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My Personal Bolt of Lightning
August 27, 2001 By MICHAEL UTLEY WEST YARMOUTH, Mass. -- I never believed that I
could be in danger on a golf course — until I was struck by
lightning on one last year. What I learned that spring day is that
lightning is an underrated killer that fries minds and turns bodies
into charred shells. I was playing in a charity golf tournament on
Cape Cod. The sky was clear when our foursome joined in a shotgun
start — players on every hole teeing off at the same time. My group
was just finishing at the 10th hole when a horn, the signal for a
storm threat, began blaring. We rushed toward our carts, heading for
the clubhouse, but we were still far out on the course when I was
struck. My life changed in seconds. I understand the strike had a halo effect. The
other players heard a loud bang and saw me stumble to the ground. They
say smoke came from my body. The charge hit my head and lower body and
then exited through my feet. My shoes flew off. For a long 10 minutes, my golfing partners
performed C.P.R., forcing life into me. At one point my friends
thought I was dead — I had stopped breathing. I "died" a
second time in the ambulance. I remember none of this. A few days later I woke
up in intensive care, but I didn't recover my memory for more than a
month. Now, more than a year later, I am still working at
rehabilitation from the physical disabilities I was left with. It is our cultural habit not to take lightning
seriously. Winning the lottery jackpot or finding the perfect husband
is said to be "about as likely as getting struck by lightning"
— which is meant to convey that there's virtually no chance at all. Most Americans consider
thunderstorms minor, if dramatic, inconveniences. Traffic keeps moving
and outdoor games go on, despite the thunder, until pelting rain
arrives. But while my experience may not be common, it's not freakish, either — and I
invite casual risk takers to consider its severity. Over the past 30 years, an average of 73 people a
year have been killed by lightning in the United States, according to
the National Weather Service, and about 300 are struck each year and
survive. Since victims of lightning don't die from burns, but from
cardiac arrest, it was my good fortune that one of my golfing buddies
had just completed a refresher course in C.P.R. But still my body was
profoundly shocked and my brain was damaged — and this is typical. At 49, I am relearning basic motor skills — how
to eat, shave, dress, walk down a hall without bumping into walls. I
can't toss my little girl in the air. Sometimes the pain in my damaged
nerves is intense. I don't like the effect on my family. The people
I most love are now caregivers. Insurers have told me that I will
probably continue to need medical care — when I applied for long-
term disability insurance, I received a letter stating I had been
turned down "due to your medical history of lightning strike." There are organized efforts to warn people about
lightning. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration issues
alerts and disseminates the relevant advice: Go indoors at the first
rumbling of thunder; stay clear of trees, water, wire objects and
heavy equipment; don't use the telephone during a storm. The PGA Tour
requires that a meteorologist be present at every event, to stop play
when there's danger of lightning. Yet I suspect most people are still as unaware of
this particular danger as I used to be. More Americans are killed by
lightning each year than by hurricanes or tornadoes — and many more
than are killed by sharks. You'd never know this, however, from news coverage or
even from popular lore. Perhaps it is only natural that the press
concentrates on dangers that threaten many people at once, and that
stories are told and retold of events with many witnesses. Deaths and
injuries from lightning are isolated and far-flung — easy to
overlook or ignore. Unless, of course, you have been a victim. Michael Utley is on leave from his position as a vice president at UBSPaineWebber.
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