My relationship with Sudbury started in 1967 when I migrated from Timmins as a late teen to join the students at Laurentian University.
Over the next four years I completed my studies while taking on part-time jobs, as an orderly (male assistant to nurses) at the since-decommissioned St. Joseph’s hospital and as an ambulance attendant with the Lougheed ambulance service and two summers at the Superior Ambulance company in Detroit Michigan, the then “murder capital of the world.”
I gradually pointed myself into a professional career that took me and my growing family away from and back to Sudbury.
Come Monday, July 29, 2024.
The sunny day showed great promise for a 76-year-old, single occupant of a forest dwelling in Sudbury’s Tilton Lake area. Semi-retirement provided the free time to enjoy improvements to my property that shares a driveway with neighbours living a stone’s-throw away.
I was determined to remove a monstrous stump from the hole my Kubota backhoe had gouged out of the soil behind my house. Working alone, my chainsaw trimmed off two sections of the stump and my Kubota deposited them in the designated stump pile.
The remains of the monster sat in the hole, refusing to be picked up. as it exceeded my backhoe’s lifting capacity. I had expected this and went to Plan B to cradle the four-by-five-foot stump with rope and drag it away – a maneuver I had performed a few times before.
Stepping into the hole I threaded the rope around the stump and before I knew it the stump rolled towards me. My stepping back was not fast enough to avoid it knocking me down and resting on top of my legs.
I was pinned to the ground up to my hips, leaving my torso and both arms free. Fortunately, the soil had been softened by the earlier excavating, but I was very effectively immobilized.
It all happened so fast; faster than the blink of an eye. Lying on my back with a slight twist to the left, my mind went through disbelief, humour and eventual acceptance of my situation.
As I became aware of the emerging pain, I understood that I would not be able to free myself without help. My neighbour was away, possibly until next week.
I had two scheduled visitors to my home; one, a tradesman, due to arrive sometime tomorrow and one of my two daughters for our usual Sunday dinner. It was 11 a.m.
At best, I would wait through the day and night until Matt’s arrival tomorrow with the hope that he would arrive early. As the pain hit excruciating levels, I knew I was in a mind game. This was not a time for fear, panic, anger, frustration, regrets or other useless emotions. The future was clear. If Matt did not show up tomorrow, I would not survive another five days without water. In other words, I would die … in this shallow hole, a huge stump blocking my line of sight, summer’s sun baking overhead.
Any movement to free myself or shift my weight for a comfortable position triggered acute pain in my right leg and hip.
Fortunately, I kept my wits about me and surprisingly, that was quite easy. I had no choice. Any deviation from being calm, even the slightest, was immediately met by excruciating pain. My left leg was slightly free.
I could not detect any broken bones. I could not feel any trickling of bleeding out. I did try digging around my right leg with the hope of wriggling it out, but the minimal progress was out-matched by pain. I tried calling out for help. I bellowed, “HELP … HELP” repeatedly throughout the day – at the top of my lungs. No response. I felt no one was hearing me, but I kept it up, on the hour, because that was all I could do.
I occasionally thought of my dying, and surprisingly, I was at peace with that. I had long held the opinion that, at 76 years, I had had my share of living. Dying now would not be cheating me.
I had thought that for a long time, but every time that I had, I knew it could be different as I actually approached death. And now, here I was, literally, at death’s door and still at peace with the concept.
On the other hand, this would not be my choice of circumstances. A quick and painless death was my first choice, not a slow, multi-day death with lots of pain. But then again, I had no choice.
I occupied my hours by spreading soil over my exposed parts to protect them from the now-burning sun. The gum I was chewing deteriorated as my mouth became dry and I chewed on bits of grass and leaves that were in reach. Gradually some pain was numbed for a while as other body parts reminded me that they too were injured.
I speculated that despair could set in, followed by delirium or hallucinations as time went on. I busied myself preparing for a night under the stump, wondering how bad the mosquitoes would get as night set in.
Fortunately, I had some range of motion with my free arms to swat them away. If I was lucky, I might get some sleep. I was able to free up the pepper spray I had carried on a waist belt and I kept that in close reach for any bear wandering over to the hole, looking for some edibles lying therein.
Gradually, the minutes and hours ticked by through my pains and discomfort.
At about 5:30 p.m., some six and a half hours after being pushed to the ground I suddenly heard a car coming up my driveway and I was excited by my neighbour driving down her part of the driveway.
Things changed very quickly with a burst of hope, my being found, calls to 911 and the welcome sound of sirens approaching. And this is the point of my story.
My line of sight was filled by the arrival of firemen (or fire-persons?) and paramedics. Concern and reassurances flooded the hole. I was given water.
The crew of about 15 fire-persons gingerly installed cribbing around and under the stump and paramedics prepped my arms for pain killing injections. It took about an hour to orchestrate the pain-killing injection, lifting the stump and dragging me out of harm's way.
My fear of the stump falling back on me was not realized, and after a sharp spike of pain, I was placed on a stretcher and carried to the ambulance by many relieved and happy hands.
My previous experiences as a first responder and orderly placed me in the unique position of evaluating the care and treatment I received from then on. Sudbury’s trauma care unit was ready for me.
My pain was alleviated, several examinations and lab tests were performed by all the professional and caring persons who helped me and for them I will be eternally grateful.
I subsequently understood that the Long Lake Road and downtown fire stations had been dispatched to rescue me. The competence of everyone has left me with a deep respect for those involved.
I think most residents of our city do not realize how effective our city’s responders are. Their experiences most likely involve worse cases than mine and for some, the gruesome sights and tragic outcomes leave them with their own traumas.
I’m a management consultant and my field of view is across the various levels of organizations and I attribute the credit for my experience to the personnel, the trainers, supervisors and managers and the executive management, including our city’s council for the existence of the systems that so effectively cared for me.
I know that our city is not perfect, that some people have issues, but in this case and I am sure, many others, I am happy and proud to say, “Well done, Sudbury.”
André Clement is a resident of Greater Sudbury.