An Arm Lost but Not Hope

Much has happened since I last wrote, as is becoming the norm. In fact, so much has happened, I don’t think I can even summarize it. I don’t even plan to; my goal with this post is to briefly recall the accounts of Friday, June 14^th: the night my wife lost her right arm to a lawnmower.

I had gotten home from work at 5pm, which is unusually early for Summer when air conditioning work picks up but it had been a cool, breezy day with rain on the forecast. There had been a lot of rain this Spring and I was finding it difficult to keep up with the mowing around the farm that Heidi and I were renting. More like house-sitting; the grand old farmhouse and surrounding barns were worth more than what we were paying in rent. Along with paying a small monthly stipend, I was responsible for snow removal and lawn mowing. A large 62”-deck zero-turn riding mower was provided and it took roughly 5 hours to get the lawns looking nice and clean again. Because it had rained for nearly two weeks straight, I would attempt to mow in between cloudbursts. My landlords Kenny and Mary Beth would stop in to mow as well; it was truly a group effort to combat the teeming lawns. I was glad for the cool weather and rains; work was a little bit slower and it allowed me to get home early and spend a little extra time with my wife and sons. Canon, our second son, was fresh from the hospital. Arriving three weeks before his due date, Heidi had given birth to Canon by a traumatic c-section. The surgery itself had gone without a hitch, but we had hoped to give birth to him naturally so it was our emotions that were traumatized. Heidi greeted me at the door when I arrived home and said “Excellent timing! You can get some mowing done before it rains!” Her grin was full of energy that I didn’t feel myself. “Uhhhhghghghghghg” I exclaimed, trying to invent an excuse to get out of mowing. It was a Friday night and I just wanted to be lazy. But Heidi declared that the mowing needed to be done before Mary Beth came swooping in to help us out again. “It’s our responsibility; let’s do it.” She said. 

I headed out to the barn that housed the lawnmowers and found not just one but two zero-turn mowers sitting inside. The mower I normally used was sitting there beside an older, slightly smaller model of the same lawnmower. I raced back into the house. “Hey honey, you wanna be my mowing buddy? There’s a second mower! Come on out and help me.” Heidi was excited about it and started strapping Canon into a chest carrier. “No, he’s asleep. Leave him inside and come out with me!” I said. I had Owen sitting on my lap. He’s mowed with me before and behaves quite nicely for a 16-month old; sitting very still with big, comfy earmuffs clamped over his ears. Owen enjoyed mowing with his daddy. Heidi didn’t want to leave Canon alone in the house while we swooped around on noisy mowers, so she brought him along. I started up her lawnmower and showed her how to operate the controls. “Have you driven one of these before?” I asked her. “Yeah, once I think.” She replied. Her reply didn’t assure me that she knew what she was up against; these mowers operate differently than other mowers. The brand is Walker. I’ve waited to share that information until now, because many people aren’t familiar with the brand. Often when people hear “Walker mower”, their brains envision a push mower that you walk behind. Not so. Walker mowers are common around our area and are known to be high-quality zero-turn riding mowers that leave your lawn looking like the 17^th fairway of a golf course. I had grown up using both my grandpa’s and father’s Walker lawnmowers and was intimately familiar with how they operated. One of their features is that the same levers that move the lawnmower forward also turn and reverse the lawnmower, depending on how they’re pulled. Pull the left directional lever toward yourself, the mower turns left. Pull the right, it turns right. Pull both together and the mower reverses. The faster you’re going forward, the more abruptly the lawnmower jerks to a stop and tries to reverse. The lawnmower’s speed is controlled by a throttle lever which is operated by the right hand. The left hand holds on to the two directional levers. To reverse, one would normally bring the throttle back all the way and then reverse using the directional levers. The mower is designed with the cutting deck in the front. This way, the mower can quickly and easily mow around trees, bushes, and other obstacles. Heidi hopped on her lawnmower and was soon dashing around the property mowing like a champ. We mowed sections together so I could keep an eye on her. Several times, Heidi yanked the mower into reverse too quickly, which caused her mower to buck. I stopped her and told her that she couldn’t do that; my stern, worried glare bouncing off her infectious grin. She was having way too much fun to be intimidated by a jerky little lawnmower. “Okay!” She hollered. “I’ll be careful!” And she was. She quickly got the hang of the mower’s behavior and began to mow like a seasoned champ. Canon slept peacefully on her chest as we raced hither and yon. 

The wind was picking up as the sun began to set. It was nearing 7:30pm and I was ready to call it a day. We were almost finished with the yards; there were two left. I decided to call it quits after the lawn that we were working on, which was a hilly section behind one of the barns. I was mowing behind one of the barns and came back around the corner of the building to find my wife underneath her mower. 

My heart stopped.

I killed the blades on my mower and deposited Owen on the ground.

I ran.

Heidi was screaming; her right arm was shattered, torn, and mangled. The hand was untouched, attached to the rest of the arm by skin and ligaments. She was laying on her stomach in a growing pool of blood. The lawnmower was still trying to push her down a hill but the blades were stopped. I pushed the throttle back to its stop so that the mower would stop pushing Heidi. The mower deck was on her back, so I lifted it and pushed against the mower to try backing it up the hill. My wife was screaming for me to get Canon; she had fallen on top of him and he had gone silent for a moment. She was afraid that she killed him. I pushed the mower off Heidi and reached for Canon. He was screaming, the breath returning to him after it was knocked out of his lungs. I pulled him out of the chest carrier. The legs of his little blue onesie were soaked crimson with blood. I had no phone with me and I remembered that Heidi’s phone was inside. I screamed for Heidi to stay with me, please Oh God just stay with me as I ran back to the house. I grabbed her phone and dialed 911, blubbering and sobbing to the dispatcher that my wife had been in an accident. I was still gripping Canon, who was shouting and crying. The dispatcher heard me blubber “lawnmower accident” and “blood” and heard the baby crying, so she sent every available emergency response unit within a 10-mile radius. I ran back to Heidi but my call with 911 dropped due to poor cell service in that section of the yard. I managed to get a bar of service and call back. I was quickly transferred to the dispatcher that I had been talking with, who calmly helped me apply a clean cloth to Heidi’s bleeding shoulder. I had removed my belt in case I needed to make a tourniquet, but the dispatcher told me to hold off; since paramedics were on the way. Heidi was calming me down at this point, telling me that everything was going to be okay. I was in hysterics, bawling and sobbing and screaming. I had prided myself in times past for keeping a cool head under duress, but I found myself overwhelmed with the sense that I was losing my wife. She was very white but still conscious. “Check on Canon, please,” She said.

I ran over to where I had set Canon down in the grass in order to try reconnecting with the 911 dispatcher. Canon was squalling and all four limbs were moving. I pulled open his onesie and found no scratch on his body. The blood on his onesie was from Heidi. 

My landlords Kenny and Mary Beth arrived first. They had been close by and heard the call go out over emergency frequencies. Kenny is a firefighter and once he heard the familiar address, he came immediately. He found us in the yard far from the driveway and was able to direct the ambulance and first responders to our location. The first responders checked Canon and determined he was in good shape, but recommended that I take him to the hospital for further evaluation. A paramedic placed a tourniquet on Heidi’s right shoulder and, once I thought it was tight, cinched it two twists further. Heidi screamed and screamed. I was grateful I had not tried to rig a tourniquet by myself, because mine would have been far too loose to do any good. A paramedic asked me if I’d like Heidi transported by helicopter or ambulance. 

“Which do you recommend?” I asked him. 

“Fastest way possible.” He replied. 

“Air Care, please.” I said. 

As it turns out, the ambulance was faster. Heidi would have to be stabilized before she could be transported by helicopter, so the paramedics opted for ambulance. It was a short trip to the University Hospital; roughly 20 minutes if you have to obey traffic signs and speed limits. The Air Care helicopter circled the field next to our home and left without landing. 

Neighbors showed up to take care of the boys. Canon was still softly crying but was warm and cozy in the arms of one woman. Owen, who had contented himself to play in the yard with his large earmuffs on, was oblivious during the screaming. Heidi told me later that when I had run into the house, Owen had come over to her and she was afraid that he would see her mangled arm. “I wasn’t able to hide it,” she sobbed to me as she recounted “I prayed,  ‘Jesus, shield his eyes.’” Her prayer answered, Owen was more interested in her lawnmower, and he had crawled over to inspect it. Now with flashing lights and nearly 20 people in the yard, Owen was getting very sleepy. I carried him into the house as Heidi was being loaded into the ambulance. I set him down in his crib to go to sleep. Some friends of ours had arrived and stayed by his crib, singing to him and reading stories to him. I collected a few things for Canon and hopped in my dad’s waiting van to be taken to the hospital. I had felt that I would be able to drive myself but the paramedics told me I was not allowed to drive myself to the hospital. On the way, I was grateful for their refusal as my adrenaline gave out and I was completely sapped of strength. Once arriving at the emergency room, Canon was checked quickly and thoroughly. The waiting room in the ER was three-quarters full but a one-month old baby with bloodstains on his clothing takes absolute precedence. The patients waiting in the ER lobby didn’t seem upset by the cut in line; in fact, they hushed almost reverently. Doctors quickly surmised that Canon was in good shape. He was hungry and alert and all his limbs were moving. There was no swelling or bruising; Heidi’s padded baby carrier had protected him. 

In the haze of the moment, I couldn’t figure out how Heidi had gotten hurt. Had she fallen and gotten hit by a blade as it was slowing down? Surely the mower was off; but why was it still trying to move when I got to her? So many strange things were unanswered and confusing to me. After all, there’s a disconnect safety in these lawnmowers that kills the engine and mower blades as soon as the rider gets off the seat. Was Heidi still in the seat when her arm got caught? I couldn’t see how that was possible. My father-in-law Alan examined the mower and discovered the answer; the seat safety had been disabled. No one has come forward and admitted to disabling the safety, but it’s a common practice.  Heidi was coming down a short hill and wanted to slow down. Rather than slowing down with the throttle, she instinctively jerked back on the directional levers, which caused the lawnmower to buck her off in front of it. Instead of stopping immediately when Heidi was bucked off, the lawnmower continued to drive and mow on its own. The lawnmower pushed her down the rest of the short hill and across a gravel drive; a total distance of 45 feet. She had been on her back for the majority of the bulldozing, but as the lawnmower started pushing up onto her, she had reached her right arm up to shield Canon from the mower. The still-whipping mower blades hit her right elbow. The jolt of the blade hitting her bone is what broke the shear pin; a pin that sacrifices itself and stops the blades in order to prevent the mower blade gears from grinding when something hard is struck. The mower, still pushing, rolled Heidi over onto her stomach. Her right arm was outside of the lawnmower when I reached her, but her back and left arm were obscured underneath the mower deck. As I moved the lawnmower back, I could see pieces of bone, tendon and ligament scattered on the ground underneath the mower. Heidi’s right arm had deep gashes all the way to the top of the shoulder, but the worst of the damage was at the elbow, where no bones remained. The skin on her forearm was torn into ribbons but was still holding what was left of her arm to her shoulder. In the moment, as I watched the tourniquet get applied and the deep gashes up the bicep, I was certain that Heidi would have to get amputated at the shoulder. 

Heidi’s parents had been alerted that there was a terrible accident and met me at the hospital. Once Canon was cleared, we journeyed to find Heidi. I was asked to fill out some paperwork. Was I aware that Heidi’s arm was in poor shape? Yes. Was I aware that it may need to be amputated? Yes. The aides with the paperwork told me that Heidi’s hand was in good shape and could be eligible for a foreshortening procedure; that is, they would preserve the hand and reattach it higher up on the arm. But the final decision would be up to the head surgeon, a Dr. Buckwalter. I was allowed to see Heidi before she was wheeled into surgery. A small row of staples had been placed in her head where a small gash had been found. She was heavily sedated but was actively fighting the drugs and trying to come up out of her sedation, her mothering instincts still firing on all cylinders. She was not able to respond to my voice, but Heidi and I have a little squeeze that we give each other; the first person squeezes three times to signal “I love you” and the second person responds by squeezing twice, signaling “you too”. When I squeezed Heidi’s left hand three times, she squeezed back twice immediately. I burst into tears again. Shortly, Heidi was wheeled toward the operating room.

Heidi’s parents, Alan and Jean, stayed with me in the waiting room, along with my pastor Floyd and his wife Elaine, my friend Ryan, my sisters Shelley and Sheryl, and my parents Barry and Debby. Other friends stopped in to pray and to cry. One friend prayed specifically against trauma in my mind, against nightmares and flashbacks of the accident. He asked the Father to show me where He was during the accident. Immediately in my mind I saw myself running toward Heidi under the lawnmower, but this time there were two massive angels flanking me, and they were the ones that helped me not only lift the lawnmower, but push it uphill off of Heidi. A third angel was on the ground under the lawnmower, arms and wings wrapped protectively around Heidi and Canon.

An hour and a half after Heidi was wheeled into surgery, Dr. Buckwalter emerged from the operating room. He was a kind man in his late 30’s or early 40’s with what looked like two pounds of soft curly hair tucked into a massive surgeon’s cap in the shape of a portabella mushroom. He walked over to me and sat down on the only chair left in the waiting room; a little plastic toddler seat. “I’m going to be really honest with you, Shawn. Your wife Heidi has just undergone a life-altering experience,” He said kindly and softly. “I took a look at her arm and made the decision to amputate at the middle of her bicep,” He described as he drew a line with his hand through his own bicep. “There really just wasn’t enough structure left for us to rebuild her arm. I hate that we have to meet under these circumstances. I would never wish to have this happen. But your wife is going to be okay. She’s going to be just fine.” After hours of not knowing what was going to happen to my wife, Dr. Buckwalter’s words were like cool, refreshing dew. He didn’t mince words but was open and frank. He answered all my questions. 

Would Heidi’s balance while walking be affected?
No, not really. 

I thought maybe the shoulder would have to be amputated?
No, the shoulder is in good shape and we just had to stitch the skin in a few places. Her shoulder has full range of motion and should make a nice recovery. 

Dr. Buckwalter described how he had tagged each of Heidi’s nerves and folded them into the stump, for later retrieval if needed. He pinched off the arteries and cut the stump so that he could stitch it all up. In his opinion, the stump would make an excellent base for a prosthetic, if we chose to go that route. He recommended we pursue a prosthetic immediately once the swelling reduced, to give Heidi the best chance to acclimate to it. In his view, those patients that adjusted to life without a limb had a tougher time getting used to a prosthetic later, versus those patients that started living with a prosthetic immediately. He repeated the phrase “life-altering” a few more times, and I replied “but it’s not life-ending, is it?” to which he responded with a grin, “No, not at all.”

It took another hour for Heidi to come up out of the general anesthesia. Once she awoke, I was escorted to her bedside. I saw the bandaged stump and her groggy face and once again wept. But these tears were different; I was so glad she was okay. Heidi lifted her face toward me, still hazy from anesthetics. Her first words to me were "I'm sorry I lost my arm."

Heidi was surrounded by absolute angels during her three-day stay at the hospital. There were countless nurses with hearts of gold. Several of them donated breast milk to Heidi for Canon. Heidi’s mom Jean kept Canon and stayed overnight to let Heidi be near to him as I went home in the evenings to be with Owen. Dozens of family and friends visited and left us with gifts, flowers, words of life, and their prayers. Many came to encourage Heidi and left more encouraged by Heidi than when they arrived. But Heidi has that effect; she is a beam of pure light from the Father.

Heidi rated her pain as a 10 out of 10, which raised the hair on the back of my neck because she rated her terribly difficult labor and delivery of Owen as a 9 out of 10. “I would gladly give birth to both of my children again instead of this pain,” Heidi said one day through the haze of multiple painkillers, “but I would give my arm up again in an instant to save my baby.”

On our third day in the hospital, Heidi walked with me to a rooftop terrace to get some fresh air. The outdoor terrace was attached to an atrium that had a baby grand piano sitting in it. Heidi sat down and played with her left hand. We both cried. 

Heidi was released from the hospital as soon as she was able to manage her pain with oral medications. She has been faithfully taking those medications but the pain has persisted. Heidi experiences a great deal of phantom pain; pain felt in her hand and wrist that are no longer there. At times, she describes that her right hand feels as if it had been dipped in boiling tar. At other times, it feels as if her hand is caught in a gear, grinding and tearing her nonexistent fingers. At various times Heidi would scratch my right hand to satisfy an itch in her missing right hand. Heidi is taking the maximum dose of several high-power drugs, including a narcotic, which the doctors are monitoring closely and the pharmacists worry about incessantly. I asked one pharmacist if Heidi runs the risk of addiction to the narcotic, and she replied that addictions form when using narcotics for chronic pain rather than using them for temporary pain, like from an amputation or surgery. Dr. Buckwalter is confident that Heidi’s pain will reduce over time, although he mentioned that 25% of amputees suffer debilitating phantom pain, 25% feel nearly none at all, and the remaining 50% span the full spectrum between the two ends. In time, we’ll know where Heidi lies on that spectrum, but we pray that the phantom pain will subside and leave her at peace. 

Last week, we moved from the farmhouse rental to the home that we plan to raise our family in. We love it here, at the House on the Hill, but rebuilding Heidi’s life still looks daunting at times. We take each day, one at a time. I was fortunate enough to take two weeks off work to tend to Heidi. Mama Jean and my mom Debby have been close by to help with children and love on us. Church friends have brought meals in abundance. Heidi’s cousin Jennifer has stopped in each morning to help Heidi fix her hair. Heidi’s cousin Ashley came from South Carolina to spend a week with us and take care of Heidi. My sister Shannon took good care of Owen and my brother-in-law Randy helped me move several truckloads of our possessions to our new home. We have been completely overwhelmed with the love and outpouring of prayers, finances, gifts, and sympathies of hundreds of people all over the world. We are loved, and we love you all in return. Please continue to pray. Heidi is strong-willed and a fierce warrior, but this valley is very dark. Heidi has spent time each morning intentionally engaging in worship, by singing or listening to worship songs. At times Heidi has had friends come to help her worship. This has boosted our hearts considerably. God is still on the throne, still sovereign, still good. "Jesus is going to receive so much glory through this," Heidi says, tears in her eyes. 

In Jesus' name, let it be so.