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WAVERLY -- Flu seemed the likely suspect. Fatigue, dizziness, full-body aches, the shakes -- symptoms of a run-of-the-mill bug that hover around college dormitories.

Cody Fisher in December was almost finished with his first semester at the University of Iowa. Too ill to study for finals or work a shift at the dining hall, the 19-year-old crawled into bed.

"I was just feeling really sick."

The effects were overwhelming.

" … I couldn't walk."

That night, Cody struggled to a bathroom, where he collapsed in a shower. Others called for help.

Sue Pitts-Fisher, Cody's mother, later learned the decision to call an ambulance was mostly a practical one. It was after 9 p.m., and the college boys didn't have a vehicle.

Acting quickly likely saved the young man's life. So did Cody's insistence something was wrong, seriously wrong, despite preliminary medical opinions.

Initial tests, including a spinal tap, told the family little. Tim Fisher, Cody's father, during those early hours talked by telephone with those close to the situation in Iowa City. Those conversations stirred natural parental concerns but not panic. That came later.

As he waited, Cody -- who was innately particular about his feet and their comfort -- at some point slipped off his shoes. Later, when he stood, blood clots were clearly visible on his bare ankles and legs. His feet were swollen and purple.

The startling revelation signaled the severity of Cody's condition. Conversations and events, the family says, began to blur and the anxiety level picked up a notch or two.

"The last thing I remember is they told me they had to put a breathing tube in me, and they called my parents and I fell asleep," Cody says.

Doctors and nurses treated Cody urgently for a fast-moving bacterial infection.

Whatever the disease the effects waged destruction throughout Cody's tall, lanky body. Instructed to prepare for the worst, the Fisher family and friends surrounded his bed, caught in despair and sadness. Sue remembers a numbness.

"I thought, 'This is so stupid. Cody doesn't even know what's going on.'"

The young man was out for days. Moments of delusional consciousness and horrific nightmares interrupted Cody's sleep. When he was finally lucid, he noticed his weary body was strikingly different.

Near hip and thigh, he saw raw ridges of muscle. Below both knees, nothing.

Lethal infection

How and why Cody fell ill remain unanswered questions connected to a mystery, according to Dr. Barbara Rozek, a rehabilitation doctor at Covenant Medical Center in Waterloo.

To Cody's knowledge, no one in his immediate circle ever got sick, and health officials in Iowa City took preventative measures to keep it that way. The assumed culprit, meningococcal disease, seemed to strike out of nowhere.

The disease can initially fool patients and physician, says Sue Courts, a registered nurse and clinic director for student health at the University of Northern Iowa. Courts did not treat Cody. But she is an advocate for prevention and awareness about meningococcal disease.

The condition is rare, fast-acting and contagious, characterized by vague symptoms that mimic far less serious problems. Too often, people don't react until too late.

"It's so much like a flu," Courts says.

Meningococcal disease can cause inflammation of the membranes surrounding the brain and spinal cord, which is commonly called meningitis.

Such an infection can spread, wreaking havoc throughout the entire body by way of the blood. Cody's dominant symptoms -- such as muscle aches, particularly in his legs, and clammy, splotchy skin -- are consistent with this full-body assault. The name for it is meningococcal septicemia or meningococcal sepsis. And in that stage, things go from bad to worse.

Once a patient with meningitis develops sepsis, the mortality rate increases to 80 percent, says Dr. Barbara Latenser, medical director of the Burn Treatment Center at the University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics. In addition to handling burns, the center also treats the most complex wounds.

"He needed critical care. He needed therapy. He needed nutritional support. He needed psychological support. We are a packaged deal," Latenser said.

Cody had the meningitis vaccine; the vaccine aims to prevent most but not all strains of the disease.

Dr. Lee Fagre, a family practice physician with Covenant in Waverly, took an interest in the situation.

"Fortunately, it's not very common, but in Cody's case he was very lucky to survive," he says.

Cody's family is puzzled to some extent about the particulars of his disease. For Cody, the earliest weeks are fuzzy. He relies on incomplete memories, and other people to fill gaps.

"There's pieces we can't ever get put together," Sue says.

But the Fishers know enough to understand their son's survival was remarkable.

"I really believe it was divine intervention … that God, that doctors, that Cody worked hand-in-hand," Sue says.ï½

Grim outlook

When Tim and Sue Fisher first saw their son at the University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics, the infection's effects were obvious.

"He looked like someone had taken him by the top of his head and dipped him in burgundy … from toes to eyelashes," Sue says.

The bacteria attacked Cody's vascular system, clotting blood and destroying smaller vessels. The body enters septic shock and organs shut down.

"When the body is attacked by the bacteria it will start to lose its blood pressure," Fagre says. "In order to maintain adequate blood pressure through to the brain and the vital organs, it starts to shut off blood supply to the extremities."

In Cody's case, physicians worried about his kidneys, brain function and tissue damage. Reports on Cody's volatile state were sometimes related as heart-sinking odds. First, a 50-50 chance. Later, a 20 percent survival rate.

During one of many critical moments, Sue recalls a nurse's somber assessment: The infection is bigger than Cody's body.

Sue placed faith in her son.

"'If he has a choice, he'll choose us,'" she remembers thinking.

Sue recruited loved ones to talk and sing to, even shout at Cody.

Reliving the experience, her voice cracks and tears threaten.

" … I can't ever get through this part of the story," she says.

Doctors performed surgery to remove damaged tissue. But Cody was still terribly sick. To get ahead of the invader, physicians recommended amputation.

Sue says grief blurred the line between wisdom and emotion. If her son was going to die, she remembers thinking, she wanted him whole.

Kaylee, the couple's 14-year-old daughter, became the voice of reason.

"'Just save him, Mom.'"

Cody endorses the decision to remove both legs below the knee.

"Now it's, 'Who cares?' Because I'm fine," Cody says.

His mother counters with a compliment.

"His knees are beautiful."

Road to recovery

On the advice of hospital staff, Sue and Tim waited until Cody asked before talking about the amputations. It was a conversation impossible to prepare for.

"'You've lost your legs.' You just wonder if you use the right words," Sue says.

Cody's initial response was matter-of-fact acknowledgment -- and relief. And the Fishers say on some level Cody already knew the truth.

In nightmares, he had imagined worse. Hot butter poured on his chest. Hairs plucked from his body.

In his horrific hallucinations, Cody thought he was part of a twisted science experiment.

"He was dreaming when he was awake," Sue says.

Cody believes his brain converted real events into delusions. Nurses assigned tasks that caused pain became the bad guys in his head. And silly dreams meshed with drug commercials for over-the-counter medications.

The Fishers attribute that phase to powerful medicines, toxins, stress -- and intense suffering.

Floating in and out of consciousness, the only thing that resonated was pain, first caused by the disease, then by the amputations. To cover the wounds, doctors stripped skin from his upper legs and chest.

Doctors ordered the best medications his system could handle. But Cody's kidneys, temporarily damaged by the infection, couldn't process some medications and sedatives. Consequently, he endured with less-than-adequate pain-killers.

Bathing was dreaded, adding stitches a trip into unimagined hurt.

"The hardest part would probably be the pain," he says.

He is required to have dialysis, but doctors predict that part of the ordeal is temporary.

"He's a very motivated young man," Dr. Latenser says.

Back in the game

Cody transferred Jan. 12 to Covenant Medical Center. On an afternoon in February, more than a half-dozen patients formed a circle for group exercises in the rehabilitation clinic. A CD playing '60s music helped participants keep time while lifting weights. For some, the upbeat songs also distracted from the taxing, and at times, painful workout.

Cody gripped a 2-pound weight in each hand and grimaced.

"When I came here, sitting up was a big deal."

Rigorous physical therapy at Covenant helped restore mobility and strength. The program in Waterloo is one of the best in the state because of dedicated physicians and staff members, says its general manager, Howard Perch. And indeed the facility in Waterloo came highly recommended as an ideal place for Cody.

"I like to say that Iowa City saved his life," Sue says. "And Covenant gave it back."

After spending weeks in bed, Cody found simple movements proved painfully impossible. Everyday exercises once taken for granted, like reaching out or rolling over, required effort.

The illness also did a number on Cody's endurance, aided by weeks in a hospital bed that weakened his muscles, said Dr. Rozek, who specializes in rehabilitation.

Cody kept a rigorous routine. Physical therapy, weights, occupational therapy, therapeutic recreation, more occupational therapy, physical therapy. He also practiced on his own time.

"It's a full day."

Initially hesitant and easily frustrated, he decided to push through. Cody doesn't think his accomplishments merit a gold star and is uncomfortable with "you're an inspiration" comments he hears frequently.

"I'm the type of person, I do it because it has to get done. I didn't want to. I didn't want to move but I had to," he says.

Advancing hasn't always been easy. Anger, frustration and hopelessness followed initial acceptance of his new challenges.

"'I want my legs back. This is dumb,'" he remembers thinking .

"It's horrible, too, because you are just grumpy."

Sometimes, Cody forgets his new world order. Like when he considers playing a race car video game that includes foot pedals. Sometimes, he makes his mother forget. Like when he teases her about not forgetting his shoes.

At other times, however, strangers remind. With stares, uncomfortable silence and exaggerated efforts to get out of his way.

But he reasons self-pity will accomplish nothing. So Cody focuses on goals, like mastering a mall escalator in his wheelchair and one day walking with prostheses.

Cody hopes to return to college but will have to start from scratch.

"I guess the best part would be I can still do stuff on my own. I don't view myself as handicapped."

One lingering annoyance is a useless right thumb -- the last of adverse reactions similar to Parkinson's disease caused by medication, Cody says. An arguably small nuisance, perhaps. But additional problems at this point, however minor, feel unnecessarily cruel.

Though most tasks take longer, Cody is getting back to the business of life.

Shortly before leaving the hospital, Kaylee filled her brother in on the outside world. Some old acquaintances, she advised, were hesitant to see Cody. Not because they didn't want to visit. Not because they cared about the wheelchair.

Kaylee said they were scared of their reaction to Cody's physical appearance. That their friend would notice. And that their discomfort would hurt his feelings.

"You're not different. You're the same," Kaylee says.

"I have no legs. That's different," Cody says frankly.

"You'll help them," their mother adds.

Homecoming

Two days after Valentine's Day, the Fishers packed Cody's belongings at Covenant. Cody felt a bit under the weather but determined nothing would stop the moment. Not nausea. Not bleeding. Nothing.

"I was leaving. I didn't care."

Cody spent his first minutes exploring the newly renovated house. Weeks earlier, Tim and Sue fully expected to sell the split-level. But generous friends stepped in to make the home accessible for Cody. They added an outdoor ramp; wider doors; a wheelchair lift; smooth, hard floors; and a bathroom sink and shower.

Navigating the rooms and hallways requires frustrating precision, Cody notes, but his wheelchair fits.

Another gift left Cody in awe. Sue's employer, Lutheran Services in Iowa, purchased a wireless computer. For that and a long list of unsolicited kindnesses, the Fishers are grateful.

"I told you kiddo, people have cared so much about this and you," Sue says.

Within minutes, Cody was on the phone making thank you and I'm finally home now calls. Some on the other end of the line politely inquired about his health. But Cody wanted to talk more about his new computer.

The time for wondering has passed.

"Why me -- that was my question for a while. But I'll never answer it," Cody adds.

"I'd say, better me than someone else. I dealt with it."

Contact Karen Heinselman at (319) 291-1581 or karen.heinselman@wcfcourier.com.

How to help:

A benefit March 31 will raise money for Tim and Sue Fisher of Waverly and their family, which has faced a series of health issues.

In 1996, daughter Kaylee, now 14, was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis. In 2005 and 2006, Sue had heart arrhythmia and cardiac arrest. In 2006, son Cody, 19, contracted meningococcal disease. He endured six surgeries, including below-the-knee amputations and multiple skin grafts.

The fundraiser will be from 4 to 8 p.m. in the gymnasium at Waverly-Shell Rock Junior High School. Pork burger meals will be available until 7 p.m. Activities include live and silent auctions. A dance will begin at 8 p.m.

Financial contributions and auction items are needed. To make a donation, call Linda Hall at (319) 352-1094 or e-mail althall@mcshi.com or Sue Sands at (319) 885-6713 or e-mail ssands@netins.net.