Originally posted by 4thefight
The peace that I felt was utterly indescribable.
I felt pain. Lots and lots of horrible pain.
About 15 years ago, I'd gone skiing on a black slope alone during a youth-group ski trip. I was fairly used to it at the time, an experienced skier,
and probably could have taken the slope okay, had I not cheaped out by $5 on the skis themselves
. Going off a mogul, my binding breaks only
about 1/4 down the trail, and no matter how hard I try, I can't get the stupid boot to stay locked into the ski. So I start walking down the slope,
skis in one hand, poles in the other. Then I slip.
It's pretty steep, the slopes are icy. I slide. At first it's embarassing. My skis are somewhere up the trail from me, and it's going to be a pain
to get them once I stop. I don't stop. I try to use the poles to stop myself and not only lose them, but wrench an arm out of socket. Now, I'm not
only sliding down the slope, but I'm headed towards the edge of about a 400 foot drop. Now I'm scared.
I tried everything, but I just slid right over the edge, into air. I thought "Well, I guess that's it. This is how I die," and shortly afterward it
felt like I got hit by a truck and left in a frying pan.
There had been one tree, about fifty feet down or so, sticking out of the edge of the cliff. It was the only one around for a very long ways. Another
300-400 feet below me was the ground, and about 50 feet above me was the edge of the cliff. Far above it, I could just barely make out part of the ski
lift. They shouted something like "Are you alright?"
I just spat blood. I couldn't breathe very well. I couldn't move half my body, and the half that could move was afraid the merest inch would make me
fall off the tree. So I just laid there, half my body feeling like it was burning on the skillet, dripping blood from my mouth, and too afraid to turn
my head to watch it hit the ground.
About a million years later, the ski patrol showed up, looked over the edge, and asked if I was alright. I responded about the same way I did the ski
lift. When they realized they couldn't ski down a sheer drop to come get me, one of them left to go get some rope. Another million years later, they
came back, and realized there wasn't enough rope, because the nearest tree was too far away. Several of them left to get stuff.
In a timeframe that can only be described as glacial, they finally got enough rope to lower what looked like a partially deflated banana underneath
"Fall in to it!" they shouted. Right.
There's this tiny thing barely as wide as I was, swinging in the wind, dangling several feet beneath me, and slightly to the side, and a whole lot of
nothing between it and the ground. I'm supposed to "fall into it".
However, there just wasn't any other option. They couldn't bring a helicopter in for some reason, and I have no idea why one of them couldn't have
rappelled down to me never occurred to them, or why they didn't just send me a bowline. No, they send me a retarded banana and tell me to "fall into
"Screw it," I figured I was supposed to have died earlier anyway, if I was going to die this time around it was fate. So I rolled of the tree and
landed in the banana which was admittedly a lot bigger once I was in it.
It hurt even more than the tree branch. I screamed like a little girl, no offense. Whatever innards had busted or bones had cracked, falling off the
tree into the banana had made it a million times worse. I was later told this is because blood was finally going back into the areas that had been
pinched off while I was treebound. I think the truth is because the banana hated me.
It was the worst pain I in my entire life, and the greatest pain I would ever know...until about five minutes later when they'd hauled me over the
edge of the cliff, back onto the slop, and inflated the banana the rest of the way. THAT was (and still is) the worst pain of my life. That would be
because they'd just forced broken bones up through skin, which is probably what caused the slow leak in the banana. Regardless, while it was inflated
with air, it prevented me from moving anything at all, and only my face showed through the inflatable ski-stretcher.
So they're skiing down the slope with me, paralyzed, in tow. I could kind of feel the thing starting to sag on one side, and when we hit a mogul, it
flipped over. My face being the only thing poking out, it got shredded by the ice. I left this enormous bloody trail behind me, and apparently people
were pointing and shouting to ski patrol, because eventually they righted me, and also because my youth minister at the time saw the last part happen
and thought "You know I think I know who that is," so he followed them as they skied me over the paramedic's tent.
The paramedics weren't going to touch me one bit. Why? I didn't have a credit card. I was just a teen, and back then, teens didn't get credit
cards. The minister, thankfully, walked in, laid his credit card down, and asked them to proceed, otherwise, I'd probably be disfigured and crippled
for life, since the nearest major hospital was a long ways off, which is where they sent me once I was stabilized.
Nowadays, you'd never have known my face was deli-meat that day, or how many bones I'd broken. It wasn't a great time in my life, but I've also
had worse times since then. Because of it, though, no matter how much pain I'm in, I can always say "yeah, but it's not as bad as the time I fell
off a cliff."
Anyway, figured you might get a kick out of what happened to me, being in a unique position to understand what it felt like.