TMC PULSE

T M C » P U L S E | S E P T E M B E R 2 0 1 8 25 TARGET AUDIENCE: Surgeons, anesthesiologists, nurses, surgical residents, allied health professionals, and nursing students will benefit from this course. Houston Methodist Research Institute 6670 Bertner Ave. John F. Bookout Auditorium, 2nd Floor Houston, TX 77030 PROGRAM DIRECTORS: Brian J. Dunkin, MD, FACS Girish P. Joshi, MB, BS, MD, FFARCSI This live activity has been approved for AMA PRA Category 1 Credits™. MANAGING SURGICAL PAIN IN THE ERA OF AN OPIOID CRISIS: The Value of Multimodal Pain Therapy WEDNESDAY, OCT. 3, 2018 Seminar: 7:30 a.m. – 12:30 p.m. Optional Hands-on Workshop: 1-4 p.m.* *Limited to 20 participants. REGISTER TODAY events.houstonmethodist.org/opioidcrisis standing position—perfect for operating. The hospital installed a German-manufactured operating room table designed with an unob- structed base, allowing Alford to move more freely in his wheelchair during procedures. He started with small surgeries, including repairing a teenager's broken nose and reconstructing a woman's nose after removing a basal cell carcinoma. Alford decided not to perform any more extensive procedures that require a certain speed and mobility. But at the very least, he was still doing what he loved. • • • On Thursday, Feb. 12, 2009, Alford completed his first facelift since the accident. Things were finally looking up. But the next morning, his phone rang around 8:30 a.m. It was Mary, calling to say that she and Charles had been in a car accident. Charles was driving and he had drifted into the median and overcorrected, caus- ing the car to roll over four times. "We've been in a wreck. Charles is hurt," Mary said to him over the phone. "It's OK. He'll be fine. Don't worry about the car," Alford told her, not realizing his wife was still in the vehicle with Charles lying in her lap. "No, Charles has been hurt," Mary repeated. "I think he's dead." Charles' neck had snapped in the tumble, and he was declared dead at the scene. Alford knew physical pain, but he had never experienced the emo- tional agony of losing a child. "I can deal with anything that happens to me," he said. "Just don't hurt my kids or my family." At Charles' memorial service on Feb. 18, 2009, five days after the accident, Mary sat by her husband— both of them in wheelchairs—with her leg and hand in a cast. "What a pathetic-looking bunch we were, but when we sang 'In Christ Alone,' I stood because there was nothing else I could do to pro- claim that," Mary said. "I know that God's hand has been in this, and it continues to be in this. He has made us different and better through both Gene's spinal cord injury and Charles' death, and I don't want to waste that." • • • Today, when Alford wheels into the operating room, he is greeted by a sea of familiar faces. He has worked with the same OR techs for more than 22 years and continues to teach surgical residents. "I was getting pretty wrapped up in myself before the tree fell on me," Alford said. "I miss running. I miss playing golf. I would really love to be able to do those things again, but if it meant being an arrogant surgeon, then I would give up my legs to not be that person." It's been 11 years since Alford's spinal cord injury and nine years since his son's death. Alford still thinks about that day in December when he was trapped under the tree, listening to Charles' voice on the other end of the phone. "I used to cry all the time. I couldn't say his name," Alford said. Much of his life after the acci- dent and the tragic loss of his son has been about resilience. "Before I was injured, my tools were scalpel and forceps, but now God gave me a different tool: a wheelchair," Alford said. "You can go from a place of absolute darkness and despair and point to that fork in the road where you can either choose despair or you can choose hope. You've got to choose the path that leads to hope." Charles Alford died in a car accident at age 16 on Feb. 13, 2009.

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