So I arrived at St. Francis Hospital on the Thursday and was transferred to the burns unit, being lucky to get one of the few beds they have. I was sharing a room with a Hispanic guy who didn’t speak much English…Espanola was to keep following me it seemed, our shared TV was tuned to the Spanish channels. But at least Kerry finally got to go home and see our cat Leo. Fortunately we had arranged for friends to house sit while we were away, little did they know 10 days would turn into 2 months. Lucky for us since it was one less thing we had to worry about. Kerry told me later Leo seemed quite nonplussed to see her, that’s cats for you.

The day after I arrived at St. Francis they asked if I’d like to have a bath or shower. I stared in disbelief, one of the little milestones I’d envisioned was to have a shower. I hadn’t had a decent wash since the accident; the occasional bed bath, a face wash, a shave, but a shower…now we’re talking. My left armpit hadn’t seen water for nearly 2 months. It was bliss to finally stand under hot running water, a little unsteady on my feet perhaps but bliss nevertheless.

The last remaining operation was to close my arm, which could only be done once they were sure all the dead tissue had been debrieded, to avoid future infections. To confirm this I was sent for a full body scan to highlight any dead tissue. The only areas that showed up were my bicep/brachioradialis muscles so surgery was scheduled for the Monday morning to remove the remaining dead tissue and finally close my arm. At last the surgeries would be over…another milestone reached.

The surgery went well and after 3 or so hours I awoke to begin the next phase in my recovery. In total I’d undergone 15 surgeries in 7 weeks, spanning Columbia, Miami and San Francisco…seems hard to believe. Now all I had to do was focus on healing and getting mobile again. After 7 weeks in bed and surgeries to both my legs they were a little stiff to say the least, but I was able to start to get up and walk around, with IV in tow.

It was great to see friends again, it was a bit easier to come visit now that I was back in the Bay Area. Most were quite surprised to see how well I looked, all things considered, and I continued to do well over the next few days to the extent that the doctor felt I should be OK to move to rehab. Kaiser’s intensive rehab facility was in Vallejo and he recommended I stay for a month, as an in-patient – definitely not what I had in mind I can assure you.

So after a week in the burns unit I was transferred to intensive rehab in Vallejo. Another ambulance ride and another hospital room, except this time I was sharing with 3 other people. Oh how the mighty had fallen, I’d gone from my own private room with a view to sharing with 3 and a view of a construction site. I just wanted to go home and I implored my wife to sneak me out while no one was looking.

I was determined not to spend any longer than I needed in Vallejo. Whilst the intensive rehab program is first-rate, they deal with recovering stroke victims, after nearly two months away I really wanted to be home. Luckily the rehab program allowed for “weekend passes”, or time off for good behaviour as I called it. Patients were allowed home Saturday afternoon for the night as a prelude to returning home full-time. After being examined by the doctors Kerry convinced everyone I was doing well enough to be let home and so 2 months since the accident I finally got to go home, and whist I returned again that Sunday I was finally discharged 2 days later and got to go home for good.

And as they say “that was just the beginning…”

With my hand amputated I at least felt that I was on a road to recovery; but it was far from over. My arm was still open, likewise my leg, with many more surgeries still required.

The next two weeks fell into a fairly regular routine of three wound dressing changes a day and four hours of hyperbaric treatment, interspersed with a surgery or two during the week as they continued to bebride my arm and leg. It seemed strange to have my leg and arm remain open so long as they waited to see what was viable tissue. I was lucky to not get any major infection or complication throughout my recovery.

As word spread of my accident flowers started to arrive from friends and family. My mum flew in from Spain for a week, my brother from the UK and my very good friend from California. Being so far from anywhere I’d call home it was great to see familiar faces.

After the two weeks of surgeries they finally felt they would be able to close my wounds. This was to involve taking a free flap from the thigh of my left leg for my arm and a skin graft from the top of my right leg for my right thigh. The flap was a delicate operation, including connecting an artery and nerve that they took with the flap from my leg. The entire surgery took a total of twelve hours and at the end my arm had swollen to twice its normal size.

The first 24 hours after the operation were critical , the nurses checked blood flow and temperature ever hour or so to see if the flap was viable. This was an incredibly stressful time as we waited to see if everything would be successful. As the first 24 hours passed I recommenced hyperbaric treatments to assist with the healing and now I had wound care not just for my arm and right leg but also my left leg where they’d taken the flap from. Dr. Gonzalez-Hernandez was hoping to stretch the skin on my leg to avoid a further skin graft…this involved twisting wires in my leg every few days to try to close the gap!

The one consolation was the great view from my hospital room window and the weather, couldn’t have been much better if I was staying at a 5 star hotel. As I started to gain strength both physically and mentally I could venture outside in a wheel chair with my wife behind mem, I could enjoy the sun while California was being drenched in rain.

Even though the closure surgery was a success I was to still undergo several more surgeries as there was concern over the viability of my bicep and brachioradialis muscles. They kept a hole open at the bottom of the flap so they could continue to bebride the muscles, this wouldn’t finally be closed until I reached St. Francis hospital in San Francisco.

As the weeks rolled by both Kerry and I felt the desire to return home. We could have probably stayed another month or more in hospital in Miami recovering, but, with Kerry living out of a hotel and the hotel bills rising and after being away from home for nearly two months it was time to head home and so we worked with Kaiser Permanente and our doctors to get medically evacuated again back to California.

My finally surgery in Miami was to close my left leg, unfortunately my skin hadn’t stretched enough to cover where the flap was taken and so they did another skin graft to close the remaining area…not pretty but it did the job.

And so after a 10 hour flight involving stops in Alabama and Denver our medevac jet arrived at SFO and I was transported to St. Francis Hospital in San Francisco.

We meet some amazingly caring people at Mercy Hospital who helped both
myself and my wife get through such a traumatic time, I’m sure we will
continue to stay in touch and thanks to all of you for your kindness.

The ambulance arrived at Mercy hospital in Miami and I was admitted to intensive care on the 4th floor of 4 Carroll. Once I was hooked up, Dr. Eduardo Gonzalez-Hernandez from Miami Hand Center arrived along with Dr. Scott McDonald. Thankfully my doctor in Colombia knew Dr. Gonzalez-Hernandez, a hand specialist, and had contacted him to ask if he would take on my case…for this I am forever grateful. Doctor Gonzalez-Hernandez enlisted the help of Dr. McDonald, a plastic surgeon, to help in my leg and arm reconstruction.

At this time my hand was intact but not in great shape. My first surgery was there and then in my room as both doctors set about the debridement (removal of foreign material and dead tissue) of my arm, strange to feel them cutting away the dead tissue…no pain, just a sensation of tugging & pulling.

It was still unclear as to the extent of my injuries and to ensure the best chance of survival for the remaining tissue in my arm and leg I began hyperbaric treatment at the Hyperbaric and Problem Wound Center in the hospital. If you’re a scuba diver (as I am) then you’ll be familiar with Hyperbaric treatment for divers suffering from decompression sickness or “the bends”. It is now also used to treat wounds, allowing patients to breath 100% oxygen at a depth of 10m which saturates tissues with oxygen and speeds the healing process. My initial treatments were in the Sechrist, a single person chamber pressurized with 100% oxygen…no smoking allowed!

I got to meet some really caring people during these treatments, who truly helped me get through my 6 week stay in Miami, I was to continue hyperbaric treatment throughout my 6 week stay.

Within the first week it became clear that the prognosis for my hand was not looking good, despite the continued debridements and hyperbaric treatments. It was time to face the tough decision. My doctor explained he could continue trying to save my hand, but given the extent of the damage it was pretty uncertain how functional it would be and the process would likely be long and arduous as he attempted to reconstruct what he could and risky as necrosis set in, leaving me prone to infections that could kill.

After having prayed and hoped that my hand would be OK the time had come. It was probably harder for my wife than me, she’d been through so much, pushed so hard, and kept hope alive for the both of us…thinking back on how strong she’d been causes my eyes to mist even now. I believe that at some level I’d already accepted the outcome…I remember thinking before the second surgery in Colombia that my hand would probably be amputated, quite matter of fact.

My wife fought so hard to save my hand, but in the end I remember saying to her that we had to let it go. I wanted to get better, I wanted the uncertainty to be over, I wanted the never-ending surgeries to end. There really was a sense of relief for me, I didn’t look beyond the amputation or think about the consequences, this was just the next stage in getting back to a normal life…a mindset that stayed with me throughout my recovery – to think too far ahead was to be overwhelmed. I can’t imagine how this must have been for my wife, no friends for support and nothing but an empty hotel room to go back to, since we live in California!

And so my hand was amputated…

So there I was, in hospital, in Colombia, surrounded by doctors and nurses who didn’t speak English. With my Spanish being pretty much non-existent I could see we were in for an interesting time…looking back it’s quite amusing to think of my wife Kerry using her pocket English/Spanish dictionary to communicate about my medical needs and condition. I’m thankful that Richi was there some of the time to translate some of what was going on.

We spent 5 days in hospital in Colombia, during which time I underwent 3 surgeries on my arm.

The first was the day I arrived. They did an ultra-sound like scan on my arm to see the remaining blood flow, it didn’t look good from below my mid-forearm and so the doctor took a vein graft from my right leg to use as an artery in my arm to try to restore some flow.

Initially the surgery seemed successful but after a while the blood flow seemed to stop again. Through Richi’s translation the doctor explained he may have to amputate…you can imagine how that makes you feel…and a doctor, who knew some English, hand wrote a consent for me to sign for the amputation. As I went in for my second surgery the last thing I remember saying to the doctor was, “please try to save my hand”.

I awoke with hand still intact, but again as time passed things started to turn blue and so they rushed to get me into surgery for a 3rd time. I remember waiting on the trolley, staring at the ceiling, doctor by my side, wondering what we were waiting for, praying for the surgery to start so that I’d be asleep and not in pain. He explained, in his broken English, that at that time of night on the weekend they only had 2 operating rooms open, so we were waiting for one to become free. As we waited the lights went out twice due to what I assume were power outages…confidence building stuff.

So after 3 surgeries it wasn’t looking good and whilst amputation was looking likely we decided it was time to get back to the US. The doctor felt I was stable enough to fly and so we contacted DAN (Divers Alert Network) for emergency medical evacuation assistance. I cannot recommend their evacuation insurance enough, once my wife called their hot-line they put the wheels in motion to fly us out of Colombia to Miami and within 36 hours we were aboard a private jet bound for Mercy hospital in Miami. It is hard to put into words the sense of relief I felt to hear the English-speaking voice of the medical flight attendant from Air Ambulance Specialists as the ambulance arrived at the airport in Bucaramanga and they loaded me aboard the Lear Jet…it’s just indescribable!

I’d always fancied a ride in a private jet, never quite envisioned it would happen like this and after a quick 3 hour flight we arrived in Miami and an ambulance whisked me away to Mercy hospital and the next chapter in my recovery.