Head Strong: 10 years after breaking his neck, Scott Fedor embraces the life he never planned – cleveland.com

Floating face down in a Michigan lake, unable to move any part of his body, Scott Fedor knew death was coming.

It was July 3, 2009, and the 33-year-old marketing executive had just dived off a pier into a shallow spot in Coldwater Lake, behind the vacation cottage where he was spending the holiday with his wife and in-laws.

Hed splashed headfirst many times before in that same spot, but this time was different. He heard a crack, the kind of sound logs make in a campfire.

Oh, my God, what did I just do? he thought. But he knew the answer even before he asked the question.

That crack was the sound of his vertebrae shattering. Hed broken his neck.

Suspended, helpless, in 3 feet of water, he heard nothing but his heartbeat, which grew faster and louder. It was only seconds, but it felt like hours as his thoughts turned to his wife, his mom and dad and sister, about the life he would not get to live, the people hed never see again, the children hed never have. And it was his fault. All because of that dive.

He felt ashamed.

There was no one there to save him. Without hope, he decided to end it quickly, opening his mouth to draw in water, and swallowing hard.

Everything went dark. I no longer heard my heart beating. My eyes closed for what I thought was the last time. I had drowned myself, he writes in Head Strong, the memoir he released this July, on the 10-year anniversary of his accident.

And now you know that Scott Fedor did not die. Dead men dont write books.

Fedor, a St. Ignatius High School grad who grew up in Strongsville and now lives in Westlake, was pulled out of that lake by his wife, alerted when his in-laws dog, who had followed him to the pier, barked at the motionless, floating man.

He was revived by a neighbor, a nurse, and flown to a hospital in Michigan for treatment before another airlift to MetroHealth Medical Center in Cleveland. He spent a year in a nursing home.

In his book, which he wrote and self-published, he recounts the ordeal of recovery from the C-3 spinal cord injury, which left him paralyzed below the neck.

He recounts the words spoken by the doctor two weeks after the injury, as he lay in bed in a Kalamazoo hospital with a ventilator breathing for him: You will never walk again.

That was true.

The doctor also told him things that were not true.

Youll never breathe on your own again. He shed the ventilator months later.

You may never be able to eat or swallow again. He has a healthy appetite.

You will never spend long periods out of bed again. Hes in bed only when sleeping.

The doctor finished his sober news with a startling question:

Do you want to live?

The patient in the bed next to Fedor, who had suffered a similar injury, had been asked the same thing hours earlier. Hed answered no. He died with his family at his side a short time after the ventilator was turned off.

Saying no would be like gulping that water. But death was no longer inevitable.

Yes, Fedor said. I want to live.

If the doctor had been able to see the future, he would have told Fedor these truths:

You will be a workout warrior and a champion for others like you. You will live in your own house and it will be perfect for you because you will design it. You will give speeches. You will write your memoir. You will inspire many.

LIVING LIFE

In late August, Fedor sipped a beer as he greeted friends on the patio of the Winking Lizard in Mayfield, maneuvering his wheelchair with his mouth using a special sip and puff straw. When he was in place, he clenched a Sharpie between his teeth and signed copies of the book that carry his story of triumph and tragedy, resilience and recovery.

I try to be honest and tell it like it is. Im not a Pollyanna, but I also want people to know that Im happy. Theres ups and downs, but theres more good days than bad days, he said a week later when we talked at his Westlake home.

The bad days include the five times his heart stopped, and he had to be revived. And the six surgeries he has endured. And the pain and spasms in his shoulders and neck, along with frequent headaches that even today make it hard for him to live life to the fullest.

The walking I can deal without. I mean Id love to walk, trust me. But if I could just have better ways to manage the pain. Thats what stops me from living my best life, from being even more productive or being able to fully enjoy everything I want to do, he said.

The worst day was his divorce. Just months after the accident, as he recovered in a nursing home, his wife said she couldnt do it anymore and initiated their breakup. She left town and remarried four months after that.

Id be lying if I said Im not still bothered by it or think about it. Probably for the first six, seven years, there wasnt a day that went by where I didnt think about what we had in life. Its not front and center as much, but it never goes away, he said.

Its the most devastating thing Ive ever lost in my life, probably more so than losing my physical self. Just losing the person, the one person, I really wanted to live for more than anything, he said. As much as it hurt to lose her, when I think about those moments we had, I smile. If I were to hate her, what will it do for me? And I dont want to hate what we had.

He misses his relationship and he misses the everyday moments his injury took from him.

I remember little things, like being able to plop down on the couch and if Im uncomfortable, being able to roll over and change my position. I used to love boiled shrimp. You know, like just cracking shrimp and having Old Bay and shrimp sauce stuck to my fingers, he said. Walking barefoot or twisting a beer open. Or petting a dog.

For many, thinking about what youve lost would be too painful. But Fedor embraces the memories. Memories of playing for St. Ignatius in the three-overtime Holy War victory over rival St. Edward en route to a back-to-back state title; studying abroad in China and Europe and earning a degree from Lehigh University and an MBA from the University of Michigan; riding bulls on an Ohio rodeo circuit; or busting out crazy dance moves at weddings and corporate parties; and of his quick climb up the corporate ladder to become a vice president at Halex, a Scott Fetzer Company in Cleveland that makes electrical fittings.

The 10-year anniversary was more of a milestone for others than for him, though.

Anniversaries are a bigger deal for the people around me. I live it every day, he said. I measure my progress differently than time passed.

He measures it with the physical progress hes made and his grueling assisted workouts, with the foundation he started, Getting Back Up, which raises money to pay for others with spinal cord injuries to have assisted workouts or buy adaptive equipment. He measures it in the relationship with his sister and her family and with his mom and dad, who regularly take a caregiver shift in his home (someone is there around the clock, but Medicaid only pays for 16 hours each day.) He measures it in the speeches he gives, in the book he wrote, and in the schedule he keeps.

Its kind of ironic for a guy who cant move to always be in a hurry, he said. I like to wake up and say, OK, lets go.

Many people tell him that hes an inspiration. He knows about that, inspired himself as a high schooler by the story of Dennis Byrd, an NFL player who was paralyzed in an injury in 1992. Fedor read about him in Sports Illustrated and when he saw the Bible verse that Byrd clung to after his injury, Fedor wrote it down and tucked it into his wallet:

Romans, 8:18 For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.

He believes the glory is revealed every day.

I dont want people to just say, I feel sorry for him because he had a lot going for him and he broke his neck. I mean, yeah, that sucks, he said.

But instead of feeling bad about what I lost, I want you to be inspired by what I was able to do and what I was able to gain.

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Head Strong: 10 years after breaking his neck, Scott Fedor embraces the life he never planned - cleveland.com