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Shooting survivors share a struggle Shootings in Washington that end in death are often publicized, but the stories of those who survive and end up in wheelchairs are seldom told.
April 30, 2012
Ismail Watkins, 32, who goes by the nickname Ish, sits in his living room in Southeast Washington. Ish was shot in the neck in 1998. He, along with other gunshot victims, are regular attendees of the Urban Re-Entry Group, which meets once a week at Washington's MedStar National Rehabilitation Hospital.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
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May 21, 2012
Ish walks from his living room to his bedroom with the help of a walker. A while after he began using a wheelchair, he noticed feeling in his legs. Years later, after much therapy, a physical therapist put a brace on his right leg, which was weaker than his left, told him to hold onto parallel bars and watched as he took his first unsteady steps. "That was a good moment," Ish says. "I didn't let anyone know, but I was really happy inside."
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
May 21, 2012
Ish rests on his walker, tired after walking from his living room to his bedroom. He was shot in 1998, at the age of 18, during what he describes as an attempted robbery. One bullet grazed his head. Another ripped through his neck. When he awoke in a hospital, he was paralyzed.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
Aug. 17, 2012
Ish laughs as he sits on his front porch and his nephew Nyjee Harvey, 5, leans against him. Family and friends gather with him: from left, his cousin Bruce Marshall; family friend Keith Wiggins; his sister's father, Andre Conte; and his cousin Mario Simmons.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
April 27, 2012
Ish says he began selling drugs when he was 12 years old. In the months before he was shot, he had landed in jail twice. In 2007, he was arrested again when police found drugs and guns in the ceiling of his house. He spent several days in jail in his wheelchair. Eventually, the case was dropped. But he says that arrest marked his last day in the business.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
July 31, 2012
Corie Davis, a quadriplegic who goes by the nickname Uni (short for Universal), sits up in bed after getting dressed with the help of an aide. He was shot in 1999 after confronting a rival group of men in an alley with a T-shirt filled with bricks. As he was swinging the homemade weapon, he heard the gunshot.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
July 31, 2012
Marie Francois, Uni's aide, helps him with his hair. Uni says he was a good kid until he went to Cardozo Senior High School, where he first encountered Ish. They belonged to rival crews back then. They had no idea that in just a few years they would both wind up in wheelchairs and come to see each other as brothers.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
June 8, 2012
Uni cooks pancakes in the Northeast Washington apartment where he lives alone. He tries to do everything he can without his aide's help, and he advises other members of the Urban Re-Entry Group to do the same. He began attending the group meetings, along with Ish, more than a decade ago.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
July 31, 2012
Uni plays with his phone in bed before his aide helps him get ready for the day. At Urban Re-Entry Group meetings, Uni is the most outspoken member of the group. He pushes new members to be as independent as they can.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
May 1, 2012
Uni's pills rest on a dresser in his apartment. He takes seven medications three times a day. He also does a "bowel program" every other day, which involves taking suppositories and waiting for his system to clean itself out. "People don’t understand [what] you have to go through on a day-in and day-out basis," he says.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
June 8, 2012
Marie leaves Uni's apartment for the day. For Uni, the past 13 years have been about survival and avoiding the illnesses he has seen claim other men in the group. "I can’t live my life for the future anymore," Uni says. "I have to live my life for the present."
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
April 17, 2012
Alfonzo Moore, 26, sits in a wheelchair in his room at MedStar National Rehabilitation Hospital. While he was in the hospital, Alfonzo went through therapy to learn how to roll over, open lids on bottles and write his name. He was driving to pick up a pizza in Southwest D.C. in December when he was shot, but doesn't remember what happened. Police have not found the shooter.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
April 17, 2012
Alfonzo sits in a wheelchair at the hospital and asks nurse Isha Keita to push him back to his room. Alfonzo wasn't the first in his family to get shot. When he was 7 years old, his 14-year-old brother, Jesse, was shot in the back and killed.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
June 7, 2012
Alfonzo practices writing his name during a physical therapy session. Before the shooting, Alfonzo could bench-press 315 pounds; after, he struggled to lift 35 pounds. It took him months to learn how to brush his teeth, feed himself with a special utensil and write using a ballpoint pen strapped to his palm.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
April 13, 2012
Alfonzo practices throwing a ball to his recreational therapist, Liz Thrush, at MedStar National Rehabilitation Hospital. At one meeting of the Urban Re-Entry Group, Alfonzo said: "My doctors told me, they said I was gone. They said, 'I'm gonna be real with you. We did everything we could do for you.' So with that said, what is there to be angry about?"
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
June 6, 2012
Megan Brooks, left, a physical therapy student, and physical therapist Katherine O'Boyle hold on to Alfonzo as he struggles to keep his body balanced upright. Since the shooting, Alfonzo, who was a standout football player in high school, married the woman he was living with and is learning how to cope with his new physical limitations.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
June 6, 2012
Alfonzo rests during a physical therapy session. From the beginning, doctors described him as a model patient, a "sweetheart." As he sat outside the hospital a few months after his injury, a bullet still lodged in his back, he was joyful that he had survived. Later his helplessness would sometimes overwhelm him, and he'd fall prey to much darker thoughts.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
Aug. 16, 2012
Deonte Gay, 23, talks to his mother on the phone and waits for his stepfather while the family dog, Pete, sits at his side at home in Northeast Washington. Deonte was shot in September 2010 in a liquor store in Mount Ranier and was left paralyzed with a spinal cord injury. He says he was a random bystander who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Deonte lives with his mother and stepfather and he has an aide who helps him four hours a day during the week.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
Aug. 16, 2012
Deonte strains to move his body in his hospital bed at home. Deonte worked at a bakery before he was shot, then started working at a law firm afterward. Once the firm had to start cutting back on employees, he says he found himself working more hours and forgetting to take time to do pressure reliefs. He ended up with a pressure sore that put him back in the hospital for seven weeks, an injury from which he is now recovering.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
Aug. 16, 2012
Deonte reaches up in his bed. He says that one of the hardest things about his injury is that he has to live in the dining room because his bedroom is on the second floor. He also says that he has learned that he has fewer true friends that he had thought.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
Aug. 15, 2012
Deonte looks at his laptop at home. Deonte’s brother Deon was shot and killed in 1998. His mother said that when she heard another son of hers was shot, she wasn't sure she could handle going through the ordeal again.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
June 6, 2012
Samuel Gordon, a clinical psychologist, leads the Urban Re-Entry Group in a basement auditorium at MedStar National Rehabilitation Hospital. Gordon estimates that hundreds of men in the city have been confined to wheelchairs as a result of violence. He has seen more than 100 people, most of them gunshot victims and almost all of them black, rotate through the hospital’s voluntary support group since it was created about two decades ago. Some come for a meeting or two while in the hospital. Others return year after year.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
May 15, 2012
Kwame Dew and Jamal Reed compare the locations of their brain injuries, which they both received from being shot, during an Urban Re-Entry Group meeting.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
May 15, 2012
Samuel Gordon, standing, leads a group meeting. To the left of Gordon, counter-clockwise, are Kwame, Uni, Andre Rempson, Alfonzo and Ish.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
July 31, 2012
Deonte, left, Alfonzo, center, and Uni sit in their wheelchairs during a group meeting.
Whitney Shefte
/
The Washington Post
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![Uni's pills rest on a dresser in his apartment. He takes seven medications three times a day. He also does a 'bowel program' every other day, which involves taking suppositories and waiting for his system to clean itself out. 'People don’t understand [what] you have to go through on a day-in and day-out basis,' he says.](/rf/image_606w/2010-2019/WashingtonPost/2012/08/23/Local/Images/Uni8_1345738440.jpg)
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