Baseball therapy

It's one of those late-winter Saturdays when the air near baseball fields is dotted with the hollow sweetness of aluminum bats on cowhide and cork.

Carson High junior Jack Maloney lives for the game. He's just gotten over a sinus infection, but has been training hard, running every day, working out at the gym and getting ready for the varsity baseball season. He's in the best shape of his life.

That night, he goes home and his hands feel a little weak. It's understandable - he's been swinging the bat all day. But by the next morning, he stumbles out of bed like a puppet with loose strings. He can't grip anything. He feels weaker. He takes an Advil and wonders what's going on.

"Everything started to go downhill from there," says the 17-year-old vice president of his class.

After helping his stepfather take down the Christmas lights that night, Jack says the weakness was spreading to his legs and feet. He took some more Advil.

"I was starting to get really nervous," says his mother, Karen Pavlakis.

From there, things deteriorated rapidly. The next morning he nearly fell down just trying to put on a sweatshirt.

This was obviously more than some baseball-induced soreness.

The doctors at the emergency room didn't know what to make of it, either.

"They thought it might be multiple sclerosis," says Maloney. "That's when I got really nervous."

After getting scanned by an MRI machine, doctors gave Maloney a spinal tap.

"Actually," says Maloney shaking his head. "They had to give me two because the first one hit bone."

A neurologist was called in.

"Not long after this the weakness had spread and Jack was in the ICU, completely paralyzed," says his mom.

Finally, the cause of his condition was determined: a rare (estimated to affect only about three out of every 100,000 people) inflammation of the nervous system; an acute neurological disorder called Guillain-Barré Syndrome, or GBS.

"Nobody knows a whole lot about it," says his mom.

But one thing that most victims have in common is a flu-like illness prior to the onset of the disease. Jack had just gotten over a sinus infection.

The potentially deadly disease can leave those afflicted in various states of paralysis for up to a year or more.

Jack just wanted to play baseball. He even made it out for picture day. He is in the back row, in uniform, being held up, sandwiched between two of his teammates.

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Just days after coming out of the ICU, Jack wheels himself into the bright physical therapy room at the Carson-Tahoe Rehabilitation Center. His smile is huge. He wears his hospital bands like war medals around his wrists. He lifts himself out of the wheelchair and hops on top of a backless stool for some "baseball therapy."

"I can't believe he's holding himself up like that," says his mom. "Just a few days ago, he could never have done it."

He banters with Ben Lindbloom, an occupational therapist.

"Jack has come so far so fast," says Lindbloom. "It's not a question of day-to-day improvement, it's really a question of hour-to-hour."

Maloney wheels his stool over and gives Lindbloom a wryly exaggerated, "You're my hero."

Lindbloom shakes his head and laughs.

"Come on," says Jack, grabbing an orange foam bat. "Let's go!"

Sheri Schager, assistant occupational therapist, and Juleanne Stone, Maloney's physical therapist, take their positions on their stools.

Jack's girlfriend, Jasmin Shelby, 16, watches. Just days ago she was trying to get a simple reaction from him, stroking his hand while he lay flat on his back in the ICU.

The game gets underway. The more he plays, the more coordination and timing his body seems to remember.

He definitely remembers how to talk trash to the opposing team.

It may be indoor baseball, but Maloney is serious. He's playing to win.

Maloney says he's grateful to his coach, Steve Cook; and his friends and teammates Royal Good, T.J. Hein, Alex Tanchek and Kevin Schlange. All came to visit him when he was at his lowest, and none has ever counted him out.

"I'm never taking anything for granted again," says Jack. "Drinking a cup of water ... brushing your teeth."

Jack Maloney plans to be back out on the baseball field soon.

He doesn't care in the slightest that the prognosis says he's not supposed to be.

"He's definitely on his own schedule," says his mom.

n Contact reporter Peter Thompson at pthompson@nevadaappeal.com or 881-1215.