"Man Down!"

"Anyone Seen Donny?""Is Donny out there?" Joe Brocato was screaming from the attic of the burning house in Buffalo, New York. "Anyone seen Donny?"Firefighter Donny Herbert, 34, had just crawled across the smoke-filled attic, trying to open a window for ventilation, but no one could find him now. Firefighters had been battling an electrical fire at the wood-frame house on 21 Inter Park Avenue
for almost 40 minutes on December 29, 1995, when a ceiling beam buckled. The entire roof of the house caved in. Snow, ice, rafters, drywall, soot and layers of asphalt all came crashing down.Donny was wearing full turnout gear, including an air tank. Mike McCarthy, who'd been in the attic near Donny, was pulled out of the debris. After surveying the scene, he yelled out, "You guys see Donny Herbert?"None of the other firefighters had.A line of men began repeating, "Anyone seen Donny?"There was still no reply. So Acting Division Chief Joe Brocato starting calling. Radio channels had opened up to firefighters citywide, alerting them that one of their own was in trouble."Man down!" yelled Captain Tony Page. "Mayday, Mayday.""He was right there," gasped McCarthy, pointing to the last spot he'd seen his friend, a pile of debris about 25 feet across the attic. While Brocato and Page ordered outside ladders to the attic window, two firefighters sliced beams with their axes, trying to find something, anything in the wreckage.Finally they spotted him. Donny was pinned under a beam, in a sitting position. His head was bent forward at a 90-degree angle.They dug him out, furiously hauling pieces of roof away from his body. Donny was given mouth-to-mouth and then hustled down to the front yard, where oxygen and CPR were administered.The veteran firefighter was gray, limp and in critical condition. He was unconscious; he wasn't breathing. An ambulance took him to Erie County Medical Center. Donny had been without oxygen for about six minutes.The weight of the world seemed to be pressing on Donny Herbert in the months leading up to December 1995. He arrived at work at 6 p.m. on December 28 for the start of his overnight shift. By 11:30 p.m., he was calling his wife, Linda, from the quiet of the empty kitchen."I can't sleep," he said. "Talk to me.""What's wrong, Don?""I don't know." He paused. He seemed to be choking back tears."Don, are you okay?" Linda asked.Something didn't feel right, he said. Couldn't put his finger on it. Linda chalked it up to stress. Donny was passionate about his firefighting job—that and their four boys were his main focus—but lately things seemed out of whack. Their house was in a perpetual state of renovation and repair. Money was tight. Their oldest son, Don Jr., was a freshman in high school, and they were about to throw a birthday party for their youngest, Nicky, who had just turned four. Tommy and Patrick, the middle boys, were involved in countless activities. And the overworked fire department had had a run of treacherous blazes lately.After almost 15 years of marriage, Linda felt Donny had to ease up."I need you here," she told him. "The kids need you.""You're right. I have to make some changes. I have to slow down."They talked a bit longer. He'd be home in the morning, he said. "Call if you want to, no matter how late, okay, hon?" Linda told him. "Love you.""Love you too."She put the phone on her pillow in case Donny called back. He didn't.Now, from the hospital, the emergency services chaplain, Father Joe Bayne, reached Linda at home. She was still in bed but answered on the second ring. "Linda, there's been an accident—Donny's been injured."She gasped. "How bad is he?"The chaplain paused. "He has a pulse and the doctors are working on him. We're on our way over now to get you. Can someone watch the boys?"Linda threw on her robe and rushed from the bedroom. Don Jr. had heard the phone and come out of his room. "What is it?" he asked."Your father's been hurt in a fire," Linda said. "I think it's bad."She was working hard to stay calm, both for herself and the family. When Father Joe and a deputy fire commissioner appeared in the driveway, she went out to meet them. Sirens blared as they sped off to the hospital. Linda prayed, Please, God, let him be okay. Please.In the ER, Linda spotted Donny in a small room, hooked up to a ventilator and EEG and EKG devices. His face had some abrasions, but Linda knew it was a lot worse than that. "He was as still as could be," she said later.Trauma specialist Alan Posner, MD, told Linda he was worried about oxygen loss and brain damage. The EEGs showed abnormally slow electrical activity in the brain. In addition to the blow to the head, Donny's heart had momentarily stopped. His face mask had been dislodged, rendering his air tank useless. His head and neck had been hyperextended, pinned forward by the beam. The result: slow asphyxiation.The longer the body goes without oxygen, the greater the risk of brain damage and death. Those who survive prolonged deprivation can emerge in a permanent vegetative condition. It seemed Donny had been without oxygen for roughly six minutes. If he lived, no one knew how bad the damage could be.His pulse was weak. His vital signs were fading. "Hang on, Donny," Linda said, starting to cry, shaking. "I love you. I need you. We need you."

On a chilly Friday afternoon before Christmas in 1986, Donny Herbert had kissed his wife, bear-hugged his three toddler sons, and set off for his first shift as a Buffalo firefighter. It was one of the proudest days of his life. The 25-year-old was the first in his family to join the department.

Over the years he'd proven himself, grabbing awards for bravery and aggressiveness. In 1991, he joined the Rescue 1 unit, responding to structure fires, car crashes and other accidents. That same year, the couple's fourth son, Nicky, was born. With a few days off between tours at the firehouse, Donny relished the one-on-one time with his youngest. They fished together, read together. Donny doted on him, taking Nick everywhere.Now Linda wasn't sure how to tell the kids that their vibrant, life-loving dad was in a dead-to-the-world fog.Local TV stations had been showing dramatic film of his rescue. At home, watched over by Linda's mother and sister, the four boys stared in shock at the screen. The family tried to keep their hopes up. "Your dad is getting all the medical care he needs," Linda's sister said. The boys were devastated, except for Nicky, who was too young to understand. He just wanted Dad.As the hours wore on, Donny clung to life in the hospital. All Linda could do was worry and pray. Please, God, bring him back to us. Please. For her, the next few days ran together in an endless loop of torment and tears.A full battalion of Buffalo firefighters were on call as a chauffeur and concierge service for Linda, who rushed back and forth between home and the hospital. As New Year's Eve flew by, the doctors diagnosed one of the most unsparing types of head trauma, caused by oxygen deprivation and the blow to the head. Much of Donny's brain, it seemed, had been wiped away.In early January, his vital signs began to stabilize, and at times he seemed to yawn or even smile. He moved his arms, and sometimes he appeared to be trying to speak. Technically, Donny had now emerged from a comatose state, showing distinct sleeping and waking cycles. While this was encouraging, he was still largely unresponsive to the world around him.Linda kept praying as cards and letters streamed in from around the city. Father Joe Moreno came by so often with goodies from the local bakery that Linda and the kids began calling him Father Cannoli.In mid-January, Donny was weaned from the ventilator, and to the doctors' surprise, he breathed remarkably well. By January 19, he had made it through without a single setback or infection. Linda, for her part, had moved from a state of paralyzing shock to exhausted resiliency.She kept telling others, "Whatever we get, we'll accept. I know there's a reason he's with us." She would take any Donny she could get, no matter what. She sobbed to her best friend, Luanne, "I need him here. In any form."In early February, Donny was moved into a rehab wing for acute brain-trauma patients. He was conscious but unresponsive. He would stretch his arms and even stand with help. And though he would sometimes open his eyes, he remained in a fog.By the spring of 1996, Linda had transferred him to Father Baker Manor, a long-term-care nursing facility outside Buffalo. Time passed—one year after another. And Donny Herbert's sons grew up largely without him.It was early in 2005, during one of her visits with Donny, that Linda noticed he seemed to be crying. The doctors took this as a positive sign: Donny Herbert was still in there somewhere. His heart beat. His blood pumped. His lungs completed their life-giving tasks. His brain, though, was the question. A new doctor that Linda had found on her own, Dr. Jamil Ahmed, had a few remarkable examples from which to draw a little hope. Some patients with traumatic brain injuries had come back from oblivion.Dr. Ahmed's thinking was that the right combination of neurostimulants might spark Donny's brain into ignition and restore activity where only emptiness and stupor had reigned. An early drug cocktail for Donny included one part antidepressant and a dash of a drug commonly used to treat ADHD. Donny hadn't shown much change, so eventually Dr. Ahmed worked in a drug used to treat Parkinson's, plus metabolic activity-inducing vitamins like B12 and folic acid. As the medical team waited, they kept Donny moving, working his muscles.Linda, for her part, had struggled with depression and weight problems over the years. Nights were the hardest for her, when she was alone.On April 30, 2005, the Saturday after she'd given her parents a 50th wedding anniversary party, she awoke exhausted. She needed to shop for a rug, though, having added a sunroom to their house so that when Donny visited, he could sit in his wheelchair and bask in the warm sun.Linda spoke to Nicky, now 13, and got herself on the road by 11 a.m.At about 2 p.m., Donny was sitting in his wheelchair in the lounge at Father Baker Manor when suddenly he began to shake his legs violently.Jessica Mann, a licensed practical nurse, was standing near the station desk when she thought she heard Donny say something. She couldn't be sure, though: No one had ever heard him say anything. She went over to him. She couldn't believe it. Donny Herbert was talking. His first words in nearly ten years—repeated in a rough, slurred voice—were, "Where's Linda?"At a store in Williamsville, Linda had just bought a beautiful black-and-white rug and put it in the car. She checked her cell phone. She'd missed two calls, one from Father Baker Manor and one from home.When she dialed home, Nick answered. "The nurse at Father Baker was looking for you," he said. "I gave them your cell phone.""Yes, they left a message," Linda said. "I'll be home in a little while." She hung up and rang the number at Father Baker.Soon Linda heard the nurse, Jessica, start to carry on about something. Donny had asked for her. Jessica was going to hand the phone to him.Linda wasn't sure what to expect. She said loudly, "Hi, Don. It's me, Linda.""Lin, where are you? Come get me."Linda froze. It was her husband speaking for sure. "Don, where are you?""I'm at 182 Melrose," he replied clearly. His childhood home."Okay, I'm coming." To the nurse, she added, "I'm on my way."As Linda drove toward the thruway, toward Donny, her heart pounded. Her thoughts raced. Will he still be talking when I get there? Does this mean he's better now? How long will it last? I've got to tell the kids.

She got her youngest back on the phone. "Nick, call the nursing home.""What's going on, Mom?""Your father is talking! I just spoke with him. Nick, have the nursing home put Dad on the phone with you. Keep him talking. I'll pick you up.""But what should I say?" Nick asked.
Linda thought quickly. She remembered how Don had loved to fish, had taken the boys out over the years, especially Nick. "Talk about fishing."She hung up. Within seconds, her son was on the phone with Donny. "Hi, Dad. It's me, Nick," he said. He paused. His throat felt tight. He'd wondered for years what his father had been like before the accident.Donny quickly grew confused, agitated. Jessica tried to calm him as others came over to hear for themselves. "This can't be Nicholas," Donny was saying. To Jessica, he exclaimed, "This isn't Nicholas—he's just a baby!"After a moment, Donny asked Nick, "Are any of the other boys around? Is Don Jr. there? Tommy? Patrick? Who is this?"Nick replied carefully, not wanting to confuse his dad further, "They're not here right now."That was only partially true. Don Jr., age 23, was in India on a long-planned trip with a friend. He'd always loved to travel. Tommy, age 22, had crashed on the couch. Patrick, 20, was home for the weekend from Brockport State, where he was a junior, but at the moment was at his girlfriend's house.Nick continued, "It's me, Nick. Really. Do you know how old I am?""No, how old?" asked Donny."I'm 13.""Holy ----." Nick chuckled and tried to change the subject.Remembering his mother's advice, he said, "So do you like fishing?""Sure," Donny said. "Love it.""What kind of fish do you like to catch?""I don't know … anything. Trout. Bass." So father and son started talking about fishing for walleye in the Buffalo River and at the Erie Basin marina. Nick said that Patrick had become a skilled bow hunter. Gradually Donny seemed to accept that it really was Nick on the phone."Mom will be here any minute. Then we're coming to see you," Nick said. "So I'm going to hang up, okay? We'll be there soon.""Okay," said Donny calmly. "I'll see you in a little while.""Sure thing, Dad," said Nick. "I love you."And Donny said, "I love you too."Outside the window at Father Baker Manor, spring was in the air. Maple trees were budding. The grass was green. Blind because of his brain trauma, Donny couldn't see, though he appeared to know that a window was there."Where is my wife?" Donny asked. "She said she was coming to get me.""She's coming," Jessica told him soothingly. "She'll be here soon."Outside the Herbert household, a horn honked. When Nick saw his mom's car, he ran out and got in. Behind them were Tommy and his girlfriend, Caitlin. Patrick would drive to the nursing home with his girlfriend, Carrie."Did you talk to Dad?" Linda asked Nick."Yeah," said her youngest, still in shock."How did he sound? Good, right? Just a little different.""I don't know. I can't remember ever hearing him speak before."At the nursing home, Tommy and Caitlin got out behind them; Patrick and Carrie had already arrived. As Linda neared Donny's room, her heart pounded. She paused at the doorway, the kids crowding around her.Normally Donny would be slumped in his wheelchair, his head hung low, his eyes glazed over. Now he was sitting up straight, his eyes wide open."Don?" she called out.He yelled, "Lin!" She ran to the husband she'd lost ten years before, hugging him hard. Tears of joy fell down her cheeks as the boys cried too.The nursing staff gathered at the door, stunned. Linda was missing her oldest, Don Jr., terribly. Later that night, after all the initial excitement had passed, she sent him an e-mail that began, "I don't know how to tell you this. But I think we experienced a miracle today."By four o'clock Donny's room had filled up as news of his condition spread. Linda had asked for Dr. Ahmed but learned he was traveling; other doctors were called. Everyone was walking on eggshells, not wanting to upset Donny. He said he knew he'd been out for a while—but for how long?"A long time, Don," was all Linda could bear to say for now.His face, gaunt but still handsome, moved from delight to despair, to confusion to surprise. Linda stood by him, trying to reassure him. Finally she said, "Don, someone's here to see you. Do you recognize his voice?"Simon Manka, Don's uncle, put a hand on his shoulder and said a few words. When Donny heard the hearty voice, he said, "Simon!"The room exploded with cries and laughter as the men embraced.Finally, Don asked Simon, "How long have I been gone?"Linda flashed Simon a message: It's your call."Quite a while, pal," said Simon, holding back tears. "Ten … ten years."At the news—and realizing he was 43 years old—Donny began sobbing.

Tommy and Patrick took turns speaking to their father while Nick shot some video. Donny kept reaching out for Linda. "I'm here," she murmured.After years of silence, Donny Herbert was awake and talking for nearly 16 hours. He didn't want to go to sleep that night but finally drifted off as dawn broke. He slept for the better part of the day and for half of the next.

News of his reawakening spread far beyond Buffalo, over the radio, to the local papers and the Associated Press, to the major news websites and to television. In less than 48 hours, the world knew of the dramatic events.On Monday, May 2, 2005, Donny stirred again. He talked a bit more but not nearly as much as on Saturday. But he was talking and following commands. When Dr. Eileen Reilly, his physician at Father Baker, examined him, she raised the idea of beginning structured speech therapy. Linda was ready for it and began to think of returning Donny to the Lake Erie Institute of Rehabilitation, where he'd spent two months after his accident.On Thursday, May 5, Don Jr. surprised the family by making it home from his trip to India as soon as he possibly could. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier," he told his mother as they hugged and cried in the hallway at home."Don't be," said Linda. "You'll get your chance to talk to Dad."Remarkably, as Donny sat in his wheelchair in the courtyard that week, he was able to throw a football—and well-aimed spirals at that, firing the ball to Nick and Patrick as everyone laughed. Linda was amazed at his dexterity. What a beautiful gift, she felt, to have Donny back like this.When Dr. Ahmed, who was overjoyed at the developments, arrived for a visit, Linda told Donny all about him. Without a word, Donny reached over and clutched the doctor by the shoulder, as if they were lifelong friends.Specialists from all over, including neurologists, contacted Linda to express interest in her husband's story and offer their services. She chose the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago. But just before Donny set off for Chicago, he fell in his room and hit his head. He was rushed to the hospital with a gash requiring stitches. Later, CT scans showed bleeding on the brain.Donny's progress, already slowing, declined further. He spoke less frequently but was still visibly fighting. In Chicago, Linda stayed with him in his hospital room. She saw how hard he worked, how tired he was. He endured grueling therapy, feedings, speech rehab. He never gave up.Three months passed. By the end of summer 2005, Donny had slipped away again. He was transferred to St. Camillus Health and Rehabilitation Center in Syracuse for more therapy, then to Ridge View Manor in South Buffalo.On a Saturday night in late February 2006, he came down with pneumonia, spiking a fever. He was rushed to the hospital. Linda called her sons, urging them to head over. When his temperature hit 105 degrees, Linda knew; she just knew. Donny was given last rites. He hung on until Tuesday.And then, surrounded by his wife and four sons, Donny passed away on February 21, just after 2 a.m. He was 44 years old.The funeral, held on Saturday, February 25, 2006, had one of the biggest local processions in recent memory; more than 700 firefighters attended. Practically the entire Buffalo Fire Department provided an honor guard, standing for hours in the freezing rain, unflinching, proud to be a part of the salute.
From Reader's Digest - December 2007
Originally in The Day Donny Herbert Woke Up

"THE DAY DONNY HERBERT WOKE UP," COPYRIGHT © 2007 BY RICH BLAKE, IS PUBLISHED AT $23.00 BY HARMONY BOOKS, A DIVISION OF RANDOM HOUSE, INC., 1745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK, N.Y. 10019