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Being eaten alive by wild animals has to be one of
the most terrifying thoughts a person could have.
The thought was running through my son’s mind
as he lay helplessly on the ground with a fractured
pelvis on Nov. 10, 2000, in Namibia’s Etosha National Park.
Etosha National Park is a mosaic of savanna, dolomite
hills, endless salt flats and near-impenetrable bush, and it’s
Namibia’s flagship conservation area. The ruggedly beautiful
landscape is what attracted Gary Robert Fisher (my son,
Rob) and his good friend, Scott Anderson, to rent a vehicle
and explore that part of the world.
It was the last day of a two-week safari for the two
veterinarians and experienced adventurers. They were
driving a Land Rover when they spotted a giraffe a few feet
from the road. Rob stopped the vehicle and got out to take
a quick photo. Before he got the picture, though, the giraffe
took off across the savanna.
I have been a safety professional for my entire career and
taught my children the value of seat belts. But as Rob jumped
back into the vehicle, distracted by the excitement of the close
encounter with the magnificent animal, he didn’t buckle up. A
minute later, as he and Scott drove westward, disaster struck.
They hit a bad spot of gravel, and the car began to fishtail.
The wheels hit a ditch that ran parallel to the road, and the
Land Rover flipped and rolled three or four times. Scott recalls
spinning, multiple impacts and terrible noise as the car was
destroyed all around him. He opened his eyes to discover that
the Land Rover’s roof and hood had been torn off, and he was
horrified to find Rob’s seat empty.
Fortunately, Scott was OK. He scrambled out of the car
and quickly found Rob lying about 10 yards away. He was
alive and coherent but in excruciating pain and unable to
move. As Scott worked to help Rob as best he could and the
pair tried to figure out what to do, Rob passed the next few
hours lying on the ground. Night was approaching, and they
began to hear lions roaring in the surrounding brush. Rob
was helpless, and they had no way of defending themselves.
In a stroke of luck, two park veterinarians drove up in a
truck. They radioed for an ambulance and even managed to
arrange for a medevac jet to be dispatched from the hospital
in Windhoek, 300 miles away. They also had medical
supplies and began tending to Rob’s injuries.
After 45 minutes passed without any sign of the
ambulance, a pickup truck with a mattress in the back pulled
up. When Scott told the driver they were waiting for an
ambulance, the driver replied, “This is the ambulance, and
the lions will be here by sundown. Time to go.” They lifted
Rob, who was in agony, onto the mattress.
Slowly, with Rob grimly enduring the pain caused by
every bump in the road, they drove away. Approaching the
nearby town of Okaukuejo in darkness, they saw a dozen
vehicles assembled, their headlights illuminating a flat area
where the medevac jet could safely land. Moments later the
plane landed, and a doctor and two nurses rushed out with a
stretcher. They took Rob aboard, and within 10 minutes the
jet was airborne again.
Scott received a report from the hospital a short time
later: Rob had suffered a fractured pelvis, several fractured
ribs, pulmonary contusions and severe lacerations to his
ankle, hip and elbow. The surgeon said it would be safest to
treat him there rather than evacuate him to the U.S.; the risk
of nerve trauma was too high to safely move him.
When Scott called to tell me about the accident and
Rob’s condition, I was dumbfounded, dazed and unable to
think clearly. My wife, Kolleen, brought me to my senses,
telling me to get on a plane to Windhoek to be with my son
as soon as possible.
I finally arrived at the hospital after a very long and worrying
trip, and I looked down at Rob’s face, fearing I might be seeing
him for the last time. His lungs were full of fluid, and the
doctors told me they could not operate on his hips until they
cleared his lungs. That night as I walked back to the bed and
breakfast where I was staying, I looked up at the brilliant stars
and prayed I would see my son alive in the morning.
When I got to the hospital the next morning, I was
overjoyed to find Rob looking much better. He told me that
until I arrived he felt like he was ready to pass on but that
now he was ready to fight and get better.
The hospital staff was outstanding. Every day a physical
therapist worked on Rob, and she showed me how to
massage his legs to help reduce the risk of blood clots. I went
to the American embassy and spoke to the ambassador,
Jeffrey Bader, who told me he would send his doctor to
check on Rob. When the doctor came to the hospital
and saw my son, he said, “I know you, you’re my dog’s
veterinarian — I took my dog to you at the California
Animal Hospital in Santa Monica!” It’s a small world.
Kolleen was an angel during the whole ordeal. She kept the
emails flowing among family and friends — many people were
sending Rob good wishes for a quick recovery. She also spoke
RESEARCH, EDUCATION & MEDICINE // D A N WA S T H E R E F O R M E
40 | SPRING 2013
B y G a r y P . F i s h e rWecked inNamibia