The following story took place when I was 10 years old living in Frankfort Ky. This event is lost in history except for a few family members and a small article that appeared in the Frankfort State Journal on January 7th, 1960.
All short news reports in papers at the time glossed over the details and just hit the high points, sometimes getting facts wrong. My accident happened while I was still on Christmas break in early January.
This story needs to be told as it had a major impact on the rest of my life. By all accounts, I should not have survived that ordeal. The weather alone should have killed me, not to mention how badly I was hurt and how remote the location.
I have decided to tell my story through the eyes of an imaginary meeting with the son of the doctor who saved my leg and my life. Dr. W. P. Blackburn was traveling through Frankfort and attending meetings at King’s Daughters Hospital when he heard about my case. After reviewing my chart and talking to my parents it was agreed that he would attempt an operation on my leg that was considered radical for 1960.
My femur was shattered into so many pieces that other doctors who reviewed my chart suggested amputation as the only option. There was no way to put all those pieces back together to form a complete bone. Dr. Blackburn was an orthopedic surgeon who was skilled at repairing many types of serious fractures but there is no way to know if he had ever encountered one as serious as mine.
I am now 70 years old and have never had any problems with my right leg. The doctor cut my leg open from my waist to my knee to expose all the bone fragments. He then proceeded to glue them back together and place a metal band around the bone to give it more rigidity. This very radical operation changed my life and made Dr. Blackburn a hero in my eyes.
After writing the first draft it occurred to me that a long narrative was not the best way to tell my story, so I have created a fictitious character who is the son of Dr. Blackburn. His name is Dr. John Blackburn and he is a retired orthopedic surgeon living in Cincinnati OH.
The doctor was well into his nineties when his son asked him to discuss some of his most unusual cases. After hearing my story from his father he decided to track me down to find out more details about the accident. Using the newspaper article along with records from the hospital he was able to find me and arrange to meet.
John met me at a restaurant for breakfast near my house in Mobile Alabama and we hit it off immediately. I think it was his smile, firm handshake, and a strong sense of focus that drew me to him. John was much shorter than me with short gray hair and a beard. He was in good shape judging by the way he carried himself and had that self-assuredness that many doctors display, especially when talking to laymen. Looking me directly in the eyes, he shook my hand, sat down, and ordered a black coffee.
“Well, Trent, we finally meet after many emails and phone calls.”
“Yes, John, it is good to finally meet you in person. But I am curious how you tracked me down after all these years,” I replied.
“ It was really not that hard with all the technology and social media that we have available. I got your full name from hospital records that my dad had copied and kept and from there I simply kept digging until I found the right Trent Fox. It was really Facebook that finally clued me in that I had the right person and a reporter friend helped me verify that this was probably you.”
I laughed, “ I am surprised that you spent all that time and effort just for a story about a kid falling off a cliff. Did you have other reasons for wanting to find me and get the rest of the story?”
John’s face turned serious, “Really, I had to find you because what my father did was extremely unusual at the time. He literally pieced your femur back together from hundreds of bone fragments and banded it in silver. The fact that it worked and you are still walking is a testament not only to my father’s skill but his persistence. He mentioned several times in his notes that the doctors who first examined you wanted to amputate your leg just below the hip joint. If my dad had not intervened your life would have turned out quite differently.”
“John, I never knew that amputation was in the mix. I just remember that he came in and told me that he was going to operate as soon as I was well enough to survive the surgery. You see, I was in pretty bad shape from the fall, the cold, and the time I was down in that ravine. I was in traction for weeks and on strong antibiotics to fight off pneumonia. After the surgery, I was in a cast for months and did not realize the extent of the operation until years later.”
“I have to tell you that from my dad’s notes it was clear that you should have died that day. You were in really bad shape and medical science was not that great in 1960 compared to now. I believe you had an unusually strong will to live, and the fact that you are not crippled is amazing, considering the extreme damage you did to your right leg. The force of that leg hitting the ground must have been tremendous.”
I looked up and said,” John, there were so many things working both in my favor and against me that it truly is a miracle that I am alive at all. And if not for your dad’s incredible skill I would be crippled.”
John took a sip of coffee and suggested that we order some food. Later we went to my house to sit down and talk.
Here is my story:
It was January. It was cold. We lived in a typical subdivision outside of Frankfort, KY called Cloverdale. I guess all subdivisions during that period searched for names that were pleasant sounding so that the people would believe that they had made it because they were able to buy a house in the suburbs and live out the American dream.
But the American dream never seemed to be able to catch the Fox family. We moved too much for that dream to ever have a chance to catch us. Take a new job, move, take a new job, move. Even with the same job, rent for a short time then move again. I lost count of how many times I had to change schools.
Cloverdale was a bus stop of rental houses that gave me enough time to make a few friends, collect some comic books, go to a different school and then fall off a cliff.
Not a metaphorical cliff, mind you, a real cliff, 75 feet straight down.
Cloverdale was located in a part of Kentucky that had rugged areas that held deep ravines, steep cliffs, and caves. A twenty-minute walk from my house would put me on a hillside that grew steeper as you walked down until you came to a barbed-wire fence. That was supposed to warn anyone that you should probably not go any further as the terrain got much steeper and ended at the edge of a large cliff. If you got close enough you could look over the cliff and see that the drop was quite long. After the drop was steep sloping ground that continued for perhaps 60 yards past trees and brush until it ended in a creek bed that flowed quite well in the summer.
But this was January and I was 10, halfway through 4th grade, and still on Christmas break. I remember that it was a Monday and I had big plans for an adventure that had been on my mind for weeks.
My plan was based on the water that ran over the cliff and froze into huge icicles. My parents did not believe that some of these icicles were 4 or 5 feet long so I decided to chop one off as high as I could reach and bring it back home.
There were two other boys from Cloverdale who had agreed to come with me that day and we had spent a considerable amount of time planning our day. I had an old Army canteen that hooked to a web belt for water and a short hatchet to chop off the icicle. Little did I know that those two items would soon save my life.
Monday I called my two friends from the kitchen phone and they both bailed out on me. Lame excuses! I was really mad and decided that I would complete this adventure on my own and make it back with a long icicle as my reward.
It was very cold that day so I waited until after lunch to let the sun warm up the day a bit and then about 2 in the afternoon I snuck out, telling my mother that I was going to play at one of my friend's houses and would be back in time for dinner.
John stopped me at this point and remarked, “You know, that was so typical of the times because I remember telling my mom I was going out to play and would be home in time for dinner. In fact, most children did the same thing and parents did not really miss them until dinner was on the table, usually 5:30 or 6:00.”
I replied,” Yes, that is exactly what happened that day. My mom did not question what I was doing and just figured that I would be home for dinner. We were still on Christmas break but I left after noon so she assumed I would have to come home at dinnertime because my friend’s parents would chase me off.”
I left the house and hiked across the fields to the lot that ran down a hill to the cliffs. I passed two houses that were built close by and did not know at the time how important one of those houses would become that day.
I crossed under the barbed wire fence and took my time threading my way down a path beside the cliff that led to the mouth of a cave burrowed into the cliff face. It was here that water flowed down and froze into long icicles, that from a distance must have looked like giant teeth in a monster’s mouth.
I climbed up a large rock in the mouth of the cave and reaching as high as I could I chopped off an icicle. It looked really big to me but I guess it was only about 3 feet long. It was my prize and I was proud of myself. My adventure was almost complete and as I started to climb back up the path to the top of the cliff I felt a sense of power that I had done this on my own.
I suppose it was this sense of accomplishment that caused what happened next.
I remember standing on the cliff looking out over the trees and the creek bed. It was quite beautiful as the afternoon sun peeked through the leaves and gave the surroundings a kind of golden glow. It was then that I looked right at the long vine that stretched from the base of a huge tree up into the branches, finally disappearing into the sunlit leaves. It was secured to the base of the tree trunk with a small rope that was hooked around a nail.
I remember that the vine was about as big around as the handle of a rake or shovel, certainly thick enough to handle the weight of most boys.
During the summer we would come down to the caves to explore and play and it was during one of those trips that I first saw some of the boys pull the vine off the nail, grab hold and swing out over the cliff. They would stand on a large flat rock near the edge of the cliff and then push off and become airborne for a few seconds.
John said, “Let me stop you there because it strikes me that this was not something that you had done before. Is that right?”
“ I never had the courage to even attempt swinging on that vine off that cliff. It scared me so much that I just ignored all the other boys when they tried to talk me into trying it. You see, I was not very tall and was overweight with thick glasses so I was not exactly the kind of kid that took those kinds of chances. I was not very athletic or strong and was certainly afraid of that vine and that cliff.
John looked confused,” Then why did you do it? From what you say it makes no sense that you would swing on that vine at all, especially alone with no one to egg you on or even witness that you had done it.”
I replied,” John, to this day I don't know what possessed me to make that trip by myself and do that stupid act that almost killed me. I don’t know, maybe it was to prove that I was not really the boy who was overweight with glasses, picked on, and bullied. Maybe it was to prove to my parents that I could do something big and interesting so they would pay attention to me. A 6-foot icicle was certainly big and I thought it was definitely interesting. But the grapevine, that really made no sense because there was no proof that I had done it, unlike the icicle. No, that part was totally on me and my wanting to prove something to myself, as foolish as that turned out.”
John looked up and said, “ I understand why you wanted to bring home that large icicle as proof that they existed and to a boy that was an adventure worth having. But to then stop and take such a huge gamble with that cliff, that part is hard to fathom. Were you called “chicken” by other boys or taunted in other ways? Maybe that played into your decision to prove that you could do it.”
I replied, “ I was certainly "chicken." There was no way that I was going to attempt that grapevine as it really scared me. I was not sure that I had the strength to hold on long enough to get back to the flat rock. What if I didn't push off hard enough and did not swing back far enough to regain my footing on the rock? Would I just dangle there until my cramped hands gave way and I fell?. Many scenarios played through my head and not any were good. So, yeah...I was chicken.”
“ Can you think of any reason why you attempted that instead of just going home with your prize?”
I thought back to that moment, “ As I stared at the vine I believed that it was important to do this. Honestly, now as an adult looking back, this makes no sense. But at the time to a boy who had been beaten down so many times by my father, maybe it was important that I prove something to myself. Maybe I needed to swing out just one time to prove that I was worth something, that I was not a coward.
John nodded and said, “ I guess it doesn’t really matter why you did it. You just reacted to the moment and took a chance.”
I agreed, “Yeah, maybe I will never know the “why” but I sure know the outcome of my decision that day.”
For whatever reasons, I put down the icicle, walked over to the tree, and removed the vine from the nail. I stepped over to the large flat rock and carefully stepped up while holding the thick vine in my gloved hands.
My gloves proved to be my undoing that day, but my other clothing saved my life. It was about 15-20 degrees and even with the sun out, it was a cold day. So I dressed warmly in jeans, a tee-shirt, a sweatshirt, and a thick winter jacket. I had on sneakers and a stocking cap and the gloves were stuck into the pockets of my jacket. I knew I would need them to hold the icicle as I chopped it off and carried it home. Around my waist was buckled an old Army issue web belt and attached were my canteen filled with water and my trusty hatchet. I don't really know why I carried the canteen, but it did balance the hatchet and it was cool to wear. Like a soldier, I guess.
I remember being scared but I knew that if I hesitated and thought about it for just a second I would chicken out. So I just pushed off as hard as I could and swung out over the cliff.
I swung all the way out and came back! YES!!
I made it back as I felt my feet touch the flat rock.
It was then that I slipped on the rock and lost my balance and started to fall forward off the cliff. I still had the vine in my left hand as I fell and managed to reach up with my right hand and grab the vine as I once again swung out into space.
But I could not get a good grip with my right hand in time and both hands slipped out of my gloves.
John looked shocked, “Did you feel anything as you were falling?”
I closed my eyes and thought back, “I distinctly remember seeing a flash of green before my eyes and the sun still peeking through the leaves as I fell. It must have happened instantly but it seemed to take a long time. Then everything went black and I must have passed out.
”How did you find out the height of your fall?”
I replied, “It turned out that I had fallen 75 feet because the local newspaper sent a crew out to measure the distance. I was called "Tarzan" by the reporter and the name stuck. The whole time I was in the hospital the nurses would come by and say, "So, how is our Tarzan doing today?"
John laughed, “Yeah, I can see that because of the vine.”
“You know that I survived the fall but the details are important because the odds of me making it out alive were not very good. I really should have died that day.”
“Why do you think you didn’t just die in the fall?”
“There were a number of things that played out in my favor. The ravine was a steep slope so I didn’t hit on level ground. Apparently, I fell through a brush pile and luckily I missed the bigger limbs, and the thick leaves and small branches broke my fall to some degree. Then I rolled down the hill until I came to rest near the bottom by the frozen creek bed. I don't remember any of this and it was the reporter who told my parents this part of the story after talking to the police and fire crews who rescued me. He also saw the brush pile and the area where I rolled down the hill.”
John just shook his head, “ I can’t believe how lucky you were to have survived the initial fall. What happened after you woke up?”
“ I came to and realized I was in big trouble. All I could think of was getting home and I didn’t realize that I was injured, so I tried to stand up and walk out of there.”
“It turns out I must have pulled my left leg up while I was falling and as I crashed through the brush-pile I hit the side of the hill mostly with my right leg. This crushed my femur into many pieces. So when I tried to stand my right leg collapsed and I fell back down into a sitting position. It was then that I looked down and noticed that my right foot was pointed backward! And my leg was much shorter as my right foot was about where my left ankle was located. When I tried to stand and put weight on my injured leg I pushed the lower part of the femur up into my thigh. And I could see that it was pushing against my skin and I could feel the sharp end of the bone through my pants leg. What I did not know was that it was pushing against my femoral artery and if the bone had severed this artery I would have bled out in minutes. I didn’t really know about the danger to the artery until later when I was telling my story to your dad.”
John suddenly had tears in his eyes and said, “My God, Trent, I can’t imagine what was going through your mind as a child looking at your leg in that condition and realizing how badly you were injured. You know, I have two sons, both grown, and if this had happened to either of them at that age I can’t imagine them taking the actions that you did to save your life and get help.”
I looked John in the eyes and started to tear up as I thought about what he said,
“John, I have cried a lot remembering what happened and the vivid details that are coming back still amaze me. But I do remember that I had one single goal in mind and that was going home. I don’t know how I did the things I did to save myself but I guess it was because I had to depend on myself so much growing up. My parents were not there for me. So when it came to living or dying I just wanted to go home to a warm house and my warm bed. I did not choose life over death, I just chose going home instead of staying on the cold ground in the dark. So I had to figure out a way to get that done. But I was not that cool and collected. I screamed and cried and cursed but in the end, I realized that it was all going to come down to me taking the steps to fix my leg and then calling for help. A simple plan but not so easy to pull off.”
“Were you in terrible pain at this point? I mean you had a huge compound fracture and were in danger of bleeding to death if that bone punctured your artery.”
I thought back and said,
“Initially, there was no pain. Maybe it was the cold or shock or a rush of adrenaline but nothing hurt at that moment. That would change very soon, as the sight of my leg caused me to panic. I started to cry and scream for help. My words seemed to disappear into the trees and no one came to help me. I screamed and cried until I ran out of breath and my voice was reduced to a croak. Then I remembered my canteen of water. My mouth was dry and I thought if I just took a quick drink I could continue yelling for help.
As I drank some water I remember a sense of calm coming over me and the thought that I was here on my own and that no one was going to save me. I knew this because I was so deep in the ravine and so far from any houses. I took some deep breaths, closed my eyes, and tried to make a plan to get home on my own.”
John looked confused, “How did you go from total panic to calmly planning a way to get home? Was it just you regaining control of your emotions and settling down to think? I mean, you were just a kid, and many adults could not have done what you did.”
I replied, “ Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe because I was just a kid anything was possible. If I could see it in my mind’s eye, I could make it happen. A kid really has no preconceived notions about what will work or not work. Doubt was never a problem for me at that point, because action never let doubt get the upper hand.”
John leaned forward and asked,” What did you do next?”
“I focused on my leg and decided that I had to get it straightened out or bad things were going to happen. I think in my 10-year-old mind I needed to "fix" my leg before I could go home.
I reached down and tried to pull my foot back straight but the pain was so bad that I had to stop. I pushed on the part of the femur sticking up against my jeans but again the pain hit hard and I lay back on the ground.
I thought for a while and then realized that I needed to pull my leg from the foot to get the bone to go back into place, but I could not reach down and pull.
I needed to secure my foot to something and then maybe I could scoot up the hill and that would pull my leg down the hill until the bone snapped back into place, and then I could straighten my foot. I needed something to secure my foot and I saw a small sapling near my foot. If I could tie my foot to that small tree I could scoot up the hill while pushing on the bone and maybe get it to be normal again. But it hurt so bad to touch that area that I knew I would have a hard time pushing the bone and pulling my body up the slope. I decided to pour water from my canteen over my leg in hopes that it would freeze and deaden the pain enough for me to fix my leg.
I poured some water on my upper leg, took a quick drink, and set about figuring out how to secure my foot to the small tree. I did not have any string or rope and I remember looking at my shoestrings but I wanted my shoes to stay on so I could walk home. I really thought I could fix my leg good enough to walk home.
I pulled up my jacket and looked at my sweatshirt and noted that the bottom material formed a thick band.
So I took off my jacket and sweatshirt. This took a while and some wiggling around and I realized that the water freezing on my leg was working as the pain was a lot less.
Using the blade of my hatchet I cut through the band on the bottom of my sweatshirt and ripped it off. This gave me quite a nice "rope" and I used this to tie around my ankle and to the small sapling next to my foot.
Then I began to pull myself up the hill using my hands and bottom until I could reach another small tree above my head on the hillside. I grabbed that tree and pulled it with one hand as I pushed hard on the bone to get it to move back into place. Then I would pull with both hands and slowly I moved up the hill and the bone moved down the hill. This took a long time and I had to pour more water on my leg several times to deaden the pain. I screamed out loud with every push and pull but I was determined to get this part of my plan right.
Eventually, I heard a "pop" and my foot appeared to be about level with my other one and the lump in my jeans was gone. I then reached down and straightened my foot until it was pointed up in the same direction as the other one.
To say this was easy or not painful would be a lie. I remember gritting my teeth, crying, grunting, pushing, pulling, spitting, yelling,, and screaming in pain as I struggled to fix my leg and go home.
I was 10 years old, a kid, who just wanted to go home.”
At this point both John and I were openly crying as he looked at me and gasped,
“Trent, do you have any idea what you did…you literally figured out how to do triage on your own leg, devise a plan and method to pull the leg apart, keep down the pain with freezing temperature and water, and save yourself from bleeding out due to severed femoral artery!” At 10 years old!…with no experience or training! Do you have any idea of the odds against you succeeding? You tell the story calmly and quietly like it just fell into place and you followed each step, but I don’t think you realize how rare this event and outcome was…no wonder my dad was so amazed at your story and kept a lot of notes. He never forgot you, I believe he was very proud of what you did because of your courage and tenacity. And it set the stage for his part in the story, where he truly fixed your leg, 60 years and counting and it still works as well as the other one. My dad was determined to have a successful outcome with the surgery because he respected the arduous journey you had to take to get to his operating table.”
“John, thank you for telling me that part about your dad. He was truly a hero in my story. I believe the other doctors would have chosen amputation as their skill level was not up to fixing the damage to my leg.”
John replied,” You do realize that my dad was only there for a short time on a consulting basis and you came in before he left for home. He chose to stay longer when he found out your condition and decided to attempt a repair.”
“Oh, I did know that part and I told him many times how much I appreciated what he did for me. He was a master surgeon and I was very lucky to have crossed paths with him at that moment.”
John said,” Yes, in looking over his notes I realized just what an impossible task he had undertaken. He had to take so very many bone fragments out of your leg, somehow glue them back together and then put a silver band around the bone to hold everything in place while it healed. You were on the operating table for over 12 hours. Now, tell me, what happened next, after you got your leg straightened out?”
“ Well, John, my work was not close to being done yet. This part of the story gets a little strange because, as you see, at this point, Lassie came to the rescue and helped save my life.”
John smiled and said, “Ok, well, that part of the story never made into my father’s notes…go on.”
I laughed and replied,
“This accident happened on a Monday and on Sunday the night before I had watched Timmy and Lassie help the pilot of a small plane that crashed in the forest. After helping the pilot out of the plane they discovered that he had a broken leg. So Timmy helped the pilot cut up some small limbs and make a splint for his leg.
I knew that was what I needed to do next, make a splint for my leg just like Timmy and the pilot. So I chopped up some small limbs nearby and put them on both sides of my shattered leg. Then, I untied the sweatshirt rope from my ankle and tied it tightly around the leg and the splints. I also cut and pulled the neck portion of my sweatshirt apart and tied it around my leg.”
John looked up and smiled,” Wow! That is quite amazing that during this huge event in your life you remembered the part about a dog and a boy and making a splint for your leg. Everyone now may not remember that show but growing up I never missed an episode and I do remember that one. You were certainly lucky in so many ways. So what happened next?”
“Well, I had done all I could to fix my leg and I was very cold and completely exhausted. I remember that I poured more water on my leg but when I tried to get my jacket back on I was too tired and so I lay on my torn sweatshirt and draped the jacket over my body.
As I lay there I realized that even though I had done a good job on my leg I was not going anywhere. I realized that I could die here from the cold. As the afternoon turned into the evening it got colder and I was freezing to death. But because I was so cold and the water had frozen on my leg I was not in pain. I think if this had been warmer weather I might have given up because the pain would have been so great.
I refused to give up and falling asleep became my biggest danger. As my body temperature dropped I was at risk of dozing off and never waking up. The air was cold and the frozen ground was sucking my body heat through the sweatshirt.
I must have dozed off because I suddenly came wide awake and started crying and yelling for help.
This was my life for the next two hours. Call for help, drink water, call for help, drink water, squirm around so I would not get too cold.....try not to pass out, try not to give in to sleep. Focus on calling for help, focus on going home, focus, focus, yell, yell.
I remember at one point starting to cry.
I yelled at myself, “Stop crying, it does NO Good!”
Just "Yell" and maybe somebody will hear you. Just keep yelling and maybe you will be missed and someone will look for you. Just keep yelling and yelling and yelling until they come.......
I think John may have been holding his breath the whole time I was telling this part of my story because he suddenly let out a huge gasp and said,
“How did you keep this up for so long, with it getting darker and colder. It all must have seemed so hopeless. I am amazed that you did not give up…you could have just dozed off and death would have been a release and so peaceful. But you did not give up…you kept yelling for help. I believe that your will to live was stronger than most and you are alive today because you pushed so hard and did not give up. That is truly remarkable!”
“John, I did not give up because I simply wanted to live. I know that sounds like a simple explanation but to a kid, it was a simple desire. I just wanted to live so I could go home and eat dinner and crawl into a warm bed. I could not give up if I wanted that to happen.” I needed someone to hear me!
In the end, someone did hear me! A schoolteacher, working late, who lived in one of those houses I told you about near the fence. A schoolteacher, a young man who heard my voice and at first thought it was kids playing tricks because they had done that before.
A schoolteacher, a young wonderful, kind, attentive young man who realized that the voice he was hearing was full of fear and hurt. I heard his voice calling back to me and that’s when the dam burst and I cried. I cried because I knew I was going to live. Damaged but alive, I was going to make it home.
It took over 90 people to finally rescue me. Fire, Police, volunteers from Cloverdale, doctors, and maybe God.
The first fireman to get to me brought a doctor and warm blankets. I remember the doctor asking me if I was a Boy Scout because of the work on my leg. I mumbled something about Lassie and he chalked it up to delirium.
Somehow my Dad made it down the hill to me and all I could do was cry and mumble "I'm sorry" over and over again.
They had to "hogtie" me to a stretcher and swing a rope over a limb, and then I got to fly again. But this time there was no drop at the end. No, this time they used ropes to swing me back and forth until firemen on the cliff could grab me and haul me in and get me into the ambulance. I had pneumonia in both lungs, a shattered femur, extreme hypothermia, cuts and scratches from the brush-pile, and generally, was in bad shape. They put my leg in traction, gave me lots of meds, and hoped that I make it through the next few days.
I made it!
John left the next day to go back home. I was so happy that he had tracked me down and filled me in on his dad’s thoughts about my ordeal. I now realize that Dr. Blackburn was a true hero in my story because even though I survived the fall, he gave me a better chance at life because of his skill and his care. He was a very special man and as we shook hands I told John he was lucky to have had him as a father.
John looked at me and said,” I am glad that we got together and you told me your story. That story deserves to be told and remembered so I recorded it and I will write it all down, along with the notes from my father’s files, and send you a copy. This story cannot be lost to history, the lessons are too great.”
I realized then that my story was unique. A boy, a schoolteacher, and a surgeon, coming together to do the impossible…save and repair a young life.
I have lived a wonderful life, full of adventures, accomplishments, failures, happiness, grief, love, marriage, children, and all the other things that make up a life well-lived. It could have ended that day but I am still here thanks to a lot of good people and a dog.
About the Creator
Trent Fox
I am 70, retired, and going back to my early days of writing. I look forward to publishing more stories on Vocal and sharing my life lessons with the world.
BTW, did you really think I would use a current photo of myself in this profile.
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