Seconds after Jeff Folwell jumped over the concrete barrier he knew he was in trouble.
He should have already hit the ground.
But he was still falling.
I didn't think it would be that far, he told himself.
And falling.
This is not good.
He continued to plummet into the blackness.
Cold air rushed past him.
Seconds taunted him.
He felt confused. Afraid. Then ... serene.
He was at peace.
"And then pain."
l l l
It's a familiar story: Person stops to help accident victim. Becomes a victim himself.
Sometimes, those stories end in tragedy.
But Folwell, 43, didn't die last month. He just felt like he did.
A pelvis broken in three places.
A fractured left arm.
A broken sternum.
Three broken ribs.
Three broken vertebrae.
It was the sum total of good intentions gone bad.
Folwell tried to help a driver whose car careened off a concrete barrier and stopped in the middle of I-85 during a downpour.
The driver turned out to be OK.
But Folwell wouldn't know that until later. He never made it to the car.
Now, the veteran Julian volunteer firefighter, chief since 2008, lies in a Moses Cone hospital bed -- with Cindy, his wife, ever present -- trying to heal from injuries he sustained that December night.
Today is one more step on the long road to recovery, which has been filled with surgery and setbacks.
There's a lot in the days following the accident that Folwell says he doesn't -- or can't -- remember.
But he has total recall of when it happened, the details are burned into his mind, frame by excruciating frame. When put together, they take the shape of what could be a Movie of the Week, except our hero -- Folwell -- didn't exactly save the day.
Still, he tried. That's what counts.
He explains why as he catches himself drifting off.
"It's in my blood. It's who I am. ... I don't know any other way to put it. I like helping people."
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It was Friday about 10 p.m. when a white Ford Expedition entered the Archdale city limits en route to Julian.
Inside, Jeff, Cindy, their three children, ages 7 to 21, and three others were on their way home from McAdenville, otherwise known as Christmas Town, U.S.A.
"It was a perfect night," recalls Cindy, 44. "We had all the kids. Everyone was happy. All of us were having a good time together."
The only downside was a driving rain, which was making visibility near impossible.
As most everyone slept, Jeff stayed focused on the road ahead. Their exit was about a mile away.
They wouldn't make it.
"I looked up and saw brake lights," he recalls. "The car in front of me started going out of control. It skidded to the right. I needed to dodge it."
Cindy awoke when she heard Jeff exclaim: "Oh, my God! That car just hydroplaned!"
Then she saw a small, dark car -- they're not sure of the type -- hit a concrete barrier.
"Parts were flying everywhere," Cindy says. "It was crazy."
It spun several times before coming to rest. On an overpass. In the middle of I-85.
Jeff pulled into the right shoulder just past it. And Cindy was filled with dread because she knew why.
"Oh, baby. I've got to check to make sure they're OK," Jeff told her.
"Please don't stop. Please don't stop," she pleaded.
"I've got to check them out."
"Please be careful."
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Jeff tried to cross.
"It felt like 1,000 cars, man. Nobody was slowing down.
"I started over the roadway and heard this car coming. It was sliding. I backed off.
"I started to make my second approach. As I did, I could hear this car. I heard its brakes. I looked up and it's coming dead at me.
"There was no way to go except over the bridge. You either jump or you die.
"It was like a little bit of quiet peace came over me."
l l l
Inside the SUV, Cindy was getting nervous.
"We're just kind of waiting and it took awhile.
"I got my shoes on and we got out and went looking.
"There were pieces of the car everywhere. ... We couldn't find him.
"I'm crying. The only thing I can think of is someone hit him and dragged him down the road.
"We're freaking out.
"We started looking over the bridge. There was nowhere else to look."
l l l
You've just fallen 25 feet.
You're lying on rocks. You're in pain. Your mouth fills with water from the pounding rain. You're in pain. You're surrounded by darkness. Pain.
Nearby is a creek. Above are people you can hear but can't see.
You call for help.
You wonder when they will find you. You question if they will find you.
Frustration sets in.
This is taking forever. SOMEBODY HURRY UP AND GET HERE!
You pray.
You wait.
You see lights above.
Caleb, your 18-year-old son, finds you first and becomes distraught.
Rescue workers soon arrive.
There's something you have to ask them. But not about what's happened to you. About them. Whoever was in that car.
"Are they OK?"
l l l
It's 4:02 p.m.
Jeff is out cold. So Cindy describes what happened next.
It's just as well. This is the part he doesn't remember.
The surgery lasted over 12 hours.
For the next two days, he was unconscious.
For the next week, he was in intensive care.
His body suffered so much trauma from the fall, that doctors are still having to deal with the fallout. His stomach shutting down was a problem for awhile. Then there was a tear in his urethra.
The biggest concern was -- and continues to be -- the formation of blood clots. That's why his daily physical therapy sessions -- which take up hours -- are so important.
The other day saw a breakthrough for Jeff: He sat on the side of the bed and shaved.
That was followed by his first trip outside since the accident.
It's hard to do anything, though, without feeling some kind of discomfort.
Doctors think it'll take at least three months before he'll be well enough for his pelvis to take the pressure of standing.
If only Jeff had kept going. Like so many other cars that night. Like the one that almost hit him.
Like his wife wanted him to do. Even though she realized it was pointless asking.
Cindy knows Jeff.
"When I was begging him to stop, I knew he wouldn't," she says with a wide smile, glancing over at her sleeping husband. "That's what he does. That's who he is."
Copyright 2012 - News & Record, Greensboro, N.C.
McClatchy-Tribune News Service
