The Wrong Place at the Wrong Time

As seen on 2theheart.com.

I awoke from a coma, thinking I was in the southwestern part of Russia. I had no idea what I was doing there, and to add to my confusion I had no idea why so many friends and family members were also in Russia with me.

In reality, I was in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) at Breckenridge Hospital in Austin, Texas, the result of having been shot, point blank in the head, during a convenience store robbery. I was the victim of a violent crime, being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Before that infamous night, I thought I was invincible and immortal. Life was good for me. I was a 19-year-old pre-med student at the University of Texas in Austin, well on my way to fulfilling a lifelong dream of becoming an orthopedic surgeon. I had a beautiful girlfriend (Sharon, my high school sweetheart) and I thought life could not get any better. How wrong I was!!

On that eventful night, February 18, 1981,1 had to fight simply to remain alive. The three criminals who shot me thought I was dead, and after arriving by ambulance at the hospital very few people there believed I would be alive much longer. The police quickly transferred my case to the Homicide Division as they, too, thought I would not survive.

My neurosurgeon arrived at the hospital in the middle of the night only to turn around and go home, thinking I would be dead before the morning arrived. When he returned the next morning, surprised that I was still alive, he told my parents that he needed to immediately take me into the operating room for delicate brain surgery. However, instead of giving my parents any reason for hope, he coldly stated that there was a 60 percent chance that I would die during surgery, and if I did survive, there was almost a 100 percent chance that I would not be able to comprehend, communicate, or be a positive member of society again.

I beat the eminent neurosurgeon's odds and survived the surgery. I was still paralyzed on my right side, could not speak, and was confused. But I was alive.

After three weeks in Austin, I was strong enough to be transferred by jet ambulance to a Rehab Hospital in Houston. Once there, I continued to make slow but steady progress. However, after several weeks I was tested by a neuropsychologist and once again my life changed forever. She said, "I know you have goals of returning to college, but judging from the results of your test, we must be realistic." She implied most strongly that I would never return to college. I was furious and thought, "Lady, who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do? You do not even know me!" Right then and there I made returning to the University of Texas my number one goal.

My goal was not an easy one. I had to learn to walk again. I had to learn to speak again. I had to learn how to do small things that most of us take for granted like tying my shoes, getting dressed every day, taking a shave, etc. But this time I had to learn to do it by using only one hand.

However, after one and a half years of extremely difficult work my goal was reached. I returned to the University of Texas. When I was first injured, very few professionals believed that I would survive, and even fewer thought I would ever return to the University of Texas. None thought I would return to Plan II, the Honors Program at the University of Texas in which I was enrolled on that eventful night when I was shot. I surprised everyone when I resumed my university studies in none other then Plan II!!

Continued on page 2: ' I have to be the most unlucky person alive...' »