Paramedic is thankful for his second chance at life

In a split second on a sunny summer morning on a Georgia country road, Eddie Jackson got a lesson in thankfulness.

He didn't know it then.

He almost died that day. Fifteen months later, he is still on the journey back to where he once was.

Only he will tell you that he will never be the same. On this Thanksgiving Day, when Americans gather around dinner tables heavy with food to give thanks and count their blessings, the 31-year-old Valrico man will be among those reflecting on the gift of gratitude.

He has witnessed the power of community, the comfort of prayer, the enduring love of family. It has transformed him into a more compassionate man, keenly aware of the suffering of others.

As a firefighter-paramedic with St. Petersburg Fire & Rescue, Jackson was used to going to the aid of strangers. But in undergoing four surgeries and the endless therapy necessary to become whole again, he had to learn how to depend on others and accept their help. He learned humility, patience and appreciation.

During a holiday sometimes overshadowed by food, football, parades and preparation for shopping madness, Jackson will keep Thanksgiving's primary message at the forefront.

"I got my second chance, and I am so thankful," Jackson says. "I know I will never look at life the same way again."

* * *

July 22, 2008. It was the last day of a family get-together at his parents' vacation property in southwest Georgia. Jackson took his Harley Night Rod Special out for a quick morning spin.

Life was golden. He and Monica, married less than a year, had just learned a baby was on the way. They'd recently moved into their dream home in Valrico. And after 5 1/2 years volunteering for Hillsborough County Fire Rescue, he finally landed a full-time gig as a firefighter in St. Petersburg. All the pieces were falling in place.

He rounded a sweeping curve on the quiet Highway 62 bypass outside Blakely, Ga., and saw, flying at him, a rusty trailer wheel.

There was no avoiding the inevitable collision. The wheel hit the left side of his bike, ripping into his leg. The Harley skidded to the side of the road and slid down a 25-foot embankment with Jackson still straddling it.

Then silence. The truck driver pulling the trailer that had lost the wheel drove on, oblivious to the damage in his wake. Jackson, who was wearing a helmet and goggles, tried to do a quick assessment of his injuries while adrenalin still trumped pain. The obvious injuries made his heart race. His left leg, encased in thick black jeans, seemed to move independently from the rest of the body. His foot was bent grotesquely to the side.

Was his leg ripped off?

His paramedic training kicked in. If he had internal injuries, he would die without prompt medical attention. And he wouldn't get that lying here out of sight. He had to find the will to climb back up the embankment. He had to get to the road, where a passer-by might see him and call for help.

He prayed. This is not my time, God. Not now, not like this, not today. I've got too many things to live for.

Jackson slowly crawled up the incline, keeping the yellow stripe on side of the road in sight. It was his finish line. It took 10 minutes to inch to the top. Exhausted and fearful of losing consciousness, he waited for what seemed like an eternity. Five minutes, eight minutes, 10, 15. Finally, the silence was broken by the sound of a car rounding the curve, then slowing down.

It would be another 25 minutes for the first rescue engine to arrive; then a 45-minute ride to the Southeast Alabama Medical Center. He underwent emergency surgery on his femur, the long bone in the thigh, which had been cut in half.

On that sunny July morning, as his pregnant wife and worried dad were being summoned to the hospital, life changed irrevocably for the Jackson clan. Anything that had been a concern at the start of the day had been wiped out by a wheel flying out of nowhere.

Sandy Jackson, Eddie's mother, was not in Georgia. She was home in Brandon, sorting photos for a family album, when she got the call. Your son has suffered serious injuries in an accident, the paramedic at the scene told her. He's being transported to a major trauma center.

"Something like this happens, and the world as you know it stops," she says. "You realize then the important things are not material."

* * *

They met in a karaoke bar and fell in love singing duets together. When they married in September 2007, Eddie and Monica Jackson thought it would be a long time before their vows promising "for better and for worse" would be put to the test.

In short order, Monica Jackson, 28, went from girlfriend to fiancé to wife to nurse. She cared for her homebound husband after each surgery while balancing pregnancy and her job as an administrative assistant at University of South Florida Health. And when baby Delaney arrived in March, she added motherhood to her growing list of responsibilities.

Her husband calls her "my rock." Monica's ability to juggle so many roles and never waver in her tireless dedication to help him get better is something Jackson will always cherish.

"God and I would just have a little conversation every day about getting through," she says. "Sometime you would just have to do it minute by minute."

Furnishing and decorating the new house would have to wait. Like her husband, Monica had to learn to say "yes" to the tide of support that came rushing in: baby care from her mother and in-laws; housework and home-cooked meals from neighbors and congregants at their church, First Baptist of Brandon; calls and visits from concerned friends.

As co-payments for the myriad medical bills mounted, Monica prayed for some relief. Then came her angels, the brotherhood of firefighters.

Jackson had worked at the department for only eight months; he was still on probation at the time of the accident. But after hearing of his plight, his peers donated hours of accrued sick and vacation time so he wouldn't miss a paycheck.

Monica says she's been transformed by the goodness of people who stepped up to ease their burdens. It has helped smooth her transformation from blissful newlywed to chief caregiver for husband and infant daughter.

The silver cross she wears on a chain around her neck shows where she gets her inner strength.

"I've seen the power of God work every day through this whole ordeal," she says. "God kept him alive that day, God kept me pregnant, God kept me sane. He kept our marriage strong, and he put money in the bank when there were bills due and I didn't know how to pay them. God never abandoned us."

* * *

Jackson's future is uncertain.

In January, he had surgery on his blown-out knee; in April, on his damaged foot; and in October, an operation to repair his toe. After each procedure, he had to learn to walk all over again, one step at a time. And after each, he returned to work on light duty.

His attorney has filed intent to sue the trucking firm that owned the vehicle hauling the trailer with the errant wheel. He hopes discussions will lead to a resolution without litigation.

But his heart's desire is to return to his station company, in his full capacity as a firefighter, by early next year. He's also working hard to lose the 40 pounds gained from his slow recovery, and continuing with an arduous schedule of physical therapy sessions.

He knows he will be a more empathetic public servant because of what he's gone through. Having been on the receiving end of compassionate care by medical professionals, he wants the chance to give with his new understanding.

Now he knows what it's like to be a pushed in a wheelchair at the mall, with shoppers rushing by and averting their eyes. He may have been one of those people before; now, he wants to be better than that.

Like Monica, he is grateful to God, who gives him "the air in my lungs and strength in my heart to carry on."

Yes, Eddie Jackson is a thankful man. What happened to him on that Sunday morning in July took him on a detour he never sought. But it gave him powerful lessons about faith, perseverance and community.

And one more thing.

"There is always hope," he says. "Just when you think there is none, dig deeper. Because there's always hope."