Actually, 4 wheelers, trucks, ambulances & helicopters; The trip to the hospitals
“I fell.” Those two words were all I texted my friend. It was all I could manage. As my dad would say, “I was shaking like a dog shitting razor blades.” Excuse the graphic nature, but that fits the situation.
I spent a few minutes trying to gather myself up. My thoughts were a mosaic of shattered glass. “How am I getting back up?” “Is my bow ok?” “What did I break?” “Am I bleeding?” “I messed up Tom’s hunt.” “It’s too early to call anyone.” “Oh shit, oh shit, what have I done?” Oh Shit, I’m one of those guys… guys who you read about in a short blurb of an online news article. “Local man injured in hunting accident.”
At this point, there wasn’t much pain other than the soreness of a jarring impact. Nothing felt broken. I could move everything. In fact, I rolled to my side to clear small sticks for comfort as I lay there. So I tried to get up. The instant I pulled my knee to the side and bent it, the air left me. The pain was indescribable. I was going nowhere… at least not under my own efforts. I caught my breath and found I was shaking again… or maybe still. I managed to call Tom. “You’d better get over here and call someone to help get me out.” I wasn’t aware Tom had already called J.B., another friend, and the ambulance. He dismissed my text telling him to keep hunting, that I could wait. Dammit, it was the one time I was happy he ignored me. I’ve harassed Tom a lot over the years, but when the chips are down, and you need someone you can rely on, he’s your guy. Between him and J.B. I’m a lucky man to have friends like them. They were calm and did the right thing. I wasn’t in my right mind. They would tell you that I seldom am.
Since my fall, I’ve read and posted several stories of hunters, men mostly, who fell. A common theme in each story was how remote and difficult it was for responders to get to the fall victim. In my case, it wasn’t difficult to get me out, but we did use various methods before it was all said and done. The ambulance arrived, and the crew was led down to where I waited… not like I had any choice. The activity was actually captured on my trail camera. By now, I was feeling not quite my best. The initial shock wore off, and pain made its presence known. It was then that the first responders, Tom and JB, placed me on a board so they could lift me onto the back of my 4-wheeler. I screamed, quite loudly, I must admit. They were about to ride me up the hill when another first responder arrived and drove right down the trail to the guys and me with his truck. Apparently, he was familiar with a situation like mine, and his Toyota truck has served this duty a number of other times. They carefully transferred me to the back of his truck. Thank God, because it was more stable and a much smoother ride than a 4-wheeler would be. The short trip up the trail went well, and at my gate waited the ambulance.
This is where things get fuzzy. I remember Michael, the EMT. He and I had a conversation about the meds he was administering and about finding veins, but I don’t recall the actual ride to the emergency entrance of the hospital.
Most of the time spent in the ER is a blur as well. I was on a roller coaster ride of pain from the impact and delirium brought on by pharmaceuticals. The pain came and they gave me something. Then the pain went, along with any logical thought processes. I was scanned and returned to the white and blue rooms with curtains as walls and doors. Then I got the news. “What you have, Tim, is a ‘burst fracture of your L3 vertebrae. You’re going to need surgery.” SHIT! I wasn’t prepared to hear my spine was in pieces. Even still, I tried to maintain a positive attitude, hoping for the best possible outcome.
The doctors wanted an X-Ray so I was moved from the bed to a gurney. This would be the first time I have ever truly learned what pain can be. I thought I had hurt in the past; stitches, broken arm, even appendix removal, but I was wrong. As they tried to roll me to one side for the transfer, a wave of unimaginable electricity shot through my entire body, it radiated from my back throughout every nerve in my body…PAIN! PURE PAIN! I screamed, I convulsed, and I nearly passed out. They ceased the attempt to move me. Thank God. Tears. Panic. Fear. For the first time, I was terrified of what I had done to myself.
Shaking and confused, I was taken back to the white and blue room with a curtain door and meds (fentanyl). Gone again was the pain, replaced by the fog and false sense that I was fine again. I was at ease in the arms of the chemistry coursing through my veins. I didn’t even notice the fear in my wife’s face.
Next thing I knew, I was being introduced to the crew of the helicopter and my flight nurses. By this time, I had been stabilized, and the pain, once again, was deadened along with brain activity. I was ok, for now. Please stow your carry-on bags and fasten your seat belts; the flight will begin shortly.
The ride was actually an experience I enjoyed, yes, enjoyed. Remember, the meds were playing brain games. I wouldn’t suggest taking your first helicopter ride by way of life flight with a crushed spine, though. Alert and comfortable enough, I even took some pictures and video of the entire flight to University Hospital. University Hospital, Columbia, Missouri, would be my home for the next couple of weeks. I had yet to grasp just how badly I had damaged myself. I was pretty much told that I’d have surgery, my back would be screwed together, and I’d be home by the week’s end. It wasn’t until the neurosurgeon opened me up the first time that he realized how good at screwing up my body I was. Neither he nor I knew that I would be facing two more surgeries, and my time in Columbia would reach 30 days.
So it was not actually Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, it was 4 wheelers, trucks, ambulances and helicopters. What a ride. I don’t mean to make light of what happened. I’m writing what I thought and went through. In the beginning I wasn’t aware of the gravity (pun intended) of the situation. I was certain I’d be fine after a short time. I even told my friends our “Barn Party” was still on in the coming weeks. I really, or no one really, had any idea how badly I was hurt.
