Rock Climbing accident

As written by Nelson
Back in the day I was single and among the most available of coveted, available bachelors, and my siblings and I began the hobby of rock climbing. It seems that each dollar I earned that didn’t go to tithing or tuition, went to purchasing a new piece of equipment that would enhance the next climb. Soon, we collectively, had all the basic equipment needed to safely rock climb. In the fervor of a new, exciting hobby, mixed with the feeling of invincibility that comes with youth, perhaps the use of the proper equipment to safely climb was overlooked.
On September 15th, 1995, I had a date with a girl I met while working as an EFY counselor and thought rock climbing would be the perfect way to get to know each other. Spencer and Kenny Atkins came along, as was the normal practice of fun activities. Rarely did any of the Bowen kids ever do anything that didn’t involve at least one other sibling. We made our way to the outcrop of rocks at the top of 9th street in Ogden and began tying in.
As I had done many times before, I climbed to the top of the outcrop and doubly tied the knot into the bolts that were drilled deep into the quartzite. I then looped the double rope around the figure-eight and fastened it to my harness with a carabineer and backed my way over the edge of the 30 foot cliff. This has always been the most uneasy part of the experience for me. It always seemed to be the time when I had the least control; standing awkwardly at the edge where my control of gravity’s forces shifted from familiar to shaky. Due to the rope being doubled through the figure-eight, going over the edge would be slow. The friction enough that the weight of my body alone would not be enough to move down the wall’s face, so I would need to force feed the rope. As I leaned back, my body perpendicular to the cliff, I suddenly began to fall fast. Pulling the rope to my butt did nothing to slow me down which made me realize I was freefalling. In moments of danger or extreme intensity, many people say time slows down. I’m not sure how many seconds it took to hit the ground, but it was at least enough time to think to myself, “this is going to hurt”.
Spencer said that when I hit the ground I bounced. I deduced from what I remember, and Spencer’s account, that I lost consciousness for short time. Spencer took off immediately to call 911. This was before the days when everyone owned a cell phone so he sprinted down the mountain and without knocking, ran into the first house he came to. He said he heard the sirens almost the moment he left the house.
In my perception of all of this, I hit the ground and remember looking around and knowing I wasn’t in very good shape. The first thing I did was look up at my feet to wiggle my toes. In my naïve assessment, if I could wiggle my toes, I was going to be fine. Other climbers jumped into action and were yelling at me to not move at all. I, of course, was extremely uncomfortable but not in much pain. I guess in times of trauma, the body will give you a break and not let you feel the pain it should be in. Isn’t’ that called shock? While quickly assessing my injuries, the most obvious damage was my right arm. It was observably broken as it was fairly severely displaced. Though nothing else was visibly broken, I felt beat up, so I lay there on the ground, not moving, and waited for the paramedics to take me to the hospital. As I waited, I looked down to my crotch to see that I had wet my pants a little bit. Though I never was one to easily get embarrassed, I was on a date, so I placed my misshapen claw of a hand over the wet spot in an effort to hide it all. This wasn’t the last time that day I would be humiliated.
The wait for emergency services wasn’t too long. They bandaged me up, loaded me onto a board and carried me down the mountain, all the while being very uncomfortable. The most discomfort coming from a pain on my right butt cheek. I kept complaining of this so the paramedic felt for something and pulled a rock out of my back pocket.
We arrived at the hospital where I would meet an old high school acquaintance that would help me through much of the emergency room experience. They cut off my upper body clothing, in order to not disturb the injuries known and yet unknown, if any. After the initial assessments were complete, they carefully removed my shorts and under garments. As they did this, out plopped a turd the size of a fun size Baby Ruth. In the intensity of it all, I really didn’t care. It was merely another discomfort of the afternoon.
At this point my dad gave me a priesthood blessing that was brief and to the point. There was no time for embellishment or pomp. But Heavenly Father knew what I needed.
Soon, pressure built to the point of desperation in my bladder. After informing the nurse, she handed me one of those bottles with the angled necks. Stretched out for several minutes feeling the force of a hydrant but unable to release, my friend from high school approached with a catheter. He assured me that after only a moment of uncomfortable humiliation it would all be worthwhile. My bladder shrank and stopped hurting.
Though there is more to this story that could be told, perhaps I will stick to one last detail. The next day after the tumble, the doctors operated on my wrist to put two screws in my hand and two in my arm. They then put rods between them to keep the wrist completely immobilized. When I awoke from the anesthesia, I lay there and allowed the pain settle in. For whatever reason, I wasn’t allowed any more pain medicine for a certain amount of time and as the old stuff wore off, the hurt became so severe that I could hardly stand it. My tears flowed and I squirmed in agony. I’m not sure of where the pain came from. Maybe the wrist, maybe where the screws were bore into the bone or maybe both. As the nurse finally injected medicine into my IV, my dad made the comment that perhaps I was given an insight to what Jesus went through on the cross. Even at the time I remember that being a stretch, but I somehow, at that moment, felt closeness to Him and maybe I did know a fraction of what He experienced.
Time went on and I healed. The injures were, shattered right wrist, fractured left wrist, chipped right elbow, 4-6 vertebrae had compression fractures, and a split liver. The orthopedic surgeon predicted that I would have to have my wrist at least partially fused within ten years in order to deal with the pain of arthritis. It is now fifteen years after (at the time this was written) and I’m still going strong with very little discomfort and only very minor range of motion issues. Sometimes I have back pain, but no more than most people. There is no doubt I was blessed and protected. God even blesses the careless and stupid at times. Too many people to count showed compassion and love during that difficult time. When I’m watching the video of my life after I pass to the other side, I will watch in slow motion, pause, rewind and re-watch it all again.