The threat of that potential failure weighed heavily on me. I realized that the time and energy I was devoting to my job was only increasing. I believed wholeheartedly in my antiterrorism work, but what was the cost? After much agonized thinking and prayer, I finally made a necessary decision—I talked to Rhea about finding a position in security with a slower tempo. As usual, she supported me 100 percent.
About a year and a half later, the Matthews family was on the move again, this time to Plano, Texas. I had accepted a job as antiterrorism officer for the Southwest Division of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. I would be responsible for protecting dams, hydropower generation plants, locks, and intercoastal waterways in Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Arkansas, Louisiana, and parts of Missouri. I would still play a vital role in a region of our nation’s security, but the work would be a little less overwhelming and allow me to devote more of myself to my family.
Did I believe deep down that I was a good father? The answer was still no. But I was trying, both to believe it and to be it.
20
* * *
RESCUE
When he calls to me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will rescue him and honor him.
—PSALM 91:15 ESV
7:15 P.M., TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 22
SKILAK LAKE
Yes, I was afraid. As I lay on the beach, my body shutting down, confronting the reality that I could be minutes away from dying, I was terrified—in part for myself, but so much more over what my death would mean for each member of my family. Yet, when I prayed to God—“Daddy, your little boy is scared”—the fear began to fade. I felt the Lord’s assurance that no matter what happened, he would be with me and the people I loved. The rising panic was replaced by a welcome blanket of calm.
Once again, my desperate words had been heard. I resolved that as long as I was alive, I would fight to keep it that way.
During my career as a firefighter, I had learned that in an emergency there is always something more you can do to affect the outcome. I was near the end of my ability to do anything physically, but I could still use my brain. What was the next step? I tried to block out the pain and concentrate. Then it hit me. Shadows were stretching across the lake; sunset was less than an hour away. If a boat or helicopter was headed our way, our rescuers would need a way to see us. I talked with Matt. We decided we needed a signal fire.
My brother dragged driftwood to the lake edge, about thirty-five yards from me. Then he grabbed his hatchet and handsaw and moved up the bank into the brush to cut young pine limbs and green marsh brush. It was satisfying to at least take another positive step.
Matt was stacking the fire fuel when the distant hum of a boat motor reached our ears. It was the sweetest sound I’d heard all day. The fishermen were back. But had they been able to get through to anyone?
The captain killed his motor and glided the boat toward shore. Another man yelled from the bow: “We called 911! They’re dispatching a fire department boat and an EMS rescue helicopter!”
If I’d been able to stand, I would have run to those three men and given them the biggest hugs they’d ever received. Instead, as I lay on the beach, tears of joy streamed down my face. I pulled off the jacket covering my head and in a voice barely louder than a whisper said, “Thank you! And thank you, God!”
Could it be true? Could this whole nightmare really be coming to an end? I was afraid to even think it.
Four pairs of hands made quick work of gathering the remaining fuel for the fire, and before long they had a seven-foot pile of limbs on the beach. Though blood continued to run down my face and neck and I was still shaking uncontrollably, I didn’t feel nearly as cold as before. I lay in silence, listening intently for the familiar whop, whop, whop of rotor blades.
Matt and the fishermen determined that when the helicopter approached, the pilot would likely attempt to land right on the beach. Matt knew from his air force experience that it wouldn’t take an object of any great size to strike a tail rotor blade, which could quickly unbalance its rotation and lead to disaster. My brother picked out a landing site and organized the others. They cleared small rocks, debris, and driftwood from the shore and marked the area with a giant X. Despite my condition, I smiled with pride as I watched Matt work and direct his team. He’d never stopped thinking about what else he could do to help me win this battle for my life. I loved him for that and more.
To conserve heat and try to quit shaking, I curled into a fetal position beneath the pile of clothing. I imagined the faces of the helicopter pilot and medical crew, men and women who were putting themselves at risk to help me. I couldn’t supervise the landing zone or carry their gear. I couldn’t prevent Matt or the fishermen from accidentally walking into an invisible, spinning tail rotor blade. I felt I was letting everyone down by not doing my part to ensure they would make it back to their families safely.
This line of thinking wasn’t doing anybody any good. I forced myself to forget about what I couldn’t do and focus on what I could do. I prayed.
In the distance, a sound like the low roar of thunder echoed against the valley walls. I yanked a jacket off my head and strained to decipher the noise. It did sound like thunder, but had a rhythmic thump imbedded within its low growl. A huge smile broke out over my face when I realized the thumps were not thunder but the sound of rotor blades slicing through the sky. The truth was confirmed when from down the beach I heard the woof of the fire being lit, along with excited shouts from my brother and the others. I tried to raise my head to spot the helicopter, but the angled slope of the beach blocked my view. All I could do was listen and pray that the pilot would see our signal fire. I felt as if all of us were holding our breath and trying to will the helicopter into view.
At last, the shout I’d been waiting for erupted from down the beach: “There it is!”
Another wise choice that Matt and I made in our preparations for this trip was to include a flare gun among our supplies. Matt had it in his hand now and raised it to the sky. While on my back, I watched a glowing red tail climb high above us, then arc gracefully over the lake. Seconds later, a second ball of red-hot phosphorus soared into the Alaska sky.
The whine of a turbine engine drifted over the tops of the trees toward us. Matt and the fishermen waved their arms and jumped up and down, trying to catch the pilot’s attention. “God,” I prayed, “please let the pilot see us.”
Suddenly, not more than five hundred feet off the ground, an A-Star helicopter thundered right over me. It was an incredible sight. Cheers and whoops of excitement sounded from the beach as the pilot jetted across the water, then rolled the helicopter into a steep right turn and returned to our position. The pilot gradually reduced altitude and did a flyover to confirm we were his target and to inspect the landing area. He made an additional high-recon flyover before moving into a final approach to land. The helicopter entered a slow, descending 180-degree left turn until its nose was in line with the landing site. When the aircraft was seventy-five feet above the water, the high-pitched whir of the turbine engine and the whine of the rotors were earsplitting. At that moment I didn’t care if they made me deaf for the rest of my life.
Slowly, the helicopter eased down until its skids gently touched the smooth rocks on the shore. The pilot did a pedal turn to dig the skids in and level the landing surface. Sand and water pelted my face, but I didn’t mind a bit. Both helicopter doors slid open. Before I knew it, a nurse and a paramedic, both in flight suits, were kneeling by my side. The paramedic peeled back the layers of clothes and examined the bandages on my neck, head, arm, and leg, as well as the splint. “You guys didn’t leave anything for me to do,” she said. “Who stopped the bleeding and treated all your wounds?”
I mumbled that my brother and I had worked together.
“Well, you guys did a great job,” she said. “Now all we have to worry about is getting an IV started to get you some pain meds and fluids.”
After four unsuccessfu
l attempts to find a vein—three in my left arm and one in my foot—I was ready to stand up and walk to the helicopter by myself. I didn’t blame the nurse, who kept jabbing me with a needle. I’d lost so much blood that my blood vessels had constricted. Locating a vein was nearly impossible. I also knew that protocol dictated we couldn’t get into the warm helicopter until IV access was established. Yet I had reached my limit.
“If this next one doesn’t work,” I said, “don’t even think about looking at my neck or chest because it ends here. I can live with the pain and I know my blood pressure is stable enough to keep me from going further into shock. We are getting on that helicopter, IV or no IV.”
Just then, I looked to my right and saw a new face. He had a big smile, which I could just make out through his bushy beard. His eyes were kind. I asked, “Who are you, sir?”
He grabbed my hand. “Randy. I live around here.”
“You live around here, in the middle of the woods.” It was a statement, not a question. Who was this guy, Grizzly Adams?
“I live close enough to have heard the report of your attack over the radio. I beat feet over here to see if I could lend a hand.” His smile grew even bigger and brought a sense of calm to the chaos I felt. Out of the blue, a Bible verse came to me: “For you know not when you entertain angels.” As far as I was concerned, God had just sent a guardian angel to attend me.
Still holding my hand, Randy reassured me that this was an excellent crew and they would take good care of me. “How do you know,” I asked, “if this is a good crew or not?”
“I work in the emergency department of the hospital you’ll be flown to.”
Warm tears began to slide down my face. “I don’t know where you came from, Randy, but thank you for being here for me.”
Randy had distracted me from the efforts of the nurse. On his sixth try, and third in my foot, the needle had found a vein. Pain medication was at last flowing into my body.
The paramedic and my brother peeled away the clothing piled on top of me and rolled me into a soft stretcher. The instant that warm layer of clothing was removed, I felt as if I’d been thrown into a deep freeze. Matt knelt beside me, took my hand, and gave my wounds a last visual inspection. He looked at me and tried to speak, but no words came out.
I squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, Matt, say it.”
“I’ve got to leave,” he finally said, “and let these folks take care of you.” I could tell my brother was fighting to keep his emotions in check. “We’re almost there, Greg. You just hang on.”
Tears traced with blood slid down my cheek. Pulling my brother close, I whispered, “Thank you, Matt, for saving my life.”
Matt gave me a wink, released my hand, and grabbed a handle on the litter. He and the crew carried me to the waiting helicopter and slid me in.
In moments, we were airborne. The top of the helicopter had a clear plexiglass window that revealed a dusky sky above rapidly spinning blades. “Relax and enjoy the ride,” the nurse said. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
The pain soon subsided and my body at last began to warm up. I took the pain-free opportunity to lift my head and examine my rescue chariot. I couldn’t quite see out the windscreen, but the instrumentation and forward-looking radarscope were visible. If I was pushed any farther down the gurney, my feet would be resting on the pilot’s lap. No doubt because of the drugs kicking in, this seemed like the funniest thing in the world.
Fifteen minutes into our flight, the medic and nurse started preparing me for the landing. The paramedic got on the radio and gave a report on my condition to the emergency room staff: “Central Peninsula, this is Air One. We have a forty-eight-year-old male who has been attacked by a grizzly bear. Patient’s chief complaint is lacerations and bite marks to the head, face, neck, and extremities. Bleeding has been controlled and vital signs are stable. Currently we have the patient on a non-rebreather flowing ten liters and have established an IV with a total of fifteen milligrams of morphine on board. ETA is approximately five minutes.”
Once a pilot, always a pilot—on our approach, I pretended that I was flying myself to the hospital. I could tell that our pilot was good. I barely felt his inputs to flight controls. Moments later, we were on the ground.
The wide-open spaces of Alaska gave way to a feeling of claustrophobia as I was hauled off the helicopter and surrounded by those tasked with saving me. The air filled with the buzz of medical jargon. I’m sure there were a few horrified grimaces from those looking down at me, but I didn’t care. I was safe in the hands of professionals.
The nurse and paramedic helped roll the gurney into the emergency room. Supervisors called out orders for X-rays, CAT scans, and bloodwork. Two men dressed in surgical garb introduced themselves as Matt and Anderson.
I could have predicted the first question: “Who looks worse, you or the bear?”
“My brother and I put up a good fight,” I said.
Surprised that the bloody mess lying on the gurney could actually talk, my two new friends struck up a conversation. Both were avid Alaska hunters and fishermen. Within ten minutes, I had an invitation to come back to Alaska and do a little fishing for “reds,” their salmon of choice. Matt and Anderson put me at ease until I was rolled down the hall to the X-ray room.
The doctors were concerned about the possibility that the grizzly’s fangs had penetrated my skull and injured my brain. I’m sure my closest friends would have told the doctors that any brain damage they discovered had been there long before the bear went to work on me. Nevertheless, they X-rayed my arm, leg, and head. Afterward, they sent me into the CAT scan tunnel. Back in the emergency room, a nurse grabbed my hand and told me how lucky I was to be in the hospital that day.
“What is so lucky about all of this for me?” I asked.
“It just so happens that the surgeon on call tonight is one of the best head and neck surgeons around. He’s also double board certified as an accomplished plastic surgeon. He is known for his ability to operate on people who have experienced significant trauma to their neck, face, and head. That’s why you’re lucky. I’m part of his team and we’re going to take super-good care of you, Greg.”
It seemed that the Lord was still orchestrating events in my favor.
A distinguished-looking gentleman poked his head over the nurse’s shoulder. “Greg, I’m your surgeon. I’ll be taking care of you in the operating room.” He grabbed my hand and looked me straight in the eyes. “I have done this type of surgery hundreds of times and I am going to make you good as new. I’ve got to scrub up now and get everything ready. You just try and relax and before you know it you’ll be out of surgery. Do you have any questions for me?”
“No, sir, I just want to say thank you for taking care of me.” He squeezed my hand, winked, and walked away.
Matt was here now, but I wished Rhea and the kids could be by my side. They knew nothing about what was happening. I was saddened to think I would not be in their prayers during the surgery.
I imagined a stranger calling Rhea and telling her I’d been attacked by a grizzly bear. I realized I could not let that happen. Rhea needed to hear my voice. I had to be the one to explain about the attack and let her know I would be okay.
With my left hand, I grabbed Matt by the arm. “I need my cell phone,” I said. “I have to call Rhea right now and let her know I’m all right.”
“Greg, you’re about to go into surgery. Give me the number and I’ll call her after you get prepped.”
“No, that isn’t going to happen. I need to call my wife right now or I’m not going into the operating room.”
Matt knew better than to argue with his older brother when he’d made up his mind. “Where’s your phone?”
“Unfortunately, it’s in the bag of expensive hunting clothing they cut off me when they were treating me on the beach.” Matt started rummaging through the personal effects that had ridden with me in the helicopter. The staff began to wheel me through the double d
oors of the hallway leading to the operating room.
“Matt,” I cried out, “I need to make that call!” Matt ran up, shoved his arm between the two nurses at my side, and handed me my phone. The gurney was still moving. I pressed the power button, closed my eyes, and prayed that the Lord would power the phone up one more time. It was late back in Texas and I knew Rhea would be in bed. The phone rang three times before she answered in a sleepy voice.
“Babe,” I said, “it’s me.”
“Hi,” Rhea said, her voice still groggy but getting clearer. “How is everything going?”
“Babe, I’m going to be okay.” (Nothing good comes from a conversation that starts with those words.) “There was an accident. I’m at the hospital getting ready to go into surgery. I’m going to be okay.”
For a moment, all was silent.
“WHAT?” Rhea shouted. “What happened to you?”
“Um, babe, I was attacked by a grizzly bear. But I am going to be just fine.”
“Oh my goodness!” My wife began to sob. I had trouble understanding what she was trying to say.
“Babe, I just had to call you so you could hear my voice before I go into surgery. I promise you that I’m going to be okay and that I’m going to come home to you.” I fought against the urge to cry myself. “Babe, listen, they are rolling me into surgery right now so I have to go. I love you, sweetheart, and I will call you as soon as I’m out of surgery. Call Matt and he can give you all the details. I love you, baby. Tell the kids I love them very much, okay?”
Rhea was still crying. It broke my heart to put her through that. Her last words were, “I love you, babe. I’m praying right now.” Tears streamed down my face as I handed the phone back to Matt. The end of the gurney met cold, stainless steel doors, then pushed through as I was wheeled into the operating room.
Wild Awakening Page 16