After graduating college I faced an easy decision, continue working at my local ski hill Mt. Rose teaching skiing or elevate my position as an intern for a Nevada State Senator into a paying career. I chose skiing.
The winter I graduated college also turned out to be pathetically weak snow-wise for the Lake Tahoe basin and I decided to salvage the end of the season by heading to Mount Hood for the spring because being outside is also far healthier than politics. With a newly minted degree I took an illustrious job on the grounds crew at Timberline Lodge for the summer before I would return to a more serious profession in line with my studies. Making a whopping $10 an hour, I started the first two weeks of May picking up trash from lift lines, roping off wildflowers and laying out parking cones.
After two weeks of getting settled, I finally got my weather window to summit this mountain I had so long wanted to climb. Making cautious turns into the Old Chute line off the summit was up until then the biggest thing I had attempted and my excitement for being here for summer was at an all time high. I drove down to town and prepared to rest for my work week starting the following day.
The day was like any other, we grouped up loaded tools and headed to fix a gate on the lower mountain. Our transportation was a standard Polaris side by side, nothing crazy but capable with knobby tires and cushy suspension. In the past week I had asked my supervisor, a large local guy in his early 30's who worked at Timberline for over 5 years if they ever did anything wild with the company vehicles. His eyes lit up and told me of his past escapades. This all added up in my mind, as I recalled his tricked out Mitsubishi in the parking lot and the stories co-workers told me of broken legs and ATV'S. We worked everyday until 4pm but for some reason we returned to the office a little pre-mature that fateful day. There was at most 10 minutes left in the day and I was only debating between what bar I would go to; Charlies or the Rat. My coworker called out to me, "Hey man, I forgot my gloves at the site come with me." I told him no. It was time to get going and I didn't need to accompany him. He pleaded again, so I let in.
We hopped into the company side by side and he instantly tore off. Ripping down Timberline Road at 40 mph I became nervous, in a moment of luck I put on my seat-belt (something we never really did with the short trips and off-road use).
It's still etched into my mind, down West Leg Road we sped, as the road turned hard left we veered right down a side bumpy dirt road. It's hard to estimate the speed we traveled but as we both spotted the large water bar in front of the vehicle it was far too late to save anything. We bounced over the essence of a 3 foot speed bump and the whole machine pivoted left as I saw the ground rushing towards my face. As the roof slammed into the ground, my right foot bent backwards and dragged on the ground, my right arm fell under the chaos as the buggy overturned. Everything went black. Skidding to a stop on it's side, I realized the seat-belt had suspended me in the vehicle and saved me from being thrown out and that I was alive. This side by side had no windshield or doors. In shock, I didn't realize the severity of my injuries but instantly a jolt of pain hit my arm and I yelled to my co-worker to unpin me. In his awkward position he climbed out and began to lift the vehicle off my arm. Then he clipped my seat belt and removed me from the seat, laying on the ground I took a glimpse at my foot and was shocked. (Spoiler: GRAPHIC)
The top half of my foot was detached like a flip flop or a can of sardines, I was bleeding profusely and the pain was insane.
My coworker managed to right the vehicle with little effort and the engine started no problem. He lifted me in my incoherent state into the bed of the buggy and we slowly drove up West Leg. "Hey man, like what are we going to tell them happened" he pestered. I avoided the question, I told him to drive and it would work itself out. Ski Patrol was contacted via radio and we arrived to the first aid room in under 10 minutes. The Patrol quickly realized I would need serious attention, called for an ambulance and helped situate my injury until I could get help. Those gentlemen are some of the many strangers I owe my deepest gratitude to. Another stranger who had become a friend in the previous weeks was Andy, he came into the patrol room and checked in, I gave him my car keys, he got me a cup of coffee.
After what felt like an eternity the ambulance arrived, quickly I was loaded out and we began the slow drive down the mountain. The EMT'S kept friendly conversation as the severity of everything began to dawn on me. We were headed to Portland, 55 miles away in rush hour traffic with no sirens on. The EMT'S were good dudes, we talked about everything we could to pass time, they offered pain med's but I refused stoically and stubbornly.
My second time in a hospital since being born and I still couldn't process everything going on. I called my parents from my shattered phone in the brief moment left alone by the nurses. They were understandably worried, offered to come help but I gave pause and imagined things would be sorted by morning. Next came the doctor who in 5 seconds of looking at my foot declared I needed surgery asap and that this wasn't a routine set of stitches. The nurses asked what I needed, I asked for coffee. They joked I would need a catheter if I kept at it. I was informed surgery would be first thing in the morning and a painful night of trying to sleep was ahead. As an on-work accident next came the insurance representative for a urine sample, I worried smoking pot in the previous week was going to come back to bite me in the ass. With no water in my system I stumbled to the bathroom and produced the most unhealthy urine in existence.
Surgery went well, or that's what I was told as I returned to the unfamiliar glow of the hospital lights. Never having had anesthesia before the grogginess and frantic 24 hours left me in a daze. I talked with my parents and tried to remain in good spirits. My mountain friends were too far away and I thought at most I would be free the next day. For someone with ADHD tendencies, too much caffeine and no way to walk, life in the hospital was rough. I spent 4 days watching TV, excessively napping and barely eating since I didn't know if I would have to foot the bill for food.
Each day the nurses would check in on me, talk to me for 15-30 minutes at a time. The first time I cried was when I realized I couldn't walk to the bathroom. But this story isn't to depress you, I learned a long time ago, it only gets better when you decide it does. Skipping ahead to Day 4 I could limp and drag my right foot behind me, my previous injuries from skiing, skateboarding etc. had taught me how to use crutches. The hospital staff was content with my limping technique and said I could go home. I called Andy, he drove my truck down to Portland, we went straight to the liquor store got a 6 pack of beer than to Vancouver, WA the closest place for legal pot. With my personal medicine cabinet full we headed back to Govy.
There was so much frustration and anger in that dark time. A place I don't need to revisit. Anger towards my boss for hurting me, anger toward Timberline for treating me as responsible. Yet at 22 years old I didn't realized like anything else time would heal all wounds, just maybe not my foot.
Work was awful, I used crutches to get around and lost all the benefits of skiing for free. I unsafely drove my truck, using my cast foot to sloppily accelerate my manual truck until my left foot came off the clutch. I drank heavily to numb the depression I felt from not exercising. I got work greeting folks at Timberline, answering questions for tourists and checking-in hotel guests to the upper parking lot. Eventually I got a desk job in Guest Services better suited to my condition.
My follow-up appointment in Portland after surgery came two weeks later. In an ugly brick building I found the office and the doctor with a crazy name I can't remember, he then crushed me into the lowest place I had been. "We're happy about how surgery went but I want to be realistic and say you will never walk the same again due to your tendon damage and you will certainly not wear ski boots". I took his recommendations on how to continue care for my wound and thanked the doctor as I left. Hobbling into the elevator alone to go down, I cried for the second time. The words of the doctor echoed in my head. The grief hit me head on, my knees wanted to give out. I was fresh out of college, starting my adult life and I might not walk or ski again. I cried my fucking eyes out. I cursed the world for how shitty my reality was, I cursed my coworker and then that elevator ding went off. With red runny eyes I stared at everyone in the lobby and trudged to my truck. I knew in that moment I had no choice, the only option was to persevere.
Writing about this dark time is cathartic in its own way, but I truly only hope to inspire others. That injury tested me in so many ways mentally, I know I became stronger as a result and I know I can support others when they feel defeated. I am forever in gratitude to my friends Andy, Dayne, Phil, Lucas, Spencer among so many others who hung out, smoked joints with me and let me limp on hikes while moaning about just cutting off my damn foot.
The kicker is before June was over I used crutches to hike with a big group to Tamanawas Falls, a meager 3.5 miles but a favorite Mt. Hood spot and a great feeling to know I could still hang with my friends. Another shout-out to Scrappy Joe Young who clipped me lift tickets and set me up with a size big boot so I could struggle through my once a month ski lap to keep the streak alive.
Wear your seat-belt. It could save your life.