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In 2013, I wrote a post on my Facebook page about Paul Miller, a man I was photographing for a story in the York Daily Record/Sunday News.
I wrote, “I met a quadruple amputee today, who told me that he was blessed.”
A couple of months before I met Paul, he was watching the Super Bowl, when he noticed his hands and feet were numb.
Suddenly they were turning black.
His wife, Shelly, took him to the hospital, where they found out he had streptococcus pneumoniae, and he was induced into a coma.
And while he was in this coma, his wife had to make the decision to have his hands and feet removed, or he would die.
So Shelly prayed.
She prayed that she would make the right decision. She prayed that if Paul survived and came out of his coma, that he would accept the situation that was in front of him. You see, Paul, a man from Spring Grove, owned a trucking company and was a very physical, active man.
Months later, I meet Paul. He was doing physical therapy and the first thing Paul does is stick out his amputated arm and give you a little “stump bump.”
Then he tells you that he’s blessed.
I was thinking to myself, “This guy’s full of crap.”
There is no way this guy is this positive. This upbeat. Is this amazing.
But over the course of six months that I got to spend with Paul taking his photo and making a video of his story, I realized that through a combination of humor and faith and family and friends and community, that Paul was everything he says he was.
And more.
But you see, Paul is not the hero of this story.
His wife, Shelly, struggled with PTSD.
His wife, Shelly, had to make those decisions.
His wife, Shelly, had to watch him through this.
His wife, Shelly, had to dress him every day.
His wife, Shelly, had to bathe him.
Every day.
While Paul laughed and joked around, Shelly stood in the back and smiled and waved.
And any time that I asked to come over and get photos of Shelly while she would dress, bathe, or generally take care of him, Paul would say, “Sure. No problem.”
While Shelly would say, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s pump the brakes.”
She was not ready to talk about doing those things or have me photograph her doing these things.
But she was always sweet and nice about it.
And the thing was, I always thought to myself, “If I was Paul, could I do what he did?”
I would always hope in my heart that I could.
But then I would think to myself, “Could I be Shelly? Could I do what she did?”
In 2004, I had spinal surgery because there was a tumor on my spine. I had to relearn how to walk again.
You see, folks, I don’t get sick.
I get surgeries.
I’ve had spinal surgery. I’ve had hernia surgery. I’ve had knee surgery. I’ve had four surgeries on my left eye and one on my right.
Through all that, my wife Melissa has been there for all of that.
And after 25 years as a journalist, I decided I was gonna stop. I was going to move on and do something else.
And I had many a panic attack, because I thought to myself, “I can’t do this. I’m cutting off my arms and I’m cutting off my feet. I’m cutting off a huge part of who I am.”
Because journalism is who I am.
But Melissa, she would hold me and she would say, “You can do this. Go kick ass.”
And I don’t believe in heroes. I just don’t.
But she is the closest thing I have to a hero.
My wife…I love her and I just want to say, “Thank you.”
See more stories like this live in person at Lancaster Story Slam the fourth Tuesday of each month at Zoetropolis. In York, Story Slam takes place third Tuesdays at Holy Hound Taproom. Visit lancasterstoryslam.com or yorkstoryslam.com for more info.
