Raising A Soul Surfer (19 page)

They quickly caught up and helped Byron pull Bethany, on her surfboard, over the remainder of the reef. The waves had taken them partway over the shallow reef, and then they had to scramble the rest of the way to the end of the jagged rock island. Byron switched his board with Bethany’s so she would float better the remaining distance to the shore.

Holt, with a raised voice, commanded Byron, “Go ahead! Call 911, don’t wait for us!” Byron then raced to the beach and ran to the truck to call 911. Holt, in the meantime, had removed his surf shirt to tie around the remaining portion of Bethany’s severed arm as a makeshift tourniquet.

He then said to Bethany, “Hold on to my surf trunks and don’t let go, Bethany.” He rallied Alana to paddle alongside Bethany and keep her on board physically and mentally. Alana paddled close to her, knowing that there was an awful lot of blood in the water. Alana was choking back sobs as she struggled with the dire situation. The long paddle back to the beach over the dark deep channel did not feel safe to any of them as they towed Bethany to shore.

Meanwhile, Byron didn’t have the keys to their truck, so he had to break the window to reach the cell phone. Alana took a few moments to throw up on the beach as soon as she got to shore. And a lady visitor ran to her nearby vacation rental to get her husband, a paramedic, who rushed to the beach to help out the moment Bethany came in from the water.

Once on shore, Bethany was laid on her back on the surf-board while Holt replaced the surf shirt tourniquet with a surf leash that held firm with its strong Velcro seal. A little dog wandered onto the scene and peered into Bethany’s white face, perking her up. Someone called out, “Get the lifeguard!” Bethany was the one who informed them that no one was on duty this early.

The paramedic said that Holt did an excellent job with the leash after inspecting the wound area. Then Bethany was carried on the surfboard that was used like a stretcher to the back of Holt’s truck.

Emergency crews were already racing to Tunnels as Jeff Walba, still at the beach, became the first one to contact me. He must have gotten my number from Holt or Alana.

There are some crucial things—some would say coincidences—that came together to save Bethany on that life-changing morning. For one, the tide was high enough for everyone to paddle over the shallowest part of the reef. An hour’s difference and Holt would have been forced to carry Bethany over the jagged reef or paddle the long way around the wide-open bay, which would have taken much longer.

The amount of bleeding for the trauma of the wound wasn’t nearly as severe as it could have been. After all, the shark’s ragged teeth had severed a major artery. Dr. Ken Pierce, the emergency room doctor that day and a fellow surfer, was waiting when Bethany came in. Dr. Pierce had treated Noah’s friend Mike Coots, who experienced a shark-inflicted amputation a few years earlier, in 1998. He explained to us that sometimes when there is such a severe wound the damaged veins actually curl up, especially in muscles that are strong and healthy, helping to restrict the loss of blood. And we can never forget or repay Holt’s and Byron’s coolheaded actions. Regardless of any personal fear or
shock Holt was feeling on the inside, it was his quick thinking and controlled actions that saved Bethany’s life, for which I will be forever grateful.

Then there were the comforting words the paramedic, with whom we had attended church, whispered into Bethany’s ear as she was loaded into the ambulance: “God will never leave you nor forsake you,” he said. These words set the stage for what was to come.

As for me, I was frantic after hearing the news, rushing off to the hospital without my son, who was as worried over his sister as I was. I wanted to hear from Bethany what she thought following the shark attack, as the Blanchards worked to save her life. She kind of blushed when I asked her and said, “Well, the first thing that came to mind was,
Will I lose my sponsors
?”

Nobody really knows how he or she will react in a major crisis, or in surfing terms, “the impact zone,” until you are in the thick of it.

When I was speeding to the hospital down the two-lane country highway, I wasn’t thinking any of these things, nor did I know anything that had happened on the beach. All I knew was that a shark had attacked Bethany.

Then my cell phone rang. It was Holt.

“Where are you?”

“Driving to the hospital.” My voice sounded hollow.

“That’s good,” he said softly

“How is she? What happened?”

“You . . . you don’t know?” He paused. “Cheri . . . her arm is gone.”

In my mind, I had imagined a mangled wound that would require loads of stitches and months of rehab; but at that point, I lost it. I dropped the phone and pulled over to the side of the road, unable to drive because of my tears. Then I heard sirens,
and soon an ambulance roared past me. I knew most likely that Bethany was in it. I managed to get a grip on my crying and sped after it.

In my fraught state of mind, I remembered that in times of trouble it was a good thing, according to the psalms, to worship God. Bethany and I had been playing a David Crowder CD, so I turned it up super loud and sang along in worship to God through a curtain of tears.

I got about five miles down the road before I saw blue lights and heard a siren behind me.

“Going pretty fast,” said the officer after I pulled over.

How does one explain the situation? I tried, and I’m afraid the words were coming out all jumbled. But the reports of the attack were already all over the island, including on all the police radios, so he warned me not to race the ambulance, that I needed to get there safely, not as a car wreck victim, and then he let me go. There could have been three of us in the operating room!

As I was chasing the ambulance and being pulled over, Noah was catching a ride to the hospital with Sarah Hill. He made phone calls on the way, desperate for information, but so few people had anything more than scraps of news.

Mike Dennis, an avid surfer and family friend who lives near Tunnels, was home when Noah called. Knowing that he lived close to Tunnels, Noah asked him to try to scout out the situation. Mike, also a waiter at Tom’s workplace, didn’t know anything but had heard the ambulance fly by only minutes earlier. He promised he would ride his bike immediately over to the tiny parking lot at Tunnels and scout out the situation. It wasn’t long before Mike gave Noah the dire news.

In the uncomfortable tension of the unknown, Sarah said she’d been praying nonstop since she’d first heard that something had happened to Bethany. Specifically, she’d prayed that
God would inspire her with a passage of Scripture to comfort our family. “Jeremiah 29:11,” she said to Noah in the tense silence as they drew close to the hospital: “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the L
ORD
, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future’” (
NIV
).

This verse has become the cornerstone of hope for all that we have been through and may go through still. I don’t know how deeply those words penetrated Noah on that alarming day in the car ride to the hospital, but in the weeks ahead, they would provide encouragement to all of us and even more so in years to come.

Noah’s cell phone rang. It was Mike Dennis calling back. Bethany had lost her whole arm.

Noah managed a thank-you and hung up. While his stomach twisted into knots, he leaned out Sarah’s car window, feeling close to throwing up.

Tim was in Kapaa High School when he got the news, or at least a garbled version of it. The message was about a family member being in the hospital, which of course was information he already knew, since he had dropped his father off for knee surgery. But then a second phone call clarified what had really happened earlier that morning, and he bolted from study hall without a word, racing his four-speed Suzuki to the hospital.

Speaking of Tom, although he was already at the hospital, he probably had the worst time of all of us when it came to finding out about Bethany’s attack. Tom had already received the anesthetic for his knee surgery and was numb from the waist down. They were about to cut into him in the operating room when news came of a shark attack victim being transported for immediate emergency surgery.

Dr. David Rovinsky, the orthopedic surgeon, and a surfer as well, came in and told Tom that his surgery would have to be
postponed as the operating room was needed for a shark attack victim—a 13-year-old girl.

Tom turned ashen; he knew there were only two 13-year-old girls who would be surfing on a school day. “Who is it?” asked Tom.

“I don’t know. I’ll go find out,” said Dr. Rovinsky. He left but soon came back with the fateful news: “A young female from the North Shore.”

Dr. Rovinsky saw the look on my husband’s face. “Tom, I’ll go and find out what I can.”

For Tom, it had to be the longest five minutes of his life as he waited for Dr. Rovinsky to return.

When he did, his face was colorless. “Tom, it’s Bethany.” His voice was soft. “They say she is stable, but that’s all I know. But I do need to take you out of here; we are going to need this room for Bethany.”

While family and friends began to arrive at the hospital, Tom lay alone on his gurney, helplessly trying to will his numb and useless legs to walk.

Bethany was about to go into the operating room when I arrived. I was ushered into a large conference room where early arrivals were gathering. I not only found Noah, Timmy and Sarah, but also many friends and neighbors—at least 30 people. And more were coming, as it was still early.

Soon, the hospital administrator came to take me to see Bethany.

I thought my heart would leap out of my chest. She was awake and gave me a soft smile.

She’s alive! Thank You, Lord, she is alive
! I rejoiced.

I just looked at her with tears in my eyes, and I noticed a red leash draped across her stomach. I recognized it as Holt’s and went to slip it off to return it to him, when I was stopped by one of the doctors.

“Leave it!” he said. “It is still serving as a tourniquet, and we don’t want to remove it until we are in the operating room.”

I looked into her eyes and down at her sandy feet and said, “It’s going to be okay.” Then we both laughed a little because she knew that I disliked that line. I had always pointed out that in movies someone always says it is going to be okay even after the most devastating blow, and life will never be the same. Just like Helen says it in
Soul Surfer
. It’s the line people say when something terrible happens and a character steps up to the victim who has just lost her husband in a plane crash or received a letter saying her eldest son has been killed in battle.

It makes me absolutely crazy, and Bethany knows it. It’s become a kind of private joke between us. I even go so far as to shout at the TV, “What do you mean, it’s going to be all right? How can it ever be all right? This person just lost a loved one and their whole world has changed,
how is it going to be all right
?!”

Maybe the trigger for my excessive reaction is that it was the same comment my aunt said to me when my parents said they were going to divorce. It wasn’t all right, and it never was all right with me. Their divorce was
always
a painful thing.

But when I said those words to Bethany, lying there with a surfboard leash keeping her from bleeding to death (she had lost almost 60 percent of her blood) . . . I just
knew
it was going to be all right. I wasn’t claiming there wouldn’t be struggles or complications on the road ahead; I just sensed that with God’s help, everything was going to be all right according to His will. I knew as I said it that Bethany would grasp both our private joke and the fact that, in this case, I was being utterly honest.

My husband was not forgotten for too long. As soon as I had seen Bethany, I found Tom and assured him that she was in good hands. We both shed some tears and prayed together as he waited for feeling to return to his legs.

Meanwhile, Bethany was undergoing surgery. Dr. Rovinsky and his team were taking great care to make sure the wound was completely clean before sewing it up, as shark bites are prone to certain types of bacterial infections.

The hospital conference room continued to fill up with friends, neighbors and fellow believers from all over the island. The “coconut wireless” was in full force along with the outpouring of prayers, which helped pave the way for the amazing things that were to follow in the wake of our tragedy.

But I was not in mourning. I was actually filled with joy and thanksgiving that Bethany was safe and alive, even if she was not completely whole. The shock and fear of the morning’s anxiety had been replaced by an exhausted peace.

My mom, who was living on the east side of Kauai at the time, arrived just in time for the hospital nurse to take us up to Bethany’s room to wait for her arrival from surgery. When Bethany finally came out, I followed the gurney into her room and sank onto the chair beside her. Grandma was there too, and it wasn’t long before we all tenderly laughed together when Bethany threw up her Raisin Bran breakfast!

Family members and close friends began to slip in and out. The room started to fill with flowers, cards and balloons—so many that we even filled the shower stall with them. I remember thinking that the clinical hospital room had been transformed into something like the Garden of Eden by all the beautiful and fragrant bouquets.

At last Tom made it to Bethany’s bedside, having finally gained the use of his legs. The doctors said that because our daughter had lost so much blood, transfusions would be necessary. Under the circumstances, we cautiously agreed and gave our permission.

For some reason, this fact sparked Tom to react strongly. He demanded to know whether the hospital was sure their blood
supply was safe. It was unsettling to see how Tom wrestled with his strained emotions. He certainly was not reacting to the situation the way I was. For him, seeing his little girl hurt, and having no one to blame or no way to fix it, hit him hard.