs-l at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Monday, June 07, 2010 10:50 AM
Subject: [nabs-l] Fwd: [Blindmath] Blind Ambition: Tim Cordes one of the 
fewsightless doctors in the country


---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: "Lankford, Corinne" <corinne.lankford at vanderbilt.edu>
Date: Mon, 7 Jun 2010 11:49:09 -0500
Subject: [Blindmath] Blind Ambition: Tim Cordes one of the few
sightless doctors in the country
To:

Great inspiring story!
http://host.madison.com/ct/news/local/health_med_fit/article_2699c69d-668f-5eea-9410-6f7f29b0befa.html

Blind ambition: Tim Cordes one of the few sightless doctors in the country

TODD FINKELMEYER | The Capital Times | tfinkelmeyer at madison.com |
Posted: Wednesday, June 2, 2010 5:20 am | (4)
Comments<http://host.madison.com/ct/news/local/health_med_fit/article_2699c69d-668f-5eea-9410-6f7f29b0befa.html?mode=comments>
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[cid:image002.gif at 01CB0637.20061AB0]<http://pictopia.com/perl/ptp/madison?photo_name=2699c69d-668f-5eea-9410-6f7f29b0befa&title=Dr.%20Tim%20Cordes%20main%20&t_url=http://bloximages.chicago2.vip.townnews.com/host.madison.com/content/tncms/assets/editorial/8/89/524/889524d2-6d6f-11df-81f0-001cc4c002e0.image.jpg?_dc=1275391169&fs_url=http://bloximages.chicago2.vip.townnews.com/host.madison.com/content/tncms/assets/editorial/8/89/524/889524d2-6d6f-11df-81f0-001cc4c002e0.hires.jpg?_dc=1275391169&pps=buynow>UW's
Tim Cordes ignored the naysayers to become one of the few sightless
doctors in the country. STEVE APPS -- State Journal
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(1) More 
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It's not uncommon for co-workers to stumble upon Tim Cordes sitting in the 
dark.

"I couldn't function in the dark, but he 'sees,'" says Dr. Nancy
Barklage, who recalls entering a room prior to a UW Health staff
meeting, turning on the lights and finding Cordes quietly working on
his laptop while waiting for others to arrive. "I've experienced this
a number of times now and it still kind of puts you into his reality."

Cordes is blind.

As an infant, he was diagnosed with Leber's disease, a rare
degenerative condition of the retina that gradually steals one's
sight. Cordes still remembers one of the first times he heard someone
trying to explain how his impending blindness would affect his life.
"Your son can be president of the United States, but he's never going
to fly a plane or drive a car," an ophthalmologist explained to his
parents when Cordes was about 7.

"And as a young boy who liked planes and cars, that was one of my
first indications that things wouldn't necessarily go smoothly," says
Cordes. "That made me sad."

He never did fly a plane or drive a car. In fact, when most of his
friends in Cedar Falls, Iowa, were learning to drive, a 16-year-old
Cordes got his first guide dog, a German shepherd named Electra.

But Cordes didn't shrink from life. He's now a 34-year-old
trailblazing physician who is wrapping up the third year of a
four-year residency program with UW-Madison's department of
psychiatry.

"He has overcome challenges that most of us have just never been faced
with," says Barklage, an associate professor of psychiatry who has
supervised Cordes' work at UW Health's Psychiatric Institute and
Clinic the past three years.

Cordes has been reticent to share his story, not wanting to become a
poster boy for overcoming visual disabilities. But he's slowly
becoming more at ease telling his inspirational tale. Earlier this
spring, the husband and father of two young boys wowed 450 members of
the Madison Civics Club with a speech at Monona Terrace titled, "How I
See Possibilities." In July, he'll give a similar talk in Dallas at
the National Federation of the Blind's annual convention. And he
contributed a chapter for a book to be published later this summer by
the Association of American Medical Colleges that is designed to guide
medical schools in accommodating students with disabilities. Cordes'
chapter deals with the use of service animals.

"Thirteen years ago, I was knocking on a lot of closed doors," Cordes
says of his struggles to have medical schools seriously consider him
as a candidate for admittance. "So the fact a book is coming out
describing the issues people with disabilities face and ways to
accommodate them, I think is tremendous progress."

Cordes was valedictorian of his class at the University of Notre Dame
in 1998, posting a 3.99 GPA while earning an undergraduate degree in
biochemistry and conducting research on antibiotics. He then was
accepted into the UW School of Medicine and Public Health's medical
scientist training program, completing the notoriously challenging
sequence that requires a student to finish both medical school and a
Ph.D.-level research program.

Over the years, Cordes also earned black belts in jujitsu and tae kwon
do, carried the Olympic torch during its cross-country journey to the
Salt Lake City Games in 2002, and developed computer software that
uses a number of musical instruments, varying tones and left-right
speakers to allow those with vision problems to conceptualize and
study protein structures.

Despite these made-for-the-big-screen qualities to his life, Cordes
remains leery of being put on a pedestal: "I look forward to a world
where people with disabilities do what they can and what they want,
and it's not exciting or it's not different."

Dr. Brad Schwartz still remembers the paperwork Cordes forwarded to
the UW Medical School when applying to the medical scientist training
program.

While most attempting to head down this path are high achievers,
Schwartz says Cordes stood out from the pack due to his Medical
College Admission Test scores, 3.99 GPA in a demanding major and his
interesting research on antibiotics. It was a reference letter from a
Notre Dame researcher, however, that floored Schwartz, who was
director of the program in the spring of 1998.

"It's just this incredible, glowing letter," says Schwartz, now the
dean of the University of Illinois-Urbana's College of Medicine. "And
then you get to the last line, and it says, 'This is all the more
remarkable because Tim is blind.' We're all thinking, 'Oh my God!'"

Schwartz says his admissions review committee agreed Cordes was a
"one-in-a-million" candidate and assumed "every program in the country
would be fighting to get him because he was so remarkable."

But that wasn't the case. In fact, Cordes applied to eight schools,
but no one else showed interest. During one med school exit interview,
doctors and researchers at a rival Big Ten Conference institution made
it clear to Cordes, who has only a limited amount of light perception,
that there was no way a blind student could complete the school's
required coursework and rotations to earn a medical degree.

Cordes doesn't appear bitter about these rejections, but his mother,
Therese Cordes, acknowledges it was a difficult time for her son. "To
have someone tell Tim he's not good enough, despite all he
accomplished, was very, very tough on him," she says.

Even at UW-Madison, those close to the situation say some top medical
school administrators were adamantly opposed to admitting Cordes.
Concerns centered on two factors: the cost to make all the necessary
accommodations for a blind student; and the fear that the Association
of American Medical Colleges might frown on a school admitting a
student who couldn't see.

In the end, Schwartz stood his ground against the naysayers and Cordes
was ultimately one of 143 students earning a slot in med school out of
2,300 who applied. Although no official records are kept and there are
various scales to measure the extent of vision loss, published reports
in 1998 indicated Cordes was only the second blind person ever
admitted to a U.S. medical school. The first was David Hartman, a 1976
Temple grad and psychiatrist in Virginia whom Cordes considers a role
model.

Some members of the Medical School were guarded about Cordes' chances
of success at first, says Schwartz. "But I can tell you, each year
that he went along he won over more and more people," he says. In the
years to come, Cordes would learn the lessons and complete the tasks
asked of every other doctor-in-training.

In the classroom, he used books on tape and in Braille to learn the
fundamentals. He also relied heavily on a computer that could read
downloaded texts and e-mails at a blistering 500 words per minute -
something Cordes can easily understand but would sound like gibberish
to someone accustomed to normal-paced speech. The university also
provided him with a machine - "It looks a little like an Easy-Bake
oven," says Cordes - that makes raised-line drawings so he could
interpret images using his sense of touch.

In the lab, he helped dissect a human cadaver and used his fingers to
identify the various nerves, muscles and organs. "I was the guy who
reached into the chest and pulled out the lungs," says Cordes. When it
came to hospital rotations, he helped deliver babies (earning Student
of the Year honors in the obstetrics and gynecology rotation),
observed surgery - "I felt blood flowing through an aorta" - and
intubated patients during an anesthesiology rotation.

The school also hired "visual describers" to tag along with Cordes and
his seeing-eye dog to help Cordes read paper charts or act as his eyes
during a physical exam. In 2004, he earned the title of medical
doctor.

His Ph.D. work centered on biomolecular chemistry and the makeup of
proteins, a field that relies heavily on colorful, computer-generated
models of complex molecular structures. Out of necessity, Cordes wrote
a computer program that replicates the 3-D images using a range of
audio tones and surround-sound speakers, allowing him to "visualize"
the proteins in his head. In 2007 he earned his Ph.D.

Although Cordes isn't one to puff out his chest and say "I told you
so," he is proud of the fact he never allowed others to squash his
dreams. "Choosing to ignore what other people say, when they say it
can't be done, is a powerful tool," says Cordes.

When Cordes started his medical school journey more than a decade ago,
he had no desire to work directly with patients. Research was his
passion, and the medical scientist training program is designed to
develop people who can bridge the gap between basic research and
clinical work.

"I think it was just intellectual curiosity," Cordes said of the
research-first focus.

But while working his way through the various rotations during his
third year of medical school, Cordes started to zero in on a specialty
and re-think his career options. He knew he couldn't be a radiologist
but thought any other area was up for grabs. A four-week psychiatry
rotation at the William S. Middleton Memorial Veterans Hospital stood
out.

"I was lucky and had a really great psychiatrist running the ward I
was on," Cordes says of Dr. Tony Braus. "Some of the patients we saw
there really got better in a relatively short time, and we could see
some improvements in people."

While he enjoyed interacting with the patients, Cordes also saw the
potential to conduct groundbreaking research in the study and
treatment of mental disorders. "There is just a lot we don't know," he
says. "In other places of medicine, some of the more fundamental
questions have been asked and answered, but in psychiatry we are just
starting to ask them."

So after earning his M.D. and Ph.D., Cordes in 2007 entered a
four-year, psychiatry research track residency program, which allows
him to spend time working with patients and conducting research.
Although he notes there has been no single "ah-ha" moment, Cordes says
it's becoming clear his desire to work as a clinician and teacher of
future doctors is stronger than his drive to focus solely on research.

Cordes' typical week currently consists of two-and-a-half days at the
Veterans Hospital, where he helps supervise the medical interns in an
inpatient psychiatry unit, and one full day of outpatient care at a UW
Health clinic in University Research Park, where he oversees more than
100 patients. He also spends a half-day attending lectures and gets
one full day for research. His research mainly consists of mining data
and searching for interesting patterns using the Midlife Development
in the United States
survey<http://www.icpsr.umich.edu/icpsrweb/ICPSR/series/00203>, which
examines the lives of people ages 30 to 70 in such areas as physical
health, psychological well-being and factors that might lead to mental
illness.

At the Veterans Hospital, he also worked on a clinical trial
systematically rating symptoms in patients with post-traumatic stress
disorder.

While he has a proven track record as a researcher, Cordes is also
earning kudos as a clinician.

"In psychiatry, part of what we do is getting to know patients,
establishing a rapport and trying to understand what's going on with
them so we can help them out," says Art Walaszek, the residency
training director for UW-Madison's department of psychiatry. "And Tim
just has an incredible, natural ability to put people at ease and
communicate and listen to them. I don't know exactly how he does it,
but he just has this awareness of what's going on with the patient."

Body language and expressions often convey information to therapists,
but Cordes is able to pick up on these cues despite his sight
limitations. He says he's "gotten good at listening to people - not
just what they're saying but hearing how their body moves or what
direction they're talking in."

Colleagues say they can't recall an instance in which a patient did
not want to be seen by Cordes because he is blind. In fact, says
Braus, Cordes' disability seemingly allows him to more easily connect
with patients.

"It's almost like Tim has more credibility with some patients," says
Braus, who today works at the VA's outpatient clinic. "Tim knows what
it means to recover from something or to be able to compensate or
overcome a problem. People at some level seem to relate to that."

It's not easy keeping pace with Cordes - even if you can see.

With sprinkles just starting to fall one dreary spring morning, Cordes
and Vance - his loyal guide dog for the past nine years - walk briskly
from the bus stop to his office.

The ride from near his home on Madison's East Side to UW Health's
Psychiatric Institute and Clinic, which is across town in University
Research Park, takes about 40 minutes - not bad considering Cordes has
to transfer buses on the UW-Madison campus. The jaunt from the final
stop to the clinic takes about five minutes at a quick pace. Somehow,
Cordes narrowly misses several potholes on the driveway leading to his
office. Those who have watched Cordes for years insist he has some
sort of internal radar.

"He has this like, Zen, where he can walk through the living room and
not step on all my son's trains," says his wife, Blue-leaf, a native
of India and a 1994 Madison East grad who met Cordes while
interviewing for the M.D.-Ph.D. program, which she also completed. "I
don't know how he does it without falling and hurting himself."

Before long, Cordes is heading up a set of stairs leading to a back
entrance of the clinic. He scans his security badge to gain entry to
the facility; it's just past 7 a.m.

Using his sharp memory and displaying complete trust in Vance, Cordes
quickly moves down a hall to his office, drops off his jacket and
backpack, and heads back down a hallway to separate locked rooms that
house medical records and the mail. He intuitively slides his hand
over the keypad security system, and quickly taps out the code.
Inside, Braille labels allow him to promptly grab the correct patient
records and mail.

Back in his office, he sets the papers neatly on his desk before
flipping open his laptop and scanning through e-mails using
screen-reading software that ticks off the messages in quick order.
Like clockwork, Jeanne Harris, one of Cordes' visual describers,
arrives in the office at 7:10 a.m. to read over any faxed-in requests
for prescription refills or hand-written notes, charts or surveys
Cordes can't read himself. (For many printed materials, he can take a
picture of a document with his smart phone, and a program will read it
to him.)

Ten minutes later, the paperwork is cleared, Vance is resting on the
floor in the office, and Cordes is preparing for a day of
numbers-crunching research on his computer.

It's easy to be impressed by how efficiently Cordes operates, but he
wishes others would view it as ordinary. "Just like you, I have a job
to do and I figured out how to do it," he explains. "To me, it's
gratifying how profoundly routine this all seems at times."

Even those closest to Cordes - the ones who have never doubted his
potential - confess it's difficult to view this all as merely routine.

Therese Cordes still has vivid memories from three decades ago when
she put a 2-year-old Tim in the car and drove him to meet with the
University of Iowa's highly regarded pediatric ophthalmologists. The
experts there gave her little hope, rattling off a list of things her
only son would never be able to do.

"I cried all the way home," says Therese, "and then decided to forget
everything they told me."

Tim Cordes credits his mother for being a rock of emotional support
over the years, while his father, an engineer, was pragmatically
supportive - the problem-solver and the one who helped Tim get up to
speed with many of the technological gizmos he relies on.

It also didn't hurt that Cordes was being pushed by two older,
successful sisters, both of whom were valedictorians of their high
school class (Tim finished as runner-up during his senior year) before
also moving on to Notre Dame.

Earlier this spring, Therese Cordes was in tears again after her son
got a standing ovation following his riveting speech to the Madison
Civics Club. "He's inspirational," said the proud mother.

What, exactly, the future holds for Cordes isn't clear. After he
completes the four-year residency program in July of 2011, he's
considering additional training so he can help people with drug
addiction problems. Another option is to land a position working with
military veterans suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and
severe brain injuries, work Cordes enjoys and finds rewarding.

No matter what direction Cordes ultimately decides to push his career,
he has no intention of becoming part of what he calls "today's
risk-averse society."

"I went to a playground with my son and I found out what passes for a
teeter-totter these days," he explained during his civics club speech.
"It's a U-shaped, spring-loaded contraption that assures nobody gets
too high off the ground or nobody comes down too hard."

Cordes adds proudly: "I learned to swing on monkey bars - which I
could not see well - over asphalt. I learned that if you fall it
hurts, so you try not to fall. But it's still worth swinging."


Corinne Lankford
EAD Disability Services Specialist
New office title name:  "Equal Opportunity, Affirmative Action, and
Disability Services Department"
Vanderbilt University

GPS Address:        110 21st Ave. S., Nashville, TN 37203
Office Location:   Baker Building, Ste. 108
Internal Mail:       PMB 401809
Office Number:    615-322-4705
Fax Number:        615-343-0671
EAD Website:       www.vanderbilt.edu/ead

* This message may contain confidential or privileged information.  If
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-- 
Mary Fernandez
Emory University 2012
P.O. Box 123056
Atlanta Ga.
30322
Phone: 732-857-7004
"Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the
most accessible and wisest of counselors, and the most patient of
teachers."
Charles W. Eliot



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