Ivory the therapy dog has died

Ivory, perhaps the best-known therapy dog in the Richmond area, has died of old age.

He was the loyal companion of rehabilitation specialist Jay McLaughlin. Together they spent hundreds of hours at VCU Medical Center and another center for those with severe brain injuries.
 
Their story begins in 1988, when Jay the tri-athlete was hit by a car going 65 miles an hour while riding his bike.

He came out of his coma a different man. He lost his new wife, his job, his place in life.

Jay knew he wanted to help others like himself. He got his masters degree in rehabilitation.

Ivory basically adopted him when Jay took him in while helping place rescued dogs.

No other dog is believed to have done the work that Ivory has. He’s won awards. He’s in a national book about rescue dogs that have helped others.

Since Ivory died, hundreds have reached out to Jay, like Betsy Short, whose grandson is part of Jay’s huge family of people who are different.

We visited with Jay Thursday. Our video story is on this website.
 
Here’s one of the stories I’ve written about Jay for the Richmond Times-Dispatch:

TRAGEDY BREAKS BODY, NOT SPIRIT

Richmond Times-Dispatch - Thursday, January 24, 1991

Author: Mark Holmberg ; Times-Dispatch staff writer
 
Two years after a car slammed into Jay McLaughlin 's body at 65 mph, the Richmond triathlete can run, swim, pump a bike and laugh.

Just why and how he does these things can best be summed up by the license tag on his red Honda.

"GANBA TE."

"It's like a chant, a mantra," McLaughlin , 29, explains. "The Japanese teach it to their young children in school. It means do your best, hang in there, don't quit."

He remembers his physical therapist telling him about a Japanese youngster whose tricycle had gotten stuck. The tyke chanted "Ganba te! Ganba te!" until his tiny muscles overcame the obstacle.

Ganba te . . . It's a central part of what McLaughlin calls his "second life."

His first life ended abruptly April 5, 1988 -- just four days after he and his new wife moved into their first home.

It was mild and sunny that day. There were still boxes to unpack, but McLaughlin had already worked a full day as an operations supervisor for Virginia Parking Service.

Besides, he had a big triathlon coming up -- his third -- and he needed to train.

So about 5:30 p.m. he pedaled down Lauderdale Drive to Patterson Avenue and headed west for Goochland. He wore racing shoes, bike shorts, a T-shirt.

And a helmet.

"That was my morbid joke to my doctor," McLaughlin remembers with a dry chuckle. "I wouldn't be having all these problems if I hadn't been wearing my helmet."

He believes he would be dead.

He was hit so hard by a westbound car near the Goochland County line that his body flew 25 to 30 feet in the air before crashing to the ground. "My helmet looked like a pumpkin that had been dropped off a roof."

McLaughlin remembers nothing of the accident because of retrograde amnesia. "Your mind will not remember a serious brain injury," he explains. "That information is not available."

He can only look at the gruesome pictures of his broken body and read the accident and medical reports.

McLaughlin spent five days in a coma, with tubes coming out of his skull, his neck and arms. His right arm was shattered. His left leg was broken in five places. The back of his lanky, 6-foot-3-inch frame looked like it had been clawed by a lion.

But the closed head injury caused by his head hitting the car and the ground was the gravest threat to his life.

Even after he came out of the coma, it was more than two weeks before it dawned on him that he was Jay McLaughlin , young newlywed and athlete.

McLaughlin considers himself lucky -- if one can use such a word to describe being nearly killed.

First, he had no identification on him when he was hit, so the Tuckahoe Rescue Squad rushed him to the Medical College of Virginia. "It's certainly the best brain trauma center in the area and among the top four or five in the nation."

Second, the person who hit him was driving an insured company car. "I met a lot of people (in the hospital and treatment programs) who were hit and runs. I wasn't." McLaughlin recently received a settlement of more than $1 million that will pay for an upcoming trip to New Zealand, among other things.But for long months, McLaughlin was anything but lucky.

After two months and seven days in the hospital, he struggled through four months of outpatient therapy at Sheltering Arms Hospital. He soon discovered that his battered brain had changed, as often is the case with head injuries. When he was able to return to work he found the once-easy decision making and information juggling left him exhausted and frustrated. After a few numbing months, he had to quit.

"I thought getting back to work was going to be the end of the road. But when I got to the end of the road I saw it was a turn."

He sank into a depression that came from "a feeling of loss of control."

Seizures came from the head injury. He lost his new home, and his wife.

"It wasn't the same after the accident," he says sadly. ' ' Our marriage probably didn't have a good foundation to start with. And something like that is difficult even for a strong marriage."

The words don't come easily to this brown-eyed youth with long eyelashes and a wary smile. He still loves his ex-wife.

But throughout his recovery, his close-knit family was there. "They saved me," he says. The Tuckahoe YMCA, where he has worked and volunteered, also played a major role in his recovery. "They've been my savior."

At the heart of his recovery, however, were simple mottos like "Ganba te," "sound mind, sound body" and "if something sounds impossible, it isn't."

He collected inspirational stories and headlines for his scrapbook: "Handicap can't stop triathlete." "Good guys win every time." "Injury no harm to spirit."

He made those headlines his story.

"I knew I would compete again right from the beginning," McLaughlin says. "Well . . . as soon as I knew what a triathlon was again."

He had to. "My self-image was wrapped up in being an athlete."

A cast stayed on his leg for six months. "To test myself, I'd crutch around the block. I couldn't swim . . . that drove me crazy."

Four days after the cast came off he entered the 3-kilometer Ribbit Run ' 88 and won. Sort of.

His medal reads first place in the 25-to-29 age group for male walkers. "I was the only one," he says with a sheepish smile. "But I got my name in the paper." And there it is, in tiny print in the scrapbook.

Then came the serious training; 25-mile bike rides, 3 1/2-mile runs, mile swims. Day after day. He wore (and still does) a foot brace because his muscles won't pick up his foot and he'd trip over it. He kept a daily journal to sharpen his mind.

Finally, "a year, two weeks and change" after his accident, McLaughlin , packing steel rods and screws in his body, entered a triathlon and finished in the bottom third.

In each of his six subsequent triathlons he has done better. But he knows he's a long way from winning and works hard to make up for it. His next race is in New Zealand in February.

Maybe you've seen McLaughlin jogging down Monument Avenue. He moves quickly, but with a jerky limp. His muscles are lean, ropy -- powerful- looking. The livid scars on his left leg are still gruesome, grim reminders of the accident that changed his life.

"It gives you great perspective," he says. "Now when somebody tells me about their problems, like `My car got towed,' I think: So? That's not a problem. On the big scale, it's nothing."

But he's learned not to say that aloud. Now he tries to listen sympathetically to other people's day-to-day problems, which, to them, are very serious.

"As my sister said: 'The splinter in my finger hurts worse than your broken back.' "

The "new" McLaughlin is more thoughtful. More likely to volunteer his time to help someone else. He gives talks to those who have suffered brain injuries and their families.

And when he's not training or working part time as a clerk at Green Top Sporting Goods Inc., he volunteers on the recreational therapy unit at Children's Hospital. "I'm a good thing for a lot of these parents to see," he says with a modest smile.

"I never noticed anything before," McLaughlin says. "I got a slap -- now I notice everything."