Rebirth Day

Maria Millard, Mt. Megunticook, Maine

It was October 2, 2012, and the days were quickly getting shorter. When my climbing partners and I reached Mt. Megunticook, we only had a few hours of sun left. The urgency of fleeting light, too little sleep, poor communication, and an unhealthy sense of confidence all contributed to my nearly fatal mistake.

Four days earlier, I'd been drinking a beer with a friend and confessed that, even though I was having a great climbing season, I was starting to worry about my lack of fear. I knew something about that was slightly amiss.

When I clipped into the anchor at the top of Old Stud, I could hear my partners discussing a change of plans, 65 feet below, but couldn't make out what they were saying. Wait, you don't want to climb this route? What? Move the anchor? Huh? Frustrated about not being able to hear them, I shouted down that I would just rappel and clean my gear.

Then blackness.

We're not exactly sure what happened that day, but most likely, when I set up my ATC to rappel, I clipped my carabiner through only one strand of rope. I was in such a hurry that I didn't weight my system to check it before unclipping from the anchor. When I leaned back, the rope whipped through the anchor and I fell back at full speed.

I landed on the ground on my left side, a rock beneath my head. My wrist absorbed a lot of the force, but not enough to save an unprotected head.

On most single-pitch climbs, my helmet would stay on the ground. That day, my partner had insisted I wear my helmet.

Hours later, at Maine Med, I learned that I had dislocated my right shoulder and broke the top of my humerus. I broke my left ankle. The radial bone in my wrist shattered into tiny eggshell pieces. My whole upper left leg was blue and swollen, my face was cut up, and I had massive road rash along my right leg. My helmet had a mark on the left side where my head hit the ground.

Everyone worried that I would emerge from the hospital without my full faculties. But because of my helmet, I not only survived a massive fall but also avoided a traumatic brain injury.

Five months later, I skied the headwall of Tuckerman Ravine on Mt. Washington—the first date with my crush Josh. A few months after that, I was the first female finisher in a nine-mile trail race. Three years have passed. I'm now living Colorado and beginning a dream job with the American Alpine Club. Josh and I are getting married this summer. I look around at the things I might not have gotten to share with those I love and feel grateful for another shot at being here.

Each year on October 2, I celebrate my rebirth day—a chance to reflect on my accident and take stock of my good luck in life. And whenever I climb outside, I sure as hell have a helmet on.

Read the original report from Accidents in North American Mountaineering.