From the Roof to the ER: A Story of Survival and the Unknown

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It was Saturday morning, December 15, 2018. As I rushed toward the door, I heard my wife call out, “It’s raining!”

I barely acknowledged her. I was already focused on the day ahead. I climbed into my truck, started the engine, and turned up the music—"Life Goes On" by Tupac—letting the beat drown out everything else.

I was a roofer, and I loved the work. The heights, the steep pitches, the open sky, the fresh air—everything about it made me feel alive. The money was good too, good enough for a nice truck and to have people working under me. It was tough work, but it was mine, and I took pride in it.

That day, I had a roof inspection to finish. The house was two stories, but my ladder was too short to reach the roof, so I improvised—placing it on the wet, angled porch roof. It wasn’t ideal, but it seemed like a quick solution. Standing there, with only a six-foot climb to the fairly flat roof, it felt simple—maybe too simple. That sense of ease might have caught me off guard.

Everything was going smoothly until it was time to climb down. I made my way to the edge of the roof, ready to descend, but as soon as I grabbed the ladder, something went horribly wrong. I felt the ladder start to slip beneath me, and before I could react, I saw the bushes below rushing toward me. It all happened in an instant.

The next moment felt like an eternity. I was no longer standing on solid ground. Instead, I was twisting in mid-air, falling in an awkward position. I looked up, seeing nothing but sky, while my leg was at a completely unnatural angle, hanging sideways. My body felt disconnected from itself, and in that moment, panic set in. I tried to pull my leg into a more natural position, but the swelling started almost immediately, as if my leg were filling with air—like a balloon.

Pain shot through me, but something even more terrifying was the complete loss of sensation in my leg. My first thought was that it might be broken, but the severity of the situation didn’t hit me yet. With my heart racing and my head spinning, I reached for my phone on my belt to call 911. I couldn’t focus as I fumbled with the screen. To my surprise, I saw an incoming call from my wife. I couldn’t answer the phone—I knew something had gone really bad. I had to wait until she hung up before I could call 911. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her when I was in this state.

Once the call from my wife ended, I dialed 911 as fast as I could. My voice shook as I tried to explain where I was and what had happened. Thankfully, the dispatcher understood my location and promised help was on the way.

I was terrified. I wasn’t sure how bad the damage was, but I knew something wasn’t right. The pain was searing, yet I couldn’t feel my leg. It was almost as though my body had disconnected from the situation. I heard the sirens approaching, growing louder as they neared. In what felt like no time at all, the paramedics arrived.

I heard one of them mutter under their breath, "His ankle’s broken, but he doesn’t feel it." The words hit me like a cold wave. I couldn't process everything at once—how could I not feel it? I had felt pain before, but this was different. I tried to focus, but the shock of the fall and my body’s strange response left me in a fog.

The paramedics carefully loaded me into the ambulance. I was in and out of clarity, and the ride to the emergency room felt like a blur. When we arrived, I was rushed straight into the MRI room. The noise of the machine was deafening, but my mind was more focused on the uncertain future ahead of me. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened and how everything had turned upside down in a single, reckless moment.

The doctor came in after the results, and I will never forget the look on his face. He calmly explained, “Your spinal cord is messed up.” I was in shock, struggling to fully grasp what he was saying. At that moment, the pain and fear were overwhelming, but what he said about my spine left me frozen. The reality of my situation was sinking in, and it was far worse than I could have imagined.

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