How a brush with death changed my life
It has been almost a year since I was literally re-born and I am thankful for my friends and family for all of their support during those days leading up to this anniversary.
As many know I was in two ski accidents in 2014. One where I made a huge mistake judging a jump into a bowl at Crested Butte and received a concussion that morphed into a traumatic brain injury and another when I hit a tree at Terry Peak breaking my upper humorous, shattering my scapula and tearing two rotator cuffs.
Since then I had countless CAT scans, MRIs, X-Rays, blood tests, and have met with a team of neurologists and surgeons before undergoing four different operations.
Granted I am not completely back to “normal” but I’ve made progress and I continue to gain strength as months of therapy pass. In June of this year, the best news of all came when the neurologist I have been working with in regard to the TBI said I had made a complete recovery.
Even though all of those obstacles I overcame deserve a celebration, one surgery in particular will be hard to forget. And to be honest, the amount of work required to recover from this life-changing experience was exhausting and seemed insurmountable at times.
It was September 27, 2014. I had been admitted early that day so my surgeon could repair another torn rotator cuff, a procedure that was to take up to six hours. As I filled out the paperwork, I remember being anxious and hesitant to go under the knife this time around, especially since this would be my fourth operation in less than five months.
A day later I would realize that my emotions were flaring in every direction for a good reason.
Upon sharing my concerns, the surgeon I had gotten to know incredibly well and trusted was confident everything would be fine. He comforted my angst by saying he’s repaired hundreds of shoulders, and reminded me two of those were mine.
Once I learned the details of the procedure, several nurses come to my room to check my levels, install my port, provided me with some anxiety medication and rolled me to “pre-op” where I waited, and waited to go under anaesthesia.
This time around I didn’t go under until I was already in the operating room. The last thing I remember that day was the bright light on the ceiling and a nurse asking me to count back from the number 10.
Instead of waking up in a plush recovery room at the Black Hills Surgical Hospital, I woke up from a coma a day later in the ICU at Rapid City Regional. Scared and confused, I panicked and started to thrash my legs to escape only to realize I had been restrained and couldn’t speak.
The machines started to beep and the nurses piled in to “calm” me down.
I didn’t know it at the time, but after surgery I went into anaphylactic shock, a serious allergic reaction that inhibited my ability to breath on my own and later resulted in cardiac arrest. After the team revived my heart and lungs, my head had swollen to almost three times its size. I was still unconscious when I was rushed to the ICU in an ambulance. Thankfully, a breathing tube that had been installed prior to surgery hadn’t been removed so after administering oxygen my heart began to circulate blood and my blood pressure started to improve.
My inability to remain calm, the doctors explained would most likely cause my heart to stop again and to “breathe through this one” otherwise it could happen again.
What? My heart stopped. I had died and didn’t even know it.
For my safety, I was placed in a drug induced coma again so I would make it through the next night. But unbeknownst to the team of nurses, I was aware of everything that was happening around me. A few hours later, I began to come out of the coma on my own and once again awoke panicked as nurses struggled to install a catheter and shove the breathing tube further into my lungs.
Knowing that I could hear everything and couldn’t respond caused me to go into cardiac arrest again and suffer through another round of defibrillators.
Not knowing I had yet another brush with death, I awoke that next morning from the descriptive “dreams” I’ve ever had. It was at 7:42 a.m. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the second floor hospital room I could see the sun had risen and filled the room with an astounding color pallet. For the first time in a long time I wasn’t scared.
It was then I felt an energy I had never experienced before. In the distance, I heard someone singing a song I knew well — Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds.” That someone was Shawn Funk, one of my dearest friends’ who had passed away in 2008.
I felt his spirit protecting me from the fear that had encompassed my being and felt it drift away as he continued to sing. A few minutes later, I realized Shawn was mixing up the lyrics. Instead of saying “three little birds,” he would say sing “two little birds” and continued to say it until I fell asleep. It wasn’t until I shared this experience with his parents and close friends that I realized he meant we were “two little birds” and that no matter what happens in life to have faith that he will protect me from harm.
As I regained my whits, I heard some news that once again put me into a fit of anger. My surgeon was notified my paperwork didn’t transfer from his hospital to Regional Health, so my parents hadn’t been notified and no one except for my emergency contacts knew my surgery had taken a turn for the worse. What still bothers me to this day, is that despite my numerous pleas to have someone call my parents the nursing staff determined it was in my best interest to induce yet another coma.
I awoke later that afternoon to news that my surgeon had determined the breathing tube was no longer necessary. When my tests came back normal, the catheter and the restraints were removed, and I was given some much-needed pain medication.
As I tried to sleep I realized the dream I had the night before the sunrise was actually a vivid memory of my soul passing on to another world. I remember being somewhat scared at first, but then after seeing hundreds of people behind a large glass patrician I realized that I had made it to the “other side” and began giving all of my possessions away to people in my past and present.
I remember wanting to go with them. I remember how I felt as though they were at a better place, a higher being had chosen them for an important task in a world parallel to ours and I was ready.
But, they weren’t ready to take me just then. Although I was disheartened, I know now that this experience made me into one of the luckiest people I know. Life is unpredictable and everyone I know seeks meaning, but I assure you that when you leave this world you will truly know that it was all worth it.
Later that evening I was discharged and spent that night in my own bed surrounded by close friends. As I began the healing process, I continued to feel blessed to be alive. Things tasted better, smelled better and all the colors surrounding me were vibrant and full of life. My outlook on life began to evolve and I grew more and more interested in living in the moment.
Granted it took a few months to regain the strength to go back to work and get back to an active lifestyle, everything that occurred as a result of the accident has been a blessing in disguise and as the anniversary passes, this new lease on life is a gift I will forever be grateful for.
In the end, it was my friends and family who loved me unconditionally that I can’t seem to thank enough. I would have been lost without their tenacity for life and sheer enthusiasm for my full recovery.
I learned many valuable lessons, including the fact that if you remain aware of the signs, your faith can guide you in overcoming all obstacles. My advice for those struggling with life’s challenges is to wake up each day knowing it could be your last — and make the best of it. Life is short, so don’t let the worries of tomorrow take away the spirit of today.
