I've never heard anyone say that medicine is more challenging...I've heard a lot of other reasons (largely monetary) for being an MD over flying. But it does make sense. It's pleasing to hear that viewpoint, over the strictly mercenary financial one. I've been reading Carl's work for a little while now, and enjoy his commentary.
The jump was one of those stupid-me-could-have-prevented-the-whole-thing events. I remember parts of it, and much of it has been filled in for me over the years by folks who were there. I was missing big chunks of it until last year when I did some jumping with a couple of folks who were on the same skydive with me. I'm grateful to one in particular, because she was one who jumped into the place where I landed, and filled me in on some of the details.
I was two years without a skydive, and returned to make three currency jumps, one of which was a malfunction. I borrowed some gear to attend a meet, in which I didn't intend to jump, but pack. I only went there to make a little money packing.
Before the meet, I had injured my right hand. I was up for two days because of some circumstances. I rode down to the meet on a Cessna 411, and fell asleep on the way. I woke up to some yelling and a blast of cold air and saw the last set of feet going out the door. I went after them and was still getting my helmet on as I went out the door...and really woke up when I hit the slipstream.
It was a long spot: I landed in an area full of cactus and mesquite/sage/saltbush. I had intended to pack, but somehow got talked into doing a 2-way skydive. I do remember the exit, the breakoff, and my opening. I had what started as a spinning malfunction, and became a ball of garbage. We were in some relatively stiff winds, but the upper winds were howling, and it was a long spot in some steep country. Instead of being over the DZ, we were nearly over the nearby higher terrain. I was wearing a round reserve, (this was before the Cypress, and AAD's were considered by many of us to be less than satisfactory).
Facing the choice between trying to clear what I had, and cut away over the terrain (much closer to the ground than had we been over the DZ), plus the round reserve in those winds and the turbulence aloft, I elected to keep the malfunction. Probably not a good choice, but then hindsight is always better. I was able to stabilize the spin, had some collapsed cells (but don't have a clear mental picture of the full nature of the malfunction; I think a certain amount of what I actually remember, I've remembered wrong), and cut steering lines, and suspension lines. I used risers to try to stabilize the parachute, but was close to impact at the time, with a higher descent rate at a higher density altitude under a F111 canopy, and impacted the side of a cliff downwind.
My helmet got split, my arm was torn open to the bone. My neck was twisted, and my ankle got rotated about 180 degrees. The other injuries I don't really remember (and don't want to). To the best of my knowledge, I didn't break anything, but I can't fully attest to that either. There are certain details and certain periods during and after that I have very spotty, or no memory of.
A helicopter was called for transportation, and enroute they enquired about my status. They had a second request. They were notified I was a fatal, and they abandoned the response to my location, and went to pick up the next patient. A jeep patrol was sent to my location, but couldn't get to me. Four or five other jumpers landed in my vicinity, and prevented me from walking off the little landing area where I ended up. Over the next five hours, we walked out (which to this day amazes me), to a point where I was recovered by the Sheriff's jeep patrol, and placed on a stretcher. I was then transported to an ambulance, where I was taken to a hospital, and eventually intensive care.
I remember vaguely waking up at one point with a doctor stitching up my right arm, and the doctor asking if I could feel it. I could, I mumbled something about it, and then passed out again.
Later, someone called my mother. I don't remember, but she said I was talking spanish, and that she couldn't understand me. I had no idea where I was, or for a time who I was.
Tinman, you will know some of the details of this jump. If you haven't guessed already, I'm THAT guy...or at least, I was.
