Struck at a Picnic While Holding Plugged Electronics
On Saturday, July 14, 2012, In Belfair, WA, I was in an open field setting up the PA system for an outdoor event.
There was a lightning storm in the hills around us but I didn’t think anything about it. I don’t remember the lightning strike or the loud thunder that soon followed, but I was later told that a lightning bolt struck two trees behind the facility -debarking one in a spiral pattern and split the other in half. It appears it then traveled through the ground to the transformer box where the PA system I was working was hooked up. I was holding my iPod in my left hand which was attached through a cord in the power amp. All the sudden I felt a horrendous shock go through the tips of my fingers and up my arm, then my chest muscles felt like they were pulled out and snapped back like giant rubber bands, launching me out of my chair. When I came to, my left arm was burning like hot pins and needles and my chest muscles were in spasms. My heart was beating fast and erratic, at first I thought I was having a heart attack.
When I came to, people were screaming “We got hit.” I only remember bits and pieces of the event afterwards. I remember holding my arm to my chest in pain and looking down at my right shoe and wondered why there was a hole in it. There wasn't one when I put it on earlier that day.
Power and communications were blown out to the facility and they had to run off emergency generators for the event. Later on in the day of the strike, I noticed a large bruise appeared on the front and the back of my left bicep muscle. It was not there before so it's possible that the voltage went up my arm and maybe exited a little out of my bicep muscle front and back, then traveled into my chest. A friend looked at my shoe and said the voltage had to ground somehow and it must have traveled down and exited out of my shoe causing the hole.
The next day I felt like my heart was running a marathon, but I thought it was just an adrenaline rush. Two days later I woke up and drove to work feeling really disoriented. I reported the event to my supervisor and was told to fill out an electronic accident report. I couldn’t figure out how to complete the form so I contacted the safety officer. He said he heard about the lightning strike and offered to help me complete the accident report. After that he drove me to the hospital to get checked out. The doctor told me I was very lucky to be alive. They mentioned and the full effects might not be evident for up to 10 or more days. The strangest things started to happen with my body.
Before the strike I was also dealing with severe back pain, but after the strike I was virtually pain-free except for the pins and needles in my fingertips and spasms in my chest. No pain in my back or anywhere else. I remember first feeling like I was like a squirrel on a wheel because I couldn't slow my heart rate. After it slowed down I experienced feelings of confusion. I got lost in my own house and at times I didn’t even know where I was or what I was supposed to do. I would start things and forget to finish. I had to re-learn how to the simplest chores like grocery shopping. I would be driving and not remember what exit to take or where I was at a given time. I was a master at multi-tasking, but for months afterwards I had problems doing even one thing at a time. At work I would sit and stare trying to remember what to do. As the days progressed the fog started to clear. As my brain became clearer, the pain returned more intense than ever. I remember waking up 16 days later and I could hardly put on my shoes. I decided to go to urgent care. The doctor looked at my arm and referred me to an occupational therapist for treatment.
The pain was debilitating. All I wanted to do was lay down and sleep. My energy level has since improved, but I still deal with chronic pain and depression.
This experience changed my life and I have a whole new respect for the power of lightning. If you can hear it, seek cover and don't go near electrical appliances or devices.
