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t m c » p u l s e | f e b r u a r y 2 0 1 9 27 1 in 11 Americans has diabetes. Your help is their first hope. professional.diabetes.org/primary ORANGE COUNTY, FL JUNE 22, 2018 Primary care providers are invited to access the thought leaders behind the ADA's recent statements and guidelines. Learn how these evidence-based guidelines translate into providing the very best clinical and team- based care for your patients. You can earn up to 6 credits and gain first-hand knowledge from trusted experts about state-of-the-art diabetes treatment and care. THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 2019 8 A.M. TO 4:30 P.M. HYATT REGENCY HOUSTON HOUSTON, TX hiding all around them, Barnes was the last person shot at Santa Fe High that day. * * * * * * * * * On a Tuesday morning in early January, John Barnes sat in his home in League City hooked up to an IV drip full of antibiotics. His living room still shone with the relics of Christmas—an unlit tree in the corner, heavy with ornaments, a forgotten Elf on the Shelf, his two children's wish lists on display. A few months prior, Barnes had awoken with a fever, and then a day later, his arm grew warm. Doctors at UTMB discovered a staph infection and operated quickly, leaving a new scar hugging the length of Barnes' shattered elbow. It would mark his eighth surgery, with more on the horizon. Now, every day at 10 a.m., he will hook the IV to a port in his chest until his bones are finally healed enough for surgeons to remove the plate in his arm—a magnet for bacteria. Barnes believes the infection will set his rehabili- tation back at least six months, a disappointment in light of how far he'd come re-establishing his range of motion. But aside from his goals of mountain biking again and living without pain, Barnes said life is finally feeling settled. He can take trips with his family. He can enjoy a bourbon and a cigar. He can make plans for the future. "It's as normal now as it's probably ever going to be," he said. "This is my life now." Barnes has been shown the surveillance video from the day of the shooting. He has counted the seconds on the ticker and analyzed every possible scenario, wondering if he could have saved anyone else with the information he'd had that day. He has watched the student with the shotgun wait for him as he turns the corner. It's surreal, Barnes said— even at the time, he felt like he was inside a movie: His body was responding, his brain was reacting, but he still couldn't believe it was happening. He has declined to review all the evidence from the shooting, though. For now, Barnes is focused on healing. Barnes sits in the dining room of his League City, Texas, home.