Michael Harris has had his ups and downs in life. There were a few big falls, like losing more than half of his liver in an accident at twelve years old, becoming an alcoholic by sixteen—endangering what was left of that liver—and nearly losing his legs from vascular disease at twenty-seven. But once Michael gets you through the gory details of the mess he found himself in, he’ll tell you what he did to get back up out of that mess—with plenty of entertainment and inspiration along the way.
From his brushes with death to his passion for life, and his tale of how he ultimately became a successful yoga teacher, Falling Down Getting Up just might help you get back up, too.
Michael Harris has had his ups and downs in life. There were a few big falls, like losing more than half of his liver in an accident at twelve years old, becoming an alcoholic by sixteen—endangering what was left of that liver—and nearly losing his legs from vascular disease at twenty-seven. But once Michael gets you through the gory details of the mess he found himself in, he’ll tell you what he did to get back up out of that mess—with plenty of entertainment and inspiration along the way.
From his brushes with death to his passion for life, and his tale of how he ultimately became a successful yoga teacher, Falling Down Getting Up just might help you get back up, too.
Falling Down Getting Up: A Story of Overcoming Life to Live
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Falling Down Getting Up: A Story of Overcoming Life to Live
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Overview
Michael Harris has had his ups and downs in life. There were a few big falls, like losing more than half of his liver in an accident at twelve years old, becoming an alcoholic by sixteen—endangering what was left of that liver—and nearly losing his legs from vascular disease at twenty-seven. But once Michael gets you through the gory details of the mess he found himself in, he’ll tell you what he did to get back up out of that mess—with plenty of entertainment and inspiration along the way.
From his brushes with death to his passion for life, and his tale of how he ultimately became a successful yoga teacher, Falling Down Getting Up just might help you get back up, too.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781614482369 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Morgan James Publishing |
| Publication date: | 10/01/2018 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 142 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Falling Down
It was the summer of 1971 and I was just 12 years old. On the 20 hole, in "sudden death," I beat Bobby Atkinson for the Nine Hole Junior Championship at Portland Golf Club. Bobby and I were friends and we played golf together many times. That day was simply my turn to win, and as champ I now had the incredible bragging rights.
After the big win our family headed down to Gearhart – a small town on the Oregon coast just north of Seaside. We would play on the beach, swim in the ocean, and dig for razor clams until exhausted. At night we would frequently go to Seaside to ride the bumper cars over and over. That summer we met Batman — Adam West — my favorite superhero. His mother had a home just down the street from our rented beach house. Batman had a pretty cute daughter who was about my age. The summer was looking good!
One night a bunch of us were on the beach having a bonfire. Just a group of kids without the parents. That could be trouble. Unknown to our parents, we were smoking some pot and having a few beers. Of course, smoking pot gave us the munchies and we stuffed ourselves with s'mores and marshmallows. Our hands became sticky and gooey from pulling the marshmallows off the sticks. We got the pot from some older kids and we snuck the beer from the house. At 12 years old I already liked the feeling of being high. After all, even when we were little kids of three or four, we loved to be spun around in a circle to get that dizzy feeling. Getting high seemed so natural.
Smacking The Beach
The next day, August 30, we headed to Cullaby Lake to go water skiing on our friends' boat. It was Lori, her sister Carleen, Joe, my brother Steve and me. After the previous night's bash on the beach I wasn't feeling that well. My head was hurting from the pot and the beer, my stomach churning from the marshmallows and s'mores. Twelve years old and I had a hangover.
The day was cool, overcast and gray. Even though it was the last week of the summer, the lake was mostly empty and there were just one or two other boats on the water. I was a decent skier — not great, but good enough to be the occasional showoff. As the boat was going around the lake, my thinking was to demonstrate just how great a skier I was and do a beach landing. Besides, my head was throbbing from partying the night before and I just didn't want to get wet. I was beginning to move to the outside of the wake, increasing my speed. Once we got closer to the beach, I saw another boat cut right in front of our boat. To avoid a collision, Carleen thought quickly and veered sharply to the left. This increased my speed on the skis and whipped me that much closer to the beach. At about that same moment, I decided to let go of the rope.
All of a sudden, my skis were sliding across the sandy beach. I don't know how fast I was going — perhaps 30 or 35 miles per hour, perhaps a little faster. Before I knew it, there was this terrible crunching sound when the skis snapped. Smack ... I hit this big old log lying across the beach. Where was my superhero Batman when I needed him to save me? At first I just lay there in pain, unable to move. My friends and brother, not realizing how serious the accident was, began to laugh. The wind had been totally knocked out of me and my whole body was covered with this terrible horrible feeling from the gritty sand. In a minute or two after falling down, I got up and ran into the water. I had to get the scratchy itchy sand off my body as fast as I could. For what seemed like forever, I felt as if I just couldn't take a breath. Like any kid, I had had the wind knocked out of me pretty good, but nothing that felt like this. This time it seemed as if I would never stop gasping for air. My head started spinning and I thought I would pass out. Very quickly, everyone realized that it was no laughing matter — that I was really hurt.
Seeing what had happened, Carleen parked the boat at the dock. By now, everyone was getting pretty freaked out and no one knew exactly what to do. Other than some good scratches on my body and lots of pain, there were no apparent external injuries. There was no blood and nothing had punctured me.
The ski boat was left at the dock as I was put in the back seat of the red station wagon. I would crunch up writhing in pain and crying. Someone decided it was best to take me back to the house in Gearhart and find my mom. To get me to the beach house quickly, Joe drove pretty fast south on Highway 101. My dad was in Portland working at the time, and mom was playing golf with Carleen's and Lori's mom at Seaside Golf Club. Lori found my mom on the golf course; she rushed back to the house to check on me. Just to be safe and to make sure I was ok, mom immediately took me to Seaside Hospital. I don't remember ever seeing a doctor there. I just remember a receptionist, a nurse and an x-ray technician. I sat on a cold hard metal exam table, feeling intense pain increasing in my stomach and chest. They took some x-rays and didn't see any problems. The nurse told me that I would be ok and said I need not cry and complain so much. After all, they couldn't find anything wrong with me, and she said I just had a few scratches and bruises. But tears were rolling down my face and my body was really hurting.
During the night and the following morning I began throwing up blood. I looked in the toilet and thought, "Where is all this blood coming from?" I was in such terrific pain and scared to death. Standing up, it felt as if there was a knife stuck in my upper back while I tried to walk. Mom saw the blood too, and decided to cut our beach trip short and return to Portland, about a 90 minute drive.
It was now close to seven at night, and we went immediately to the Children's Clinic in Sylvan. It was after hours so the night doctor, Dr. Scott Goodnight Jr., examined me. My eyes were all yellow and looked messed up. The doctor knew that something serious was happening to me. He decided to immediately send me to Emanuel Hospital to see another doctor, Dr. Timothy Campbell. Emanuel was the same hospital where I was born in 1958.
The hospital admitted me and, the next thing I knew, I was being wheeled quickly down the hall on a gurney covered with a blanket. Looking down my body, I could see where a small lump had formed just below my rib cage. This lump was about the size of half a softball. It seemed logical at the time to ask them if they were going to "sand the bump off."
For the next ten days I remained in a coma after, I later found out, a nearly 20-hour surgery. Coma comes from the Greek word "koma", meaning "deep sleep." While in the coma a doctor, a nurse or my parents would ask me to squeeze their thumb or a finger. Sometimes I could hear them. But as hard as I tried, I just couldn't squeeze or move anything. My eyes were closed and it was totally frustrating not to move or talk. I don't think they ever knew that, at times, I was aware of them and I could hear them talk. My parents were completely devastated and were told that I was not expected to live. The water skiing accident had caused massive internal injuries. The surgeons ended up removing 60 percent of my liver and my gall bladder — and I had six cracked ribs. Pretty much the whole right side of my torso had taken the tremendous impact of smacking the beach. I have no way of knowing this for sure — but years later my brother Steve told me he remembered that, up to 1971, I was supposedly the youngest person ever to have this much of their liver removed and survive. I was told that it was a complete miracle that I lived.
During the nearly day-long surgery, I used 21 pints of blood. My blood type is "B" and, apparently, there was such a short supply of B blood in Portland that even the surgeon, Dr. Campbell, who had the same blood type, stopped and donated a pint during the surgery. Dr. Campbell later told me that much of the extended time in surgery was just trying to stop the bleeding. He said that there were literally thousands of stitches, both on the inside and the outside of my body. So many stitches they didn't even bother to count. Sitting here today, I still have multiple silver clips in my body that were used to clip certain blood vessels within my chest and abdomen.
Waking from the Coma
When I was deep in the coma, something happened to me that I have only more recently realized has had a huge impact on much of my life. There was a moment that I remember being out of my body and looking back down to see it. I could see the whole room and my body lying on my back in bed. Then all of a sudden, I was surrounded by five or six people who were in long dark robes in a garden area. There were lots of plants and trees everywhere. This place and the people there felt like a totally safe and peaceful place.
It seemed like I was at home in my surroundings. There was absolutely no pain at all in my body or mind. I felt whole and complete. These people, or what I call "spirits," were somehow there loving and protecting me. We were all talking — though I don't remember much of what was said. Just as quickly as I arrived, I suddenly felt that I was moving away from them, that I was leaving this place to go back to my body. Immense sadness began to engulf me — I didn't want to go back. I told them that I didn't want to leave. As I reached back, I begged them to let me stay. What I heard, from what seemed like the leader was, "You are not through with your life; it is time to go back." Huh? I looked back at them and felt great sorrow that I was leaving this place of amazing love and acceptance. I was getting told to leave the garden.
The next thing I knew I was back in my body. I could feel all the tubes — they were everywhere. Nose, mouth, penis and both arms all had tubes. Shortly thereafter, I opened my eyes and began to slowly awaken from the coma. Had I died and come back? Where were my spirit friends from the garden? I tried to pull the penis tube out because I didn't like it. A nurse saw me and came to fix it. Later I was told that the first words the nurses heard me speak were "Bike, 30 days." Hey, I was a 12 year old kid and my bike was at Kissler's Bike Shop getting repaired. Mom and dad had apparently forgotten all about my prized possession. But if I was back, I wanted my bike and I wanted it right now. After all, if I wasn't through with life yet, there were places to go and things to do!
Since my surgery, my parents had virtually camped out at the hospital. They were more than overjoyed that I had come out of the coma and was still alive and breathing. Even though I was still in pretty bad shape, they could now have increased hope that I might survive. That perhaps their prayers to God had spared their little boy's life.
While I continued to remain in ICU, my temperature began to soar. To help reduce my growing fever, the doctors put some type of cold mattress under my body. I didn't like the mattress at all, it was freezing. Then my right lung collapsed and I was struggling to breathe once again. Dr. Campbell was called to my bedside right away. Being fascinated at what he was doing, I watched him insert a small metal tube between my rib cage and into my lung. This tube was connected to a gallon size bottle by a hose. My temperature slowly began to drop and my lung had started to re-inflate. It was working and my breathing began to improve. After another day or two, Dr. Campbell took the red rubber tubes out of my arms. When he pulled them out I was amazed how long each one was. There were two tubes in each arm that had been inserted just above the inside of my elbow. Each tube seemed like at least a couple of feet long. He told me that the tubes had been inserted as close to my heart as possible.
Another one of my memories in ICU was another patient that I could see in the bed across the room. I'm not sure how old he was. I just remember him lying in a twisted position and moaning from time to time. When I asked the nurses what was wrong with him, they told me that he was an alcoholic and had cirrhosis of the liver. It was the first time that I saw a dying alcoholic. I thought that he must have come from skid row. I don't know whether he survived and it certainly never occurred to me that one day I could be a drunk too.
Eventually the doctor moved me to the pediatric wing of the hospital. There was a small room next to the nurse's station that had been used for storage. Dr. Campbell had everything moved out of this room and then set it up with a bed for me. It was a perfect room because it had a window in it so the nurses could always see me. In the other room next to me there was another kid that had been burned over a large part of his body. It struck me that he might not survive and die. After a couple more days he did pass away. It was somewhere around then that I began to realize that I had been very lucky and was somehow going to make it and live. I had the memories of the spirits and the garden and felt some comfort.
Because I was such a rare and unusual case, a lot of different doctors came to look at me. They wanted to see how this kid was still alive after such horrendous injuries. One day there was a doctor from the East coast who saw me. I think that he was from Philadelphia. He came with a whole group of doctors, including Dr. Campbell. He was examining me and looking at my chart and asking my doctor a whole bunch of questions. What stands out the most was when he said that he would have given me a tracheotomy. When they told me what that was, it gave me the creeps. I didn't like that doctor.
Being in pediatrics became kind of fun. Another kid and I had wheelchair races in the hall. We would go up and down, up and down. Most of the time I won. The nurses didn't like it much, but they were at least glad that we were both getting better. There was one special nurse who was from ICU. She would come visit me before and after her shifts and wash my hair as we talked.
Going Home
For the month of September, I remained recuperating in the hospital. More friends and family were now able to visit me in pediatrics. I remember receiving a lot of games as presents. Lori told me years later that the first thing she remembered when she was able to see me in the hospital, was that I was happy, that as a kid I always seemed to have a smile.
Dr. Campbell knew I could remain in the hospital for another month or two, but decided I'd be better off at home in my own surroundings. So off I went home to be in my own bedroom and with my family. Each day, the doctor would come to our house as part of his rounds. There was a still a drainage tube in the right side of my stomach for all the pus and fluids my body was producing and releasing. Each day he came he would check on me and the tube. Sometimes he would flush it out and other times he would replace it. The drain tube would remain in the side of my abdomen all the way through February. Today this scar looks as if I was stabbed and wounded by a knife. Occasionally today I will make bad jokes about getting stabbed in some nasty fight that I won.
The best part of being home was that I was around my family and my friends, and my girlfriend Laura could visit me. When I had been in the hospital, all my friends had been worried that I was going to die. Now that I was home, I was beginning to sharpen my skills playing on our nine foot Brunswick pool table. I got really good and could eventually easily sink a whole rack of balls. Now my friends were worried that I was going to win every game. My brother Steve tells me that I would play a marble game for hours, over and over again.
My parents were extremely grateful to Dr. Campbell for everything he was doing. One day they invited him to the house for dinner to honor him and tell him directly. My parents felt that he deserved much more money for "saving" me and for everything he was doing. Our family sat in our living room and dad gave the doctor a personal check. I was never sure how much that check was for. My parents had also bought a really nice watch that I got to give him directly. Dr. Campbell was always pretty adamant that he didn't save me. He said that all he really did was stitch up all the extensive damage to my organs and body. He said it was God that saved me. I think that perhaps God saved me through Dr. Campbell's amazing skills.
Back to School
I was now 13 and headed into seventh grade and junior high. To make sure I didn't get too far behind in my school work, I had a tutor who would come to the house nearly every day. Primarily she was having me do the basic school work. Officially I didn't start seventh grade and go back to at school at Whitford Junior High until January. To get out of the house and be around my other friends at school was good, but also scary.
Most of my friends were glad to see me – though there were some kids at school who acted like total bullies to everyone and were pretty cruel. There was still the drain tube in my side and I would need go to the nurse's office each day to make sure everything was ok.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Falling Down Getting Up"
by .
Copyright © 2012 Michael Harris.
Excerpted by permission of Morgan James Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Foreword,
Introduction,
Chapter 1 Falling Down,
Chapter 2 Who is My Family?,
Chapter 3 Turning Up the Pot,
Chapter 4 Telephone Poles and Houses,
Chapter 5 Driving the Fog Line,
Chapter 6 Losing the Flow,
Chapter 7 Giving Up,
Chapter 8 On My Knees,
Chapter 9 Learning to Twist,
Chapter 10 Hot & Sweaty,
Chapter 11 What I Learned,
Finding Your Own Journey,
Resources for Your Journey,
Submitting Your Story,
Epilogue,