John Chewning's Unconquerable Soul
Out of the night that covers me
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
So begins “Invictus,” penned by the British poet William Ernest Henley in 1875.
Resolutely and without complaint, Henley battled illness for most of his 53 years.
When he was 12, he was diagnosed with tuberculosis of the bone.
When he was 25, doctors amputated his left leg just below the knee.
He wrote “Invictus” from his hospital bed.
The title comes from Latin.
There are two acceptable translations: unconquered and unconquerable.
Reminds me of my friend and colleague, John Chewning.
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
So begins “Invictus,” penned by the British poet William Ernest Henley in 1875.
Resolutely and without complaint, Henley battled illness for most of his 53 years.
When he was 12, he was diagnosed with tuberculosis of the bone.
When he was 25, doctors amputated his left leg just below the knee.
He wrote “Invictus” from his hospital bed.
The title comes from Latin.
There are two acceptable translations: unconquered and unconquerable.
Reminds me of my friend and colleague, John Chewning.
A 1968 Collegiate graduate and Upper School math teacher at his alma mater since 1985, Chewning recently spent a month in intensive care at St. Mary’s Hospital following surgery to remove a neuroendocrine tumor from his pancreas.
He and his family knew his recovery would be difficult, but they never imagined how harrowing an odyssey it would become.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody but unbowed.
This wasn’t the first time in his 60 years that Chewning has stared down medical trauma, drawn from his deep well of faith, and stepped from the darkness with his spirit and delightful sense of humor intact.
In 1983 when he was teaching and coaching at Charlotte Latin School, he survived a bout with melanoma.
Fifteen years ago, he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis and had to relinquish his administrative duties and reduce his teaching load.
This past January, he was hospitalized for 10 days with atrial fibrillation.
“Every time, John emerges with a sense of purpose that he’s still here for a reason, that there’s work left to be done,” said Blair, his wife of almost 37 years and a fourth grade teacher at Collegiate.
“His attitude has always been, let’s get on with life.”
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
March 15 and 16 were the worst.
The afternoon of Monday the 15th, John’s heart stopped.
The monitors instantaneously signaled his distress.
Someone shouted, “Code! Room 2!”
Doctors and nurses, a dozen strong, rushed to his bedside with life-saving equipment and ushered his family out.
Twice, they whisked him to a unit downstairs and worked feverishly to stop internal bleeding.
They feared he’d had a stroke.
As the hours passed, Blair, with the consent of their son Craig and daughter Cameron, signed form after form authorizing doctors to take heroic measures to save John’s life.
Throughout the long night, the family remained nearby.
They waited and prayed.
They prepared to bid their husband and father farewell.
Then, somewhere in the blur of mid-week, a miracle came to pass.
John’s condition stabilized.
The immediate crisis was over.
The long, arduous journey back had begun.
“John has lived his life stating that we are not in control. God is. Trust God,” Blair said. “We mere mortals have always found that hard to understand.
"That day, Cameron, Craig, and I finally got it. What John had tried to teach us became crystal clear.”
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate.
I am the captain of my soul.
For almost a week now, John has rested comfortably in his new quarters three floors below the ICU, making doctors, nurses, physical therapists, and orderlies smile and brightening the day for friends who stop by to cheer him up.
Though his steps have been small and the timetable for his return home is uncertain, one immutable fact remains.
Like the poet, John has met life's challenges with resolve, dignity, spirit, and a steadfast refusal to wallow in self-pity.
He has stood steady in the face of dire adversity.
Few stand steadier than John Chewning.
--Weldon Bradshaw
Back
He and his family knew his recovery would be difficult, but they never imagined how harrowing an odyssey it would become.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody but unbowed.
This wasn’t the first time in his 60 years that Chewning has stared down medical trauma, drawn from his deep well of faith, and stepped from the darkness with his spirit and delightful sense of humor intact.
In 1983 when he was teaching and coaching at Charlotte Latin School, he survived a bout with melanoma.
Fifteen years ago, he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis and had to relinquish his administrative duties and reduce his teaching load.
This past January, he was hospitalized for 10 days with atrial fibrillation.
“Every time, John emerges with a sense of purpose that he’s still here for a reason, that there’s work left to be done,” said Blair, his wife of almost 37 years and a fourth grade teacher at Collegiate.
“His attitude has always been, let’s get on with life.”
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
March 15 and 16 were the worst.
The afternoon of Monday the 15th, John’s heart stopped.
The monitors instantaneously signaled his distress.
Someone shouted, “Code! Room 2!”
Doctors and nurses, a dozen strong, rushed to his bedside with life-saving equipment and ushered his family out.
Twice, they whisked him to a unit downstairs and worked feverishly to stop internal bleeding.
They feared he’d had a stroke.
As the hours passed, Blair, with the consent of their son Craig and daughter Cameron, signed form after form authorizing doctors to take heroic measures to save John’s life.
Throughout the long night, the family remained nearby.
They waited and prayed.
They prepared to bid their husband and father farewell.
Then, somewhere in the blur of mid-week, a miracle came to pass.
John’s condition stabilized.
The immediate crisis was over.
The long, arduous journey back had begun.
“John has lived his life stating that we are not in control. God is. Trust God,” Blair said. “We mere mortals have always found that hard to understand.
"That day, Cameron, Craig, and I finally got it. What John had tried to teach us became crystal clear.”
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate.
I am the captain of my soul.
For almost a week now, John has rested comfortably in his new quarters three floors below the ICU, making doctors, nurses, physical therapists, and orderlies smile and brightening the day for friends who stop by to cheer him up.
Though his steps have been small and the timetable for his return home is uncertain, one immutable fact remains.
Like the poet, John has met life's challenges with resolve, dignity, spirit, and a steadfast refusal to wallow in self-pity.
He has stood steady in the face of dire adversity.
Few stand steadier than John Chewning.
--Weldon Bradshaw
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