After asking God twice to take his life, man finds joy in a deeper faith in him
Kathy and John Bannister of Immaculate Heart of Mary Parish in Indianapolis sip from a Coke together during his rehabilitation earlier this year at Craig Hospital near Denver, after his horrifying accident while skiing in Colorado. (Submitted photo)
(One in a continuing series of stories about “Pilgrims of Hope” in the archdiocese)
By John Shaughnessy
On that beautiful day, while savoring his favorite joy, John Bannister never expected to be begging God for help, even pleading to end his life.
That January morning of this year had begun perfectly in so many ways. Sunshine beamed down on the mountain in Vail, Colo., the ski slope covered with fresh powdered snow. And Bannister was there with three of his closest friends from high school, friends who had continued their bond through the 51 years after their graduation.
As he looked down the mountain, Bannister smiled at the thought of making a run along the snow-covered slope in what he considers God’s country, a joy that had marked his life ever since he had begun skiing out west with friends for the past 39 years.
On this morning, because one of the friends was still relatively new to skiing, their group had decided to begin on a “blue” or moderately difficult slope instead of the most challenging ‘black” slopes that Bannister normally skied.
As he sped down the mountain, Bannister felt the wind on his face. Even more, this member of Immaculate Heart of Mary Parish in Indianapolis felt the sensation of doing what he loved.
He never expected that seconds later he would lose the feeling in his body from his neck down.
‘I asked the good Lord twice to take me’
His speed increasing, Bannister felt his left ski boot coming out of its binding as he made a turn. His left foot came off the ski, dug into the snow and sent him spinning. A second later, the top of his head crashed into the ground.
“I never lost consciousness, but it was a big hit. I knew I was hurt,” Bannister recalls. “When I came to a stop, I was looking up to the sky. I couldn’t feel anything beneath my neck. As you can imagine, it was terrifying.
“I could picture myself on a ventilator for the rest of my life, in a wheelchair. And I just didn’t want to be that kind of burden to my family. I didn’t want to live that way. I asked the good Lord twice to take me. And he didn’t. After the second time, I asked him, ‘If you’re not going to take me, I need to feel you right here by my side.’ ”
Bannister takes a big breath before he continues, “I was just in total despair, and all of a sudden this great calm came over me, and my fear was gone. In that moment, I knew I was going to be OK. I asked the good Lord to be by my side, and there he was.”
While the calm came, the concern for him grew. When a rescue medical team reached him, they stabilized him. Then he was airlifted off the mountain by a medical helicopter.
“I still didn’t know the extent of the injury, but I knew it was bad,” Bannister says.
He learned just how devastating it was when he was taken to Swedish Medical Center in Denver.
“They did CAT-scans and X-rays, and they were going to do an MRI,” he says. “Right before I went in for the MRI, they said, ‘You have three or four people in front of you for surgery. We hope to get to you later tonight.’ Then when I came out of the MRI, they said, ‘Change of plans. You’re going now.’ ”
Bannister was rushed into surgery.
When it ended, he was stunned by something the doctor said while he was recovering.
‘Look at what I’m fighting for’
“While I was in recovery, I heard the doctor say, ‘full recovery’ twice,” Bannister recalls. “When I saw him the next day, I said, ‘I heard you say full recovery.’ He said, ‘I think you’ll be able to do everything you used to do. Full recovery.’ ”
That expectation gave hope to Bannister and his family. After getting a phone call about the accident, his wife of 45 years, Kathy, rushed from Indianapolis to be with him. Before long, their three grown sons were there too.
While there was hope, there was also a long road ahead to any kind of recovery.
“I was in the intensive care unit for nine days,” he says. “Then a regular hospital room for five days while waiting for a rehabilitation hospital. There’s one that’s right there in Denver called Craig Hospital. It’s internationally renowned. It’s right next door to Swedish. I was there for six weeks. Kathy never left my side.”
During those six weeks, Bannister had physical therapy and occupational therapy four to six hours a day, five days a week, which left him exhausted by the weekend. There were daily visits with a doctor and also a weekly visit from a psychiatrist, which led to a memorable exchange between Bannister and the woman.
“The very first time she comes into my room, I’m in a wheelchair,” he says. “My wife had put all these pictures of our family on the wall above the desk that’s in there. The psychiatrist comes in and asks me, ‘How do you feel?’ I say, ‘Grateful.’ And she says, ‘Grateful?! I wasn’t expecting that. Why are you grateful?’
“I told her, ‘First of all, look what I’m fighting for, all the pictures up there. And look at me—and look at everybody else in here. I’m already on my feet. And I’ve been told it’s going to be a full recovery. I’m grateful.’ ”
The psychiatrist kept probing.
“She broke me down later,” he says. “She said, ‘Something tells me you’re the caregiver of your family.’ I said, ‘That’s right.’ She said, ‘What’s the worst thing about this?’ I said, ‘People are going to have to care for me, and that’s hard. That’s real hard to accept.’
“At the end of my session, my wife walks in. The psychiatrist asks Kathy, ‘How do you feel?’ And Kathy says, ‘Grateful.’ Totally unrehearsed. The psychiatrist said, ‘What is it with you people?!’ ”
Bannister gave her the best answer he could.
“I told her my story—that the good Lord was with me, and he says I’m going to be OK, and I believe him.”
‘You’re a miracle. Let me show you.’
Eight months after the skiing accident, Bannister describes his condition as “improving.”
“I’m walking. And I have full use of my hands. But they’re spongy. I’ve got pins and needles. My right arm and right shoulder are coming back slower. My neurosurgeon told me I’m so far ahead of the game, but I have to remember it’s a marathon.”
Bannister gets impatient at times. Then he remembers, “I’ve been told I’m a miracle by two neurosurgeons.”
Other medical personnel have shared that belief.
“A therapist at Craig was the first one to say, ‘It’s a miracle.’ I said, ‘What?’ She said, ‘You’re a miracle. Let me show you.’ She shows me on a life-sized model what’s broken and everything. She said, ‘There’s only one explanation for you being here.’ I said, ‘What’s that?’ She said, ‘Divine intervention.’ ”
The doctor who saw him throughout his six weeks at Craig also was amazed when she saw the damage to his C1 and C2 vertebrae, which connect a person’s skull and spinal cord. Serious injuries to these vertebrae can lead to paralysis and death.
“They did further CAT scans at the end of my stay to see how everything was healing,” he says. “She had a top-down view, and she showed me all the C1 that was broken apart and the C2. She showed me the before and after pictures. I said, ‘How am I alive?’ She said, ‘Well, John, I don’t have anyone to compare you to.’ ”
These reactions have left Bannister with more than a feeling of gratitude.
“In terms of reconciling this, it’s a ton of bricks. Why me?” he says. “I’ve been told I’m a miracle. It’s an unbelievable weight on my shoulders. I told the Lord I’m going to be a witness. I want to honor him and our Father by being an inspiration to others and being a messenger for him.”
His witness began during his time at Craig as he reached out to other patients.
‘You can’t do this alone’
“It was real common when you met somebody to ask, ‘What happened to you?’ ”
Bannister says. “First of all, everybody who was in there never expected to be there. And everyone who was there, their lives were changed in an instant. I told a lot of people my story. I asked them if they believed in the Lord. They’d say yes, and I‘d say, ‘Let me tell you my story.’ ”
One interaction especially had a powerful impact on him.
“There was a young man, his name was Joseph,” Bannister recalls. “He was in his chair, leaning to his right, and he was real despondent. He was in his early 30s. His dad was behind him. I asked him, ‘Joseph, what happened to you?’ He said, ‘I got broadsided in an accident.’ He had a broken back, but it was healing. And his right side was busted up. And he also had a traumatic brain injury.
“I asked if he was walking. He said no. Then I asked, ‘Are they telling you you’re going to be able to walk?’ He said they don’t know. I told him my story. And I asked him if he had a goal. He said, ‘My brother is getting married at the end of April, and I want to walk up the aisle.’ I
said, ‘Do you think you can?’ He said, ‘I don’t know.’ I said, ‘Yeah, you can do it. But here’s the first thing. Ask the Lord. You can’t do this alone. Ask him, just ask him. And fight like hell.’
“Later, his dad said, ‘John, I can’t thank you enough. He’s already a different person.’ ”
Since the young man and Bannister were in different buildings at Craig, they didn’t see each other again until Bannister neared the end of his time there.
“I saw him right before I left,” Bannister says. “He was in a wheelchair and ready to get into a car. And I’m coming across with my walker. He said, ‘John!’ I said, ‘Joseph, how are you doing?’ He said, ‘Guess what? They had me up walking!’
“My God, I had tears in my eyes. I said, ‘You keep fighting. You keep asking the Lord. I know you can do this. You’re going to make your own way, Joseph. Keep asking, keep fighting.’
“He said, ‘You know I will.’ ”
‘God has given me this great gift’
Back home in Indianapolis, Bannister has continued to tap into that same passion and spirit as he follows his own road to recovery.
He does therapy five times a week at NeuroHope, a non-profit, outpatient, physical rehabilitation clinic and wellness center for people living with and recovering from paralysis and other spinal cord trauma.
“I’m fighting hard,” he says. “People say, ‘You’re so strong. Look at what you’re doing.’ I say, ‘No, what I’m doing is by the grace of God, not me.’
“Yeah, I’m working hard, but God has given me this great gift, and it’s my responsibility to work hard.”
He’s also especially grateful for another gift—his wife.
“When Kathy and I said our vows 45 years ago, little did we know that they’d be tested like this,” he says. “She has been by my side every day in the past eight months supporting me in my recovery. I would not have progressed like I have without her love and support in this journey.”
The journey has also led his faith to reach a breathtaking dimension.
“In my prayers at night, I’m thanking Christ for this chapter in my life. I’m no longer a believer, I’m a knower. I know Christ exists. I don’t believe he exists anymore. I know he exists.
“That’s why I share my story.”
(In this Jubilee Year for the Church with the theme, ‘Pilgrims of Hope,’ The Criterion invites you, our readers, to share your stories of hope—how embracing hope has helped you in the toughest moments of your life, how others have given you hope for your future, how your faith in God has sustained you and uplifted you. If you have a story of hope to share, please send it to John Shaughnessy by e-mail at jshaughnessy@archindy.org or by mail in care of The Criterion, 1400 N. Meridian St. Indianapolis, IN 46202. Please include your parish and a daytime phone number where you can be reached.) †
