Shayna West survived a death-defying skydive
Saturday 25th April 2009
Have you ever wondered what it's like to feel fear? Not the kind when you have a close call in the car, or a shadow in the dark makes you jump. I'm talking about the heart-banging terror that grips you when you suddenly realise you're staring death in the face. I experienced every emotion and more when my parachute failed to open while I was 11,500ft above the ground. For 45 seconds and two miles, I swore, fought, cried, begged and finally prayed for a painless end as the ground rushed up to meet me. The last thing I remember saying as I smashed face-first into a concrete car park at 50mph was: 'Just don't make it hurt.' I can honestly say falling from a great height onto a car park did hurt. It hurt very much indeed. Even now, when I close my eyes, the blurred, grey concrete comes to me in terrifying snapshots.
Of course, I had no idea of the horror that lay ahead as I set out to do a solo dive with my local parachute club in Joplin, Missouri. In fact, I couldn't wait to do it. It was a beautiful, sunny Sunday, and my sixth solo dive without an instructor strapped to me. My boyfriend, Rick West, 41, was a qualified skydive instructor. We'd met in May 2005, shortly after my 21st birthday, when I'd treated myself to a skydive. He was my instructor and he had the same 'go, go, go', attitude to life. I'd done two dives before I met him, now, I had 10 under my belt. After meticulously checking my parachute was packed properly and running through all the routine safety checks, I lined up to throw myself out of the plane. 'I love you!' Rick yelled over the roaring engine, before leaping out of the plane ahead of me. 'Love you, too,' I mouthed back. Then it was my turn. Without a second thought, I stepped out of the plane, into thin air. 'Woo hoo… I'm flying!' I laughed. Diving out of a plane is like leaping into an ice-cold swimming pool. The shock slaps you around the face, but once you get used to the feeling, it's exhilarating. With a walkie-talkie strapped to my chest, I was able to talk to trainers in the plane, and to Rick, just below me. 'Smile,' he bellowed, as he videoed my freefall. I couldn't help but grin as the force of the wind pulled my lips back.
All too soon, the fun was over. 'Time to release your parachute!' a voice crackled over the airwaves as I reached 3,500ft. Grasping the cord, I gave it a tug, but instead of jolting me into a gentle sway upwards, my parachute twisted up. With a violent jerk, it spun me round and round as I plummeted to the ground. Dizzy with shock, I frantically tried to keep my head. Think. Think. What had the instructors told me? I needed to counter my spinning parachute by leaning my body in the opposite direction to try to stabilise it. I leaned back, but it made no difference and I carried on hurtling towards the ground. 'Shayna!' I heard Rick scream, but I was too terrified to reply. As the wind roared around my ears, I grappled for my reserve chute and tugged. Please work. Please. Nothing. Panic surged through me as the ground rushed towards me. The cars and trees that had looked like pinheads just seconds earlier were getting bigger and bigger. Any last shred of calm left my body. 'I'm going to die!' I screamed. 'I'm going to die!' As I spiralled faster and faster to earth, my dad Mike's words echoed around my head: 'You're crazy. Skydiving is dangerous.' I'd laughed at him. But now, as the concrete rushed up to meet me, I wasn't laughing. I was praying. 'Please don't let it hu…' Smash! With an almighty crunch, my face slammed into the concrete. Apparently, I hit the ground with such force, I bounced.
Following the impact, I drifted in and out of consciousness. All I could see were bits of shattered bone and blood. 'Am I dead?' I mumbled, before passing out again. Next thing I knew, I was in hospital, and Rick was standing over me. 'What happened?' I whispered. 'Every bone in your face has been shattered,' he said softly. 'You've broken your pelvis in two places, and your leg.' 'W-what?' I stuttered, tracing my tongue over my empty gums. 'My teeth,' I sobbed. All my front teeth were gone. Pain pierced my body like a thousand knives, and I felt totally out of it from all the painkillers I was on. It was two weeks before I was well enough to look in the mirror. 'Oh no,' I sobbed at my battered reflection. Although I should have been happy to be alive, all I could think about was how horrific I looked. But I was about to hear news that would blow that out of the water. 'It's a miracle you're alive,' said a doctor. 'And that's not the only bit of good news.' 'You're in the early stages of pregnancy,' he smiled. Rick looked as stunned as me. 'I-is the baby OK?' I managed to splutter. 'Perfect,' the doctor nodded. 'How did it survive the fall?' I gasped. 'The foetus was cushioned from the fall,' he explained. That should have been enough to help me move on, but things are never that simple, are they? Suffering morning sickness when your jaw is wired up isn't easy for a start. And worse still, I was uninsured. 'We have three mouths to feed. How will we pay for everything?' I asked Rick, for the hundredth time after yet another operation. I should have felt like the luckiest woman in the world, but instead, I felt racked with guilt for not taking out insurance. I'd been cut from ear to ear so surgeons could pull down my skin while they took out all the fractured bones and put in 15 steel plates. My dental surgery alone cost $30,000 on top of the $200,000 hospital fees. In total, my medical bill came to a staggering $300,000 (£207,000).
After six weeks in hospital, I was finally discharged. 'I thought we were going straight home,' I grumbled as Rick pulled up outside a jewellery shop. 'Will you marry me?' he asked. I didn't have to be asked twice. 'Yes!' I screamed. We tied the knot in April 2006, in front of a few close friends and family. Six weeks later, Tanner was born, weighing a healthy 7lb 13oz. I refused drugs to ease the pain. Childbirth was nothing compared to what I'd already been through. As the doctor passed me my baby boy, something just clicked. I finally felt like me again. Tanner was my guardian angel. I'd been unconsciously fighting for him the whole time I was recovering from the accident. This was my second chance. Rebuilding your life and face is nothing in comparison to having a child.
The doctors suggested counselling, but talking wouldn't help me heal. This little boy had given me a reason to live. But I knew, to be the best mum I could, I had to do one more dive. Crazy? Definitely. But I knew I had to overcome my fear. Six weeks later, I strapped myself into the solo harness one last time, completed all my safety checks and then braced myself. My heart raced as I launched myself into the clear blue sky. I was utterly terrified. But then that familiar sense of exhilaration swept over me and I remembered why I'd done all those other dives. Something had changed though. My son was waiting for me on the ground. He needed his mum and I couldn't get down quick enough. 'That was my final skydive,' I promised Rick as I landed. Rick decided to hang up his parachute too, and is now working as a technician in the army. Even better, after reading about my accident, a surgeon kindly donated his time to restore my face, which has helped enormously with our money worries. I've had seven operations since then, from cheek implants to new teeth. Finally, when I look in the mirror, I can see Shayna staring back again.
A year ago, I gave birth to Bridget. I'm now the mum of two beautiful children and the past is well and truly behind me. Tanner is my little miracle, and as soon as he's old enough, I'll tell him everything. I wouldn't stop him or Bridget from skydiving if they want to when they're older. In fact, I think everyone should do one skydive in their life. I've done mine, though. I'm a full-time mum now, and for that, I need to keep my feet firmly on the ground.