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Every year on April 7th I celebrate my Alive Day.

April 7th in 2018 is the day I should have died in an auto accident on I-90 east of Seattle.

Thanks to the work of first responder Lt. Josh McBride of the Seattle Fire Department who was a few minutes behind our accident, I am alive today.

I learned about the idea of an Alive Day from Senator Tammy Duckworth:

“WASHINGTON D.C. (WICS) — U.S. Senator Tammy Duckworth (D-IL) issued the following statement ahead of her “Alive Day,” the day she almost died in a shootdown that took both of her legs and partial use of her right arm:

“Tomorrow is the 20th anniversary of my Alive Day, the day I almost died in a dusty field in Iraq after our Blackhawk was shot out of the sky—but didn’t. I’m only alive today because my buddies—who thought I was dead—refused to leave my body behind. As our nation marks Veterans Day, I’m thinking of their heroism that gave me the opportunity to not only live, but live a life so much fuller than I ever imagined.”

I should have died. Lt. McBride estimated I had only about one minute left to live as I was not breathing. I was pinned between the compressed steering wheel and my drivers seat. The cynic in me is pissed because I don’t remember seeing the white light. Evidently when I got to the Pearly Gates St Peter said: “it’s not your time. I am throwing you back. You are part of our catch and release program.”

Due to retrograde amnesia I have no memory of my first four days in the Harborview Medical Center Intensive Care Unit (ICU). I do not remember anything about the first two surgeries to repair my many compound fractures. I have no memory of three inches of bone removed from my left femur. I have no memory of this photo taken four days after the accident while I was in the ICU.

Over the next year I asked my orthopedic surgeon if I would ever be able to walk and hike in the woods again. She always answered “we’ll have to wait and see how you heal.” It wasn’t until four years later during a deposition in our litigation that she shared:

“So, I never thought he was really going to walk much again.”

“From defendant counsel cross examining my surgeon: Q: And how would you describe his recovery from his injuries? I mean it sounds like he had a very good recovery, would you agree with that?  A: Yeah. I’d call it miraculous. I think he’s had terrible, life changing, really bad injuries into his joints, some of the worst that I’ve seen in my 17 years here (at Harborview), and that I — I think he’s stoic and pushes through; so, his recovery to me is outside the spectrum of what I expected at all, and that’s sort of how I summarize him.  Q: And you believe — you characterize that as really a miraculous recovery, then, correct? A: I think his function is miraculous given his injuries by x-ray and what they were, yes.”

Remembering that she is an orthopedic surgeon at a Level 1 Trauma Center that serves four states in the Pacific Northwest, I couldn’t believe that she said I was one of the worst cases she had ever seen. Then I realized that if I had worse injuries I would be dead.

I am glad to be alive.

I am glad to be alive to see how our three children and our four grand children and their families are growing and thriving.

Little did I know before this accident that I had a non-bucket list bucket list.  I had made it 68 years (and hoped to make it a lifetime) without encountering any of the dreaded non-bucket list items below:

• ​Requiring a first responder to save my life​
• Riding in an ambulance
• Needing to go to a Level 1 trauma center (Harborview)
• Being a patient in a hospital
• Having one or more broken bones
• Not being able to walk
• Having to use a bedpan for functions of daily living
• Having to worry about becoming addicted to oxycodone
• Learning how to self-administer twice a day shots of blood thinners
• Understanding the difference between a physical therapist and an occupational therapist
• ​Using a wheelchair for many months
• Becoming a repository for the outputs of a titanium mine
• ​Learning how to pole dance​ (just to get out of bed)

The most insightful quote of the nine weeks in the hospital is from a nurse at Harborview:

“Doctors fix. Nurses heal.”​

I extend that to:

“First Responders save. Doctors fix.  Nurses heal. Therapists rebuild. Friends and Family love.”​

While I was flat on my back in a hospital bed for nine weeks and most of the next seven months, I dreamt of hiking in the woods on Bainbridge Island again. I read a lot and a quote from Parker Palmer kept me looking forward. I broke down in tears as I read wondering if I would ever be able to make it back to hiking in the Olympic Mountains.  Or even if I could return to hiking in the woods on Bainbridge Island.  My “one day at a time” mantra was failing me.

“A few words about “grace, gravity, and getting old.” I’m writing this Prelude in Santa Fe, New Mexico. For over a decade, my wife and I have come here in the late spring for a couple of weeks of hiking, writing, napping, eating Southwestern food, and enjoying spectacular sunsets. 

At my age, the napping, eating, and sky-gazing are no stretch. But out on a mountain trail, I feel both grace and gravity more keenly than when I first came here in my mid-sixties. 

The grace is that I have the health and resources to get myself out to the high desert; that, after a couple of days, my heart and lungs are still able to adjust to the 7,000-foot difference between Santa Fe and my Midwestern home; that I can stand at a trailhead and still feel confident about getting partway up, maybe even to the top of a trail that climbs from 9,000 to 10,000 feet; that every foot of the way I’m surrounded by beauty that a lot of people never get a chance to see. 

But as I climb, gravity kicks in. I hike more slowly than I used to, stopping to catch my breath more often. I have to be more attentive to where I’m putting my feet lest a momentary imbalance pitch me into a fall. The tug of gravity is an inescapable part of aging. As they say, “Everything goes south.” Energy, reaction time, muscle tone, the body itself—they’re all headed back into the earth, as far south as it goes.”

Palmer, Parker J.. On the Brink of Everything . Berrett-Koehler Publishers. Kindle Edition. 

After months of physical therapy, I was finally able to walk in the woods:

I am more anxious this year on my Alive Day as I have one more major surgery to go through to repair damage from the accident. Sometime this summer I will have a full ankle replacement on my left ankle. Each time I undergo surgery (seven and counting) I wonder if I am going to be able to walk and hike again. I’ve had my ankle CT scanned and a new ankle replacement 3D printed. The silvery bits are the titanium 3d printed sample ankle replacement in the photo below:

Now I just have to wait for a surgery slot to open up at the hospital.

Thank you to all the first responders, doctors, nurses, therapists, family and friends who have kept me alive and thriving these last seven years.

I am glad to be alive.

I am delighted to celebrate another Alive Day.