Not Without Hope (19 page)

On the one hand, Nick had little body fat to provide insulation against the cold. On the other hand, as a personal trainer, he was terrifically fit.

“He is well built and doesn’t have an ounce of fat,” Dr. Rumbak said. “That was probably to his disadvantage. But then again, he was so fit. One thing about football players and professional athletes, generally, they push through
their pain. They just don’t stop. He’s not only fit, he’s got that mind-set that he’s not giving up.”

Perhaps his childhood in Ohio—wearing shorts when it was 25 degrees—had made him more acclimated to the cold than the others. And it could only have helped that Nick put on a sweatshirt and winter jacket once he became seasick.

“I think having this must have to some degree slowed down the loss of heat,” Dr. Rumbak said. “It must have. It’s so unusual that he would have survived so much longer than the other guys. They were all pretty much the same.

“It’s amazing how we get prepared for something like that. Growing up near Cleveland, wearing shorts in the cold. He had been a football player. He’s a personal trainer. He’s used to going through adversity. He gets sick, so he puts on slightly warmer clothes than the other guys. In spite of that, I’m still surprised he got through it. I really am. That’s amazing.”

There was one other possible factor that contributed to his perseverance. “He kept saying that he didn’t want his mother to go to his funeral,” Dr. Rumbak said.

It was a misconception to think that Marquis, Corey, and Will had simply given up in the water, Dr. Rumbak said. Hypothermia can lead to delirium, along with a drop in potassium levels and a breakdown of the cell membranes in the heart until it can no longer contract, he said.

“They were just confused,” Dr. Rumbak said. “You saw that in
Titanic.
They become confused and they slip away. You’re shivering and you’re so cold and eventually I think it gets into your brain and you become confused and then you just slip away. If Nick had tied them to the boat,
their hearts probably would have stopped before they were found.”

While survivor’s guilt was real and could be tormenting, there was no reason for Nick to feel guilty, he said. “I think he’s got a lot of demons now,” Dr. Rumbak said. “He think it’s his fault, and it’s not. It’s not his fault because he survived and they didn’t. He didn’t kill them. He didn’t try to end their lives. It wasn’t them or him. Their lives just happened to be shorter because they got colder quicker or whatever it was. And they would have died anyway, irrespective of what he did. I don’t know if he can accept that. Hopefully, he will someday.”

I
n the hospital, they poked me, shot me with needles, and injected blood thinners into my belly to prevent clots. I had an oxygen mask on. At one point I looked at my heart rate and it was in the 120s. They put a catheter in. A guy said, “It’ll be over before you know it.” It felt like they used a drill. Finally, they gave me something for my butt: Silvadene cream. The nurse said they used it for burn victims.

That first day I asked for a chicken sandwich and a Coke. By the time they brought it, I was sleeping. Later, I had the sandwich and a bit of lasagna and ice cream and Jell-O. The TV was on in my room in intensive care, and I saw myself getting off the helicopter. The same feelings of guilt and sadness came back. I got upset and shook my head; I changed the channel to another station. I was interested, but a lot of the things they reported were not right. They were saying the search continues and it’s not looking good for the other three guys. I kept shaking my head. “They’re gone,” I said.

Not that they were wasting their time with the search, but I knew nobody would find them.

“They’re gone.”

I was a little overwhelmed. I wanted as many people as possible in my room. I had been alone so long, and now I wanted to be around the people I thought I’d never see again. I felt guilty. Why was I the one on the boat who was found? They should have been working on Will next to me. He should have been in the same room in the ICU. There wasn’t a moment I didn’t think he wouldn’t make it until a couple of hours before he passed.

The doctor came in to check my blood pressure. I was shaking my head. “What’s wrong?” the nurse asked.

“They’re gone,” I said.

“It’ll be okay,” she said.

I began to feel a little warmer. A few friends came by. Scott Miller was there. He was Will’s other best friend. They had grown up together and had been roommates in college. I told him the story quickly. He had to go tell Will’s family right after that. I felt bad for Scott. There were people so excited I had made it through, but there was a melancholy feeling, too. Scott was my friend, but Will was his best friend. One had been saved, the other was lost.

I told the story to Ben Busbee, who still played tight end at USF. He had been there with my mother when she got the call that I had been found. Paula sat there in the room, listening. I looked over and everyone was staring at me. I felt frail and thin. I looked at my arms. They had atrophied, like after you have surgery. They were so puny. I was upset. Everything I worked for physically was gone. My wrists felt as thick as my biceps.

I kept flipping channels. My eyes started watering. I had mixed feelings. I’d watch the TV reports, down and upset with everything going through my mind. But I would look around and feel good. My family and Paula and my close friends were there supporting me. Unfortunately, my closest friend wasn’t there, the one I really wanted with me.

I drank tons of water. The first time I peed, I had the catheter
in. It burned like someone had taken a lighter to me. My urine was dark yellow from the dehydration. A doctor came in and moved my legs around. I had bad bruises all over my legs. My ankles were twice their normal size. They were worried about my knees and whether I had torn any ligaments. I told them, no, they were just sore from banging on the boat. They worked my legs, and I kept saying, “Whoa!” My butt hurt so bad.

The second day in the hospital, I kept watching TV. I’d see pictures of boats and helicopters. I knew they wouldn’t find anybody. I had thick socks on. My legs were swollen and hard. They put something on me, like a heating pad, to increase the blood flow in my legs. It was too tight. My legs were so tender, I didn’t want anybody touching anything.

Two guys from the Florida Wildlife and Fisheries Commission came to my room. I told them the story over about forty-five minutes. It was very hard. Later, I ate ice cream, Jell-O, pulled pork, rice, subs, four kinds of pasta, anything I wanted. My butt was still raw. The back of my gown was open and I bled through the sheets. It took a few people to roll me onto another bed, and there was just raw burning pain, like I was sitting on a blowtorch. A week later, I would pull off scabs that were four inches long.

I felt heavy, obese, like I couldn’t move anything. But I wanted people around me. I didn’t want to talk, I just wanted to listen. I was grateful to see others, to smell something other than myself or salt water. I was even grateful for the different pains I felt. Needles made me feel alive.

I spoke to Will’s parents. I was dreading it, but I was the only one who knew the story. I had to tell them what had happened to their son. I told them how sorry I was. The first few minutes, it was very tough. They asked, what happened? I told them, without going into full details. They asked if the guys were drinking. I said yes, but that wasn’t the reason this happened. They questioned a
couple of our choices—putting the anchor line at the back of the boat was the main one. I’m pretty sure it was Will’s dad who said, “Will knows better than that. He’s taken boating safety classes.” I don’t think he wanted to believe me. I wouldn’t have wanted to believe me, either.

It was a twenty-minute conversation. There was a lot of quiet time. I asked, “Are you there?” Everyone was in shock.

It was the same feeling I felt when I got into that motorcycle wreck in high school and had to face Daniel Turner’s parents. It was something that absolutely had to be done, but I was so scared. I felt defenseless and helpless. I really did all I could to help their son survive. I really did. I told them Will did everything he could to help me and without him, no way in hell I would be having this conversation with them now, not without his going under the boat to get the life jackets, Gatorade, and pretzels, not without working together.

That was the most difficult phone call I ever made. I sat there by myself for a good five minutes, knowing there was no good or correct way to say it. Will’s parents mentioned a funeral, a memorial. His mom said she thought it was best to have it as soon as possible. That was the last thing I wanted to think about. But I realized my best friend’s parents had lost their youngest son. I knew it was awful for them. Nothing would be able to console them.

Late that Tuesday night, around midnight, they took X-rays of my feet, knees, and ankles. My legs were swollen and stiff; the range of motion was gone. My hip and groin felt completely destroyed from holding Marquis, like I had worked out continuously for a couple of days. There was no strength or flexibility left.

I also began experiencing bad heartburn. It was getting hard to breathe. I was taking Pepcid AC, Maalox, and Tums, and they gave me an IV for heartburn, but it kept getting worse and worse. The next morning, the doctor explained that the medicine, inactivity,
and the intake of salt water was causing this feeling. The more I sat up, the worse it got. I gasped for air. After a while, they gave me oxygen. It felt like someone was taking his hands and squeezing my heart. I kept telling Paula, “I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m having a heart attack.”

That day, the Wildlife and Fisheries Commission issued a small statement. I don’t know if what I said wasn’t clear to them, or if everything got flipped around in the media. There were reports that Marquis just gave up and died. There were reports that we were drunk, that that’s why the boat flipped. Reports that we had been fighting with one another, that Corey had gotten aggressive, punching Will and throwing punches at me, and that he took his life jacket off and gave up. Reports that Will had swum off on his own toward a light. If I told anybody this, they misinterpreted it, or I misspoke, because I was incoherent at times right after I was rescued. I’m the one who saw the light and nearly swam to it, not Will.

These inaccurate rumors were driving me crazy. I felt it was disrespectful. I don’t know anybody else who would have made it that long through those conditions like Marquis, Corey, and Will did. I didn’t know anyone else who could have survived as long as they did. I got lucky; I had more clothing.

The nurse said, “We’re going to get you on your feet today.” I got up and it was like walking on Play-Doh. I felt an extra inch of padding on my feet. They were soft and doughy. Pain shot through my legs and butt. I felt light-headed, and after thirty seconds, they had to put me in a chair next to the bed. I was glad, though. At least I could feel my legs. On the boat my feet had gotten so cold and numb that I thought there was a good chance I would lose them.

My heartburn kept getting worse. They were giving me Tums, Maalox, Mylanta—but it wasn’t getting better. Maybe going to the bathroom would help. The nurse helped me out of bed. I went in a portable toilet, and they had baby wipes there. I thought I had been
in the most pain on the boat, but I was wrong. These wipes made the little match I felt in my butt turn into a bonfire, like someone had lit a stick of dynamite. I screamed.

They also got concerned about the MRSA bacteria, which is resistant to all kinds of penicillin. It lives in your nose and on your skin and is usually harmless. But if you have a lot of cuts and scrapes like I did, it could cause a serious staph infection. My immune system was down, so they were worried. Everyone in the room had to put on a gown, gloves, and a mask.

I saw on TV that Marquis’s dad asked for planes and boats to conduct a volunteer private search. I didn’t want to say anything, but I knew it was a waste of time. I understood what he was doing. He was a father, and he didn’t want to give up on finding his son. I thought it was amazing that he would do that and that people would donate their time and money. But I knew they would never find Marquis’s body, not alive anyway, unless they had a scuba team or a submarine.

Thursday came, my fourth day in the hospital. My heartburn was still constant, but it was getting better. The doctor said my kidneys were much improved. There was a chance I could go home today. They did more tests, and finally I told the nurse, “That’s it. You’ve taken my blood a hundred times. You’ve stuck me with enough needles. You can take the IVs out.”

They wouldn’t let me out, though, unless I could walk a lap around the ICU. It was very weird standing on my feet. I was wobbling, walking like an old lady. It took me a couple of minutes, but I made it around the ICU. I leaned on the counter and signed the dismissal papers. We knew that most of the media were out front, so we sneaked out the back.

It felt so good to be home and out of the hospital. Paula never left my side, which was very comforting. I stood next to the car for ten minutes, trying to delay the inevitable of walking up the stairs
to the living room. It took awhile, but I made it. The dogs let out barks and cries and started licking me. It was a really good feeling, like being greeted by your children.

After I got home, I weighed myself. I had gone from 240 to 208. I was used to eating 5,000 calories a day. Then I went for two days eating nothing on the boat. In the hospital, I ate the entire supply of sugar-free Jell-O in the ICU. Paula went to the grocery store the next day and overheard a woman say, “My mother’s in ICU at Tampa General and there’s no Jell-O on the whole floor.” It was because of me. They treated me like a king there, but I was still losing weight.

It was a Friday now, and Will’s funeral was the next day. I dreaded going. I knew how difficult it would be. The thought of it put everything into perspective. It was real now. He was really gone.

I knew that day, like the accident, I would never forget. Going to a best friend’s memorial, especially at my age, was something I definitely didn’t know how to handle or had ever experienced before. On Saturday morning, Paula, my mom, my sister, and I drove an hour north from Tampa to Crystal River. No one said much in the car. I cried the whole way. It was hard on Paula, too. Will was also her best friend.

I was really nervous. We were going to meet the families of Marquis, Corey, and Will. I didn’t know how the meeting would go or what I would say. I wasn’t walking well, either. How long would I be able to stand?

I knew a lot of people had different questions and opinions about what had happened. Did I survive by killing those three guys? That was absurd. Everything I had told the Coast Guard and the Wildlife and Fisheries Commission was true, but there was no way to prove any of it. I could see how disgusting it would be if somebody got away with doing harm to their friends.

Before the memorial, we all met at Scott Miller’s house. It had become a worldwide story. Even Paula’s family in Brazil had heard about it. So we went to Scott’s, trying to dodge the media. We passed the church on the way and there was a sign that said,
we love you will bleakley
. It had his birthday and the day he passed. As soon as I saw that sign, I lost it again.

At Scott’s we met all the families—fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, cousins. There were probably twenty-five of us. I was very nervous and sad. Everyone was crying. I kind of limped out of the car. Scott was one of the first to come up to me. He gave me a big hug. I met Corey’s sisters and hugged Rebekah, Marquis’s wife. Marquis’s mother cried on my shoulder. I think it was his mom who said, “Thanks for being there for my baby.” A couple families said, “Thanks for hanging on and for being here and being able to tell the story.”

It was difficult hugging Will’s parents. They knew I was the last one with their son. It was so sad. No matter what I said, it wouldn’t make any of these families feel better or smile. It was an awful way to meet someone.

The meeting probably went on for ten minutes. We were all outside at this point, in Scott’s parents’ driveway. Marquis’s father, Bruce, hung back a little. He’s a sportscaster in Phoenix, and he had a million questions. He kind of wanted to hear details of things that hadn’t been said yet. How had the boat flipped? Why did we tie the anchor line to the back? Had we been drinking? He wanted to know the whole ordeal of Marquis getting sick, how he had died. I was caught off guard a little. These were a lot of questions that there was no good way to answer. It was hard to speak to him. He had so much of Marquis in his face. I’d answer, and he’d have a rebuttal. I was more mentally exhausted than I had been all week. I wasn’t quite prepared. Had it been anybody else, I wouldn’t have done it. Especially at that time and place. But I had held on to his son, and
his son had died in my arms. I knew he deserved answers, and I tried to give them as thoroughly as I could.