Susie Matsuda and Cody Matsuda
Susie Matsuda and Cody Matsuda are siblings whose closeness combined intellectual companionship with Susie’s practical care for her younger brother. His adolescent illness and 1995 crisis tested the limits of her protective role. They remained close as Cody learned AAC and ASL and Susie left for Stanford, later carrying what she learned from him into disability-competent medicine.
Overview
Susie was born in August 1977, about eighteen months before Cody’s February 1979 birth. As teenagers, they shared intellectual interests and a quiet, deliberate way of communicating. Cody was twice exceptional, gentle, and vulnerable to bullying; after a serious flu at fourteen, he developed disabling fatigue that clinicians and teachers repeatedly dismissed. Susie believed him, helped break schoolwork into manageable steps, and defended him when others called him lazy or defiant. She also felt the limits of what an older sister could do against sustained medical and school failures.
After Cody’s spring 1995 suicide attempt, Susie feared losing him and then grieved the loss of his familiar spoken voice without treating him as less intelligent or less himself. She had planned to pursue medicine before the crisis; it intensified her commitment to listening to patients and providing disability-competent care. She learned ASL, respected his AAC, welcomed his relationship with Andy, and accepted his encouragement to leave for Stanford while he continued recovering. Both siblings were autistic, although neither had a diagnosis in 1995.
Origins
Cody was born on February 15, 1979, when Susie was about eighteen months old. He was Ellen and Greg’s second child. Susie was attentive to his need for gentle support and difficulty with loud environments during childhood. When his disabling exhaustion developed in adolescence, she also learned how much rest he needed. Her nurturing manner and his preference for unhurried care suited one another.
Cody had a high IQ, read far above grade level, and asked sophisticated questions about complex subjects. His twice-exceptional abilities coexisted, from adolescence onward, with exhaustion that made sustained work and ordinary schedules difficult. Doctors called the fatigue laziness, told Ellen he needed to “try harder,” and blamed him for symptoms he could not control. Susie saw him work hard and still begin to believe their judgment that something was wrong with him. His condition was later diagnosed as ME/CFS.
Susie had cared about Cody since childhood and became more protective as peers exploited his literal trust and teachers called him defiant for falling asleep in class. She defended him, helped explain his exhaustion when he could not make adults understand it, and sat beside him for homework, dividing assignments into manageable parts and working at his pace rather than completing them for him. Her support could ease a task without removing the barriers he faced.
Dynamics and Communication
Susie and Cody communicated gently and deliberately. Before Cody lost speech, both spoke softly and paused to think before responding. They enjoyed sustained discussion of complex subjects and preferred depth to hurried conversation.
As Cody tried to explain his exhaustion, Susie asked how he was doing and affirmed his account when others dismissed it. She told him, “I know you’re tired. It’s not laziness. The doctors are wrong about you.” Her belief mattered to Cody when adults blamed him for symptoms he could not control.
After Cody acquired motor apraxia of speech, the family learned ASL and he began using AAC. Susie learned signing quickly, drawing on her facility with systematic learning. She treated the device as a means of communication that allowed the same depth of conversation rather than as a measure of what Cody had lost.
The time Cody needed to type gave both siblings room to process. Susie did not rush his answers, finish his messages, or speak over his device. She continued the attentive listening she had practiced before his injury, now with AAC and ASL part of their exchanges.
Family Context
Susie had assumed substantial caretaking responsibilities as the eldest child before Cody’s medical crisis. His attempt and recovery increased them until she was carrying needs beyond an ordinary sibling role. Her care was real, but the family’s reliance on her could become parentification.
The Matsuda household brought together Greg’s Japanese American commitment to family responsibility and education with the White Moore family’s tradition of advocacy and intellectual ambition. Susie, who was mixed-race, felt pressure to serve her family and succeed academically. Leaving for Stanford in fall 1995 felt to her like abandoning Cody and the others; staying risked organizing her life around permanent crisis management. Greg helped her separate the family’s needs from her fear of leaving and insisted that she could not disappear into a caretaker role.
Susie and Cody were both quiet, precise, and more comfortable with structure than chaos. They could share silence, process information methodically, and offer each other company without constant social demands before either understood their autism. After Cody lost speech, Susie’s ASL and patient attention supported direct visual communication without requiring him to produce spoken words or manage spoken prosody.
Shared History and Milestones
1979–1995: Childhood and adolescence
Susie and Cody grew up close. When he developed persistent fatigue in adolescence, she saw doctors dismiss it, classmates exploit his trust, and teachers call him defiant for falling asleep in class. She helped divide his schoolwork into manageable steps when he could not focus alone. Defending him to teachers, she said, “He’s not lazy. He has chronic fatigue. He’s trying harder than anyone else just to function.”
Their sister Pattie sometimes fought Cody’s bullies physically and was suspended. Susie defended him through explanation, advocacy, and practical support. Their approaches differed, but both were protective of him.
Over roughly two years of illness and dismissal, Susie grew frustrated and helpless. She could not make doctors listen, stop his classmates, or cure his fatigue. Her sense of responsibility for Cody made the limits of her protection especially painful.
Spring 1995: Cody’s suicide attempt
Susie was seventeen when Cody attempted suicide at sixteen. Ellen’s scream, the ambulance, and the knowledge that Cody might die remained part of Susie’s memory of that day. She held seven-year-old Joey while trying to manage her own fear and help him understand what had happened.
At the hospital, Susie saw Cody in intensive care and feared she would lose him. She watched her parents struggle, held Joey when he cried, and concealed much of her own terror until she was alone. The image of Cody in the ICU and Ellen’s vulnerability stayed with her.
Cody survived with an anoxic brain injury and acquired motor apraxia of speech. Susie grieved the loss of his familiar spoken voice while continuing to recognize him as the brother she loved. She learned ASL with the family, helped Joey learn signs, and saw both Cody’s determination and frustration as he used AAC.
She was angry with doctors and the school system that had dismissed Cody and questioned whether she should have anticipated his desperation or prevented the attempt. Her planned departure for Stanford added another source of guilt: Cody would still be recovering when she left.
Susie had already intended to study medicine. These weeks strengthened her resolve to become a physician who believed patients’ reports of symptoms, took chronic illness seriously, and did not equate exhaustion with laziness or depression with weakness. She wanted to provide the disability-competent care Cody had needed.
Summer 1995: Cody and Andy’s relationship
Susie saw Cody become visibly happier around Andy Davis that summer. She knew of their long phone calls, sometimes ending when they fell asleep, and attended the family dinner where Cody named Andy as his boyfriend through his AAC device. She smiled when Heather and Andy connected over cerebral palsy. When eight-year-old Joey asked Andy, “Are you and Cody gonna get married?” Susie tried not to laugh at his direct application of the family’s teaching about love and marriage.
Susie felt relief that Cody had love and support. Andy understood experiences of disability that other people did not and treated Cody’s AAC as communication. Susie welcomed their relationship without homophobia or pity, glad that Andy saw Cody fully.
Their growing partnership helped Susie imagine that Cody could be happy without her constant care and had reasons to keep living as he recovered. Andy’s understanding offered Cody support distinct from the family’s, and that eased some of her guilt about leaving for Stanford without erasing it.
Fall 1995: Susie leaves for Stanford
Cody encouraged Susie to leave despite his continuing recovery. The exact wording of one AAC message is uncertain; an approximate rendering in this relationship account is: “I’LL BE OKAY. GO. LEARN. COME BACK AND BE GOOD DOCTOR.” The support behind it was clear: he wanted her to pursue medicine rather than give up her future to remain his daily caretaker.
Susie cried as she left, worried about Cody managing without her and guilty about pursuing her education while he recovered. His encouragement helped her trust that their closeness could continue at a distance and that she was entitled to a life beyond caring for the household.
After 1995: Ongoing bond
During Susie’s Stanford years, medical school, and residency, she and Cody stayed connected through calls and AAC messages. They could discuss his books and research and the medical ideas she was learning. Cody asked, “HOW IS SCHOOL. ARE YOU LEARNING GOOD DOCTOR STUFF.” His interest in her education mattered alongside her concern for him.
Susie’s medical work remained shaped by Cody’s experience. She wanted to serve chronically ill patients and people with less visible disabilities who had been dismissed by clinicians. She aimed to believe patients’ descriptions of symptoms and to respect communication differences without assuming intellectual limitations.
After Susie’s formal autism diagnosis in the 2000s, both siblings could name similarities in their neurology: sensory sensitivities, social exhaustion, a need for routine, and related ways of processing information. Their diagnoses clarified a connection that had existed throughout childhood.
Public vs. Private Life
Family and academic acquaintances recognized Susie and Cody as gentle, thoughtful siblings with strong intellectual interests. Susie’s support after Cody’s attempt and transition to AAC was visible within the family. Cody’s experience became part of her reason for practicing disability-competent medicine, though she had planned to become a doctor before the crisis.
Her concern for patients whose symptoms were dismissed had a personal basis. An earlier account offers a possible formulation of what she might have said in training: “My brother nearly died because doctors dismissed his chronic fatigue for years. I’m determined to be better than the doctors who failed him.” The words are not established as a recorded statement; the commitment to listening to patients is part of her documented medical practice.
In private, their bond remained one of quiet care. Cody understood how much Susie worried about him and felt guilty for the burden he believed his attempt had placed on the family. He valued her support even when he could not easily express it. Susie knew his guilt and shame, did not blame him, and tried to show through her actions how much his life mattered to her.
Emotional Landscape
Susie loved Cody’s gentleness, intellect, and kindness. His near death also left her aware of the sustained medical and school failures she had been unable to prevent. Her anger at those failures and love for him remained intertwined.
She felt guilty for not anticipating his attempt, for failing to stop bullies or convince dismissive doctors, and for leaving during his recovery to pursue her education. Those responsibilities had exceeded what she could reasonably control, but the guilt persisted because caregiving had become central to her sense of worth.
She felt relief as Cody developed his relationship with Andy, used AAC, and continued his education through homeschooling. Seeing his life include love and purpose helped her believe she could pursue medicine without constantly monitoring him, even while concern remained.
Cody trusted Susie to recognize his full humanity. She had believed his exhaustion when doctors called him lazy, defended him when classmates exploited his trust, and learned ASL after he lost speech without treating AAC as a tragedy. Her steady regard for his intelligence, kindness, and worth helped him resist the judgments he had heard elsewhere.
Cody likely felt guilty about the time and worry Susie had spent on him. Encouraging her to leave for Stanford was one way to release her from an obligation she had taken on without being asked. He wanted her to become the doctor she hoped to be and have a life beyond protecting him, even if her departure meant less daily support.
Intersection with Health and Access
Both siblings were autistic, but neither had a childhood diagnosis. Cody was diagnosed in young adulthood, around 1999–2001, after Greg’s late-1990s diagnosis helped the family recognize shared traits. Susie received a formal diagnosis in the 2000s; her capable social presentation had concealed many support needs. Their similar information processing, preference for depth, and exhaustion after social demands supported mutual understanding without making their experiences identical.
Cody’s ME/CFS required substantial rest, a reduced schedule, and accommodations that schools resisted. Susie saw clinicians dismiss his symptoms as laziness and watched that failure contribute to his desperation. She carried the knowledge that refusing to believe a patient’s account could have life-threatening consequences into her medical practice. His formal ME/CFS diagnosis came later, in the 2000s.
After the attempt left Cody nonspeaking with motor apraxia of speech, he needed AAC, ASL, and listeners willing to wait. Susie understood that neither the device nor signing diminished his intelligence. Presuming competence and giving him time to respond became parts of the approach she later brought to disabled patients.
After Susie’s formal diagnosis, Cody could share strategies for sensory sensitivities and social exhaustion. His writing and advocacy, like her medical career, showed that autism and intellectual achievement were compatible with real support needs. Their conversations drew on lived experience rather than sympathy alone.
Crises and Transformations
Spring 1995: Cody’s suicide attempt
Cody’s near death and acquired speech disability changed both siblings’ lives. He learned new communication methods and had to rebuild his sense of himself without relying on spoken speech or trying to pass as nondisabled. Susie confronted the limits of love and family advocacy against medical ableism. Her existing plan to become a physician acquired greater urgency because she knew how consequential competent care could be.
Susie learned ASL and continued to address Cody directly. He could trust that she still saw him as himself despite the loss of speech. Their continued closeness through recovery did not depend on a particular communication method.
Summer 1995: Cody and Andy’s relationship
Susie had feared that Cody’s disabilities would leave him isolated and without an intimate relationship. Andy’s devotion, ease with Cody’s AAC, and experience with cerebral palsy challenged that fear. Seeing the two together helped Susie imagine a future in which Cody was loved and supported outside the family’s care.
Fall 1995: Separation
Leaving for Stanford shifted their relationship from daily care to support across distance. Cody navigated recovery without Susie’s constant presence, while she learned to trust that he could manage without her monitoring him. Their closeness continued alongside separate lives and new boundaries.
2000s: Susie’s autism diagnosis
Susie’s diagnosis gave the siblings language for familiar patterns in their relationship: careful communication, difficulty with unwritten social rules, and a need to recover after social interaction. They could recognize a shared autistic history without assuming that their needs had been the same.
Legacy and Lasting Impact
Cody’s experience remained central to Susie’s medical commitments, alongside the examples of Ellen and Aunt Annie that had already drawn her toward medicine. She served chronically ill patients, believed reports of symptoms that others could not see, respected alternative communication, and trained younger doctors in disability-competent care. She knew that Cody had nearly died after years of dismissal and wanted to offer patients the care he had needed.
Susie’s lasting place in Cody’s life included her belief in him when others questioned his effort or ability. She helped him through adolescent exhaustion, defended him against bullying, supported him after his attempt, and welcomed his relationship with Andy. She recognized his intelligence, kindness, and worth throughout those changes, helping him hold on to them himself.
As adults, they remained connected despite trauma, distance, and different communication methods. Cody became a writer, speaker, and disability-rights advocate; Susie practiced medicine and trained younger doctors. Their distinct work continued the Moore-Matsuda family’s commitment to disabled people’s dignity and inclusion while allowing each sibling an independent life.