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Crawling toward the light
Recovering
from severe burns, a Pentagon survivor wants back 'into the arena'
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ROB CURTIS, TIMES STAFF
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By
Bryant Jordan
Times Staff Writer
There
was a time, a very dark time, when Navy Lt. Kevin Shaeffer would
not think about the future, nor let those around him talk about
it. Today and tomorrow were fine. But nothing beyond. It was too
hard.
Not anymore.
Badly injured in the Pentagon attack on Sept. 11, Shaeffer looks
forward to being a good husband to his wife, Blanca, also a Navy
officer, and someday, hopefully, a good father. And he wants to
be of service.
"I'm healing and looking forward to the future," said Shaeffer,
30, who was medically retired Oct. 4. "I have a whole lifetime ahead
of me to focus on a new career."
His attitude shift is a move from darkness to light, much like the
terrifying moments he endured in the first minutes after his Pentagon
office was destroyed by the hijacked jet that struck it last year.
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See
Navy Lt. Kevin Shaeffer
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What
he remembers from that day is co-workers in the Navy Command Center
speaking in hushed tones about the horrific televised images of
the World Trade Center aflame, and of the second jet ramming the
south tower and exploding.
Then the horror on television became the horror at the Pentagon.
"Remember the orange fireball?" asked Shaeffer. "That is essentially
what happened inside the Navy Command Center. I remember everything
just exploding toward me. I could feel my hair and head on fire.
I ran my fingers through my hair, rolled on the floor to put myself
out. When I stood, the space was dark, black. There was smoke and
rubble."
Shaeffer also was alone. Cmdr. Pat Dunn, Cmdr. Bill Donovan and
Lt. Cmdr. Dave Williams - his co-workers in the cubicle they shared
- along with everyone else, were dead. He had to move, he knew;
passing out would be his end. He thought of his wife and felt sick
that he might never see her again.
Believing the main entryway - a big metal door that required a card
swipe to open - was closed, he headed in a different direction,
toward offices he had not been to before. He stumbled through the
dark and smoke, climbing over debris and staying clear of burst
water pipes and sparking electrical cables. Through acrid smoke,
he saw daylight and crawled toward it.
He found a hole where once had been solid wall and stepped through
onto the bedlam of a maintenance driveway between the Pentagon's
B and C rings filled with people running back and forth.
"My hands were badly burned," he said. "My arms were very badly
burned. I knew I needed help."
Army Sgt. 1st Class Donald S. "Steve" Workman, assigned to the G-8
initiatives group on the Army staff, commandeered a maintenance
cart, put Shaeffer in it and headed toward the parade grounds, pushing
aside burning debris along the way.
Workman, who had never met Shaeffer before that day, got him onto
one of the first ambulances out of the Pentagon, staying with him
the entire way, talking with him about Blanca and about golf, one
of Shaeffer's passions.
A nurse assessed his condition in the emergency room. At some point
she may have said Shaeffer was burned about 50 percent, but what
he heard was that his chances were 50 percent.
"I grabbed that nurse by the shirt. I pulled her close. I told her,
'You don't understand. I'm alive. I'm alive. I made it. I'm going
to live.' She said, 'Yes, Kevin. You are. You are.
"After that I remember them working quite hard on my hands. I had
my wedding ring on my left and my academy ring on my right. The
doctor called out for a ring cutter. I made them stop, the entire
team. … I managed to pull my wedding band off. I eventually pulled
my class ring off. I handed them … to the doctor. I laid back. I
said, 'Now you can go ahead - do what you've got to do. Save my
life.
That is Shaeffer's last memory of Sept. 11.
The injuries covered 40 percent of his body, including third-degree
burns to his hands, arms and back; second- and third-degree burns
to his head and face; and severe lung damage, which doctors believe
was caused by inhaling jet fuel in the instant before his office
exploded. To date, he has had 17 operations, he said. While hospitalized,
he fought infections in his lungs and arms. Twice, he went into
cardiac arrest and twice, he said, "they had to paddle me back"
with electric shock.
After the second cardiac incident Oct. 4, doctors didn't think he
would live through the night. They recommended that his wife have
him medically discharged from the Navy. The benefits are better
that way than if a service member dies on active duty. She signed
the papers.
But when he awoke the next day, he said, he felt better than before,
and his condition has improved daily ever since.
He once rated his pain at 12 on a scale of 1 to 10, but now puts
it at 4 or 5. The burn pain has passed, replaced now with a constant,
arthritic-like pain as he works to regain flexibility in his joints.
Another constant is a shadow-dark bodysuit that covers his torso,
arms and hands, leaving only his fingertips exposed. The pressure
of the Spandex-like suit will reduce scarring from the burns and
skin grafts, he said.
Shaeffer isn't sure what he'll do in the future. His experience
could give him a pass on engaging the world, but he won't accept
that.
"I'm medically retired. I could stay out of 'the arena' … and for
the rest of my life no one would criticize me for doing that," he
said.
"Because, frankly, what we had to go though as a family and me personally
is enough for a lifetime. No one is going to expect more of me.
However, we are a nation at war right now. And I'm feeling very
motivated to get back into the arena and offer my skills, my motivations,
as my contributions to the fight."
Shaeffer hopes to find a place in government. If not, he believes
there are other ways to make a difference.
"Many people have told me, 'God must have … great plans for you.'
I don't go that far. If the plan is I can be a good husband, someday
maybe a good father, and help others in some small way, that's enough
for me."
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