Michael Nash Story

Summer, 1996. Atlanta, Georgia. It was the Olympics, where athletes all over the world competed for glory and medals and the pride of their nations. It was where stories of great triumph and anguishing despair would unfold. Where months and years of training would come down to a few hundredths of a second and leave the competitors exhilarated or crushed. On the largest stage in the world the excitement was intense and the pressure almost palpable.

Summer, 1996. The year a bomb exploded in Olympic Centennial Park, leaving two people dead and over 100 injured. Was it the work of international terrorists or a lone madman? A fascinated world watched, absorbed by the unfolding drama, wondering how it would all end. There was nothing like the Olympic theater to attract the eyes and ears of an eager world, citizens of each country watching with national pride on the line. During those few short weeks, everyday life seems to come to a standstill, and everything takes a backseat to the intensity and grandeur of the Olympics. 

Summer, 1996. Beneath the surface of the pageantry and the spectacle taking place that hot, muggy summer, another drama reached its apex—the story of one man’s personal dream nearly shattered by chronic disease. It’s the story not of an Olympic athlete or a deranged bomber, but of a young firefighter from San Diego, California. 

While the athletes rested comfortably in the Olympic village, Michael Nash hunkered down in a tent not far away, awaiting orders. He was on edge, ready and anxious to respond when the call came. Part of an elite Urban Search and Rescue Team, Michael was one of fifty-six men whose bodies were as fit and whose minds as sharp as any Olympic competitor. They were the best in the business, selected from units all across the nation. 

While being in Atlanta as part of the USAR team was quite an accomplishment, for Michael it was way more than that. It represented the pinnacle of a dream that he figured had gone up in flames four months earlier when, lying in a hospital bed in the aftermath of intestinal surgery, he awoke to news he believed would end his hard-won career as a firefighter. 

The Seed of A New Dream

Many kids dream about becoming a fireman when they grow up. Not Michael. He always wanted to be a football player—a quarterback. When that dream didn’t materialize, he ended up settling for construction. Steady work, but not what you’d call exhilarating. One day, out on a job site banging nails, a friend talked about how neat it would be to be in the fire service. That one discussion planted the seed of a new dream, one that would take over five years of intense study and night classes and getting into top physical shape while still working his day job to germinate.

“Few people understand how grueling and competitive it is to become a firefighter,” Michael explains. “For every opening, there are several hundred people knocking on the door for that position. It’s ruthless!” Nevertheless, after years of determined study and personal tenacity, the door finally opened. Michael was in. 

I remember the day I’d been hired as a firefighter,” he says. “It was shortly before my twenty ninth birthday and my dad threw me a party. I was ecstatic.” Michael celebrated with the rest of his family and friends, but one nagging thought dampened the evening. He’d been having stomach problems for five years--cramping, diarrhea—nothing he couldn’t handle, but still, a nuisance, a discomfort, and a concern. Doctors thought at first the problem was an ulcer and treated him accordingly. The symptoms lessened, even disappeared. But then they returned. There was more pain. More testing before the diagnosis came in: ulcerative colitis. Michael was twenty-six years old at the time. 

That night at the party, Michael’s emotions fluctuated like the flickering candles on his birthday cake. Before him, like an immense sea, surging with possibilities and new challenge, loomed this incredible opportunity, this dream come true. Anchored to him, however, dragging him down, was the reality that his body was not healthy. Michael was about to enter a profession that would not only take an incredible amount of physical stamina but would also require immediate response when an alarm went off. Yet from one moment to the next, he had no idea what to expect from his impaired intestines. Would he be stricken with a bout of diarrhea in the middle of a midnight call? Would his physical limitations limit his abilities, hamper his effectiveness, put at risk the men he was called to serve with? Was it right for him to enter a profession in which duty depended on reflex, stamina, and strength? 

These questions and more swirled in his head that night, but he wasn’t about to be deterred. He’d come too far, worked too hard. Somehow, he’d manage. Who knew? Maybe the disease would become a non-issue. He had learned that ulcerative colitis can be chronic and sometimes require surgery; or, it can be present only as flare-ups that can be managed medically. Maybe he’d be one of the lucky ones. With a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, Michael embarked upon his first year as a firefighter. 

It was an intense year, a probationary time, during which he could be terminated for anything from incompetence to inappropriate behavior to poor health. Perhaps it was a latent period of the disease, or maybe it was sheer determination and mind over matter. Whatever it was, Michael got through the first year without seeing a doctor and officially became a firefighter.

Michael didn’t stop there. Two years after embarking on his new career, Michael Nash was selected to become a member of the San Diego Urban Search and Rescue Team. The team is made up of building engineers, paramedics, doctors, rescue dogs and their trainers, rescue technicians, and rescue specialists, and is usually deployed during major disasters like earthquakes, bombings, floods, or tornadoes. Currently there are only twenty-eight elite search and rescue teams in the United States, eight of which are in California. Michael Nash, ulcerative colitis and all, served on one. 

Those first few years on the job were everything he had hoped they would be, and more. A typical day at the station might result in ten or more calls, mostly in response to medical emergencies or traffic accidents, but occasionally to battle a structural blaze or wildfire. The job was both physically challenging and mentally satisfying. Nevertheless, those early years weren’t easy. 

Michael’s health problems had returned. He didn’t talk about them with his co-workers, and he never complained. Somehow, he managed to get by without allowing his illness to interfere with his work, though there were some close calls. Once, while fighting a brush fire, he almost lost control of his bowels and had to literally squat in the bushes to relieve himself. Still, he persevered…after all, this was his dream, and he wasn’t about to give in to a “stomachache.” 

But one day there came a breaking point where no amount of willpower or denial could change what was happening to his body. Nearly five years into his career, he found himself in the hospital following an especially severe flare-up. Suddenly it became clear that he could no longer will it away. He couldn’t take a pill to cure it, and he could no longer mask the symptoms or hide from the impact the colitis was having on his life. It became apparent, even to Michael, that the disease wasn’t going to quietly fade away. 

Not long after this bout, Michael’s physician suggested he see a surgeon. His heart sank. Surgery—the removal of his bowel? Surely, Michael thought, that would mean the end of his fire-fighting career. It was a huge decision, but one he knew he had to come to grips with. 

So, he attacked the problem much like he would a real fire. He didn’t just rush in blindly, preferring to survey the situation carefully before acting. He contacted the United Ostomy Association, read as much as he could about what it would be like to live with an ostomy, and he even spoke to several people who had the surgery.

In his search, he stumbled upon something unexpected and hopeful—a fellow firefighter who had ostomy surgery and returned to the job! Could it be? Was there really still a chance…a light at the end of the tunnel? Suddenly the possibility of surgery became less daunting. And when Michael’s surgeon informed him that he probably wouldn’t need a permanent ostomy but a J-Pouch instead, that sealed it. Michael decided to go ahead with the surgery.

Galvanized by the possibility of putting all the years of illness and discomfort behind him once and for all, Michael sprang into action. He scheduled the surgery and arranged for an eight-to-ten week recovery period at work. Everyone was excited. Michael’s wife, Michelle, completely supported the decision and looked forward to getting her husband back. His co-workers and even his Fire Chief wished him well. Everything was set. Only one more hurdle, he thought, succumbing to the anesthesia. One more…

A Detour

The first thing he remembers as he emerged from his drugged stupor was Michelle sitting beside him, holding his hand. Everything was foggy, blurred. He couldn’t focus his eyes. But he knew Michelle’s touch, her familiar smell, and the sound of her voice. As he slowly struggled to regain consciousness, he began to sense that something wasn’t quite right. 

“They couldn’t do it,” she said softly. “The J-Pouch. They tried, but they couldn’t do it…” 

The surgeon entered the room just then. Michael tried to speak, but he couldn’t form the words. The doctor spoke, instead. He was matter-of-fact. “You’re going to have a permanent ileostomy, Michael. I’m sorry. But don’t worry. You’ll be just fine. We’ll help you get used to it, show you how to take care of yourself. In no time at all you’ll be leading a normal, healthy life.” He patted Michael’s shoulder, said goodbye for now, and then left. He had other patients to take care of. 

Like a match casually tossed on dry kindling, Michael saw his dream to return to the force suddenly ignite and get consumed in a blazing inferno. Slowly what the surgeon had just said sank in and he began to sob…deep gut-wrenching sobs that he couldn’t stifle even though they caused his new long abdominal incision to hurt horribly. It was nothing like the pain that was breaking his heart. 

Michael spent his next days in the Intensive Care Unit, fighting a post-operative infection. Besides the normal nursing care he received, he also had stoma nurses showing him how to change the appliance. It was their goal not only to take care of him but also to get him to learn how to do it by himself. At one point, he tried but after a few seconds, gave up. “I can’t do this,” he shouted angrily at the nurse. “I hate this thing. I’ll never be able to do it by myself.” Then he broke down. 

Later that day, Michael was moved from the ICU to a regular room on the surgery recovery floor. He was in pain physically and at the end of his rope emotionally. So when an intern accidentally spilled his urinal all over him, he wondered if he had made the right choice to have surgery. He wondered if he was going to endure a lifetime of indignities. 

Michael shared his new room with another patient who had also just undergone abdominal surgery. Lon had an upbeat attitude and joked often with the nurses. Although Michael was in no mood to talk, slowly Lon’s cheerful outlook began to affect Michael. Though his spirits didn’t lift immediately, as the pain subsided and he slowly began to heal, his strength began to return, and with it, his competitive nature. By the time he was released from the hospital, he had made a very important decision. This surgery was not going to ruin his life. 

He had come through a very difficult ordeal and survived. Suddenly, he had a whole new appreciation for life and was determined to make the most of it. He learned to take one day at a time and for the moment, was just happy to be alive! 

With his new attitude, Michael began to get the hang of changing his ostomy appliance and the way his body reacted to food. He could anticipate when his bag would fill up and knew he needed to empty it before he went out for any extended period. It was awkward at first, and he had his share of frustrating moments, but with time and practice he slowly began to settle into a routine.  

In the back of his mind, however, was the uncertainty of his future. It was one thing to learn how to change his bag in the comfort and privacy of his own home—but what about the fire station? What would the guys think? Could he ever really do his job the way he needed to? He had opted for the surgery because he was told he would end up with a J-pouch and not a permanent ileostomy. Now all bets were off, and Michael wondered if his firefighting days were over. 

Desperate for help, he called a good friend and fellow firefighter, Rick, who knew all that he had been through. 

“What am I going to do about work?” Michael asked almost desperately. 

“What do you mean ‘What am I going to do about my work’?” Rick retorted. “What’s the big deal? You’ve got a job to do. We miss you, and we need you back.”

Michael protested, but Rick was adamant. “Give me one good reason why you can’t come back.” 

“Other than the fact that my belly was just sliced open and I have a crap bag attached to my gut?” Michael responded angrily. 

“Besides that,” Rick answered. 

Rick made it seem so simple, but Michael wasn’t sure. It wasn’t until Steve Miller, the president of the local firefighter’s union, entered the picture that Michael finally came around. Steve was an ex-Marine who had not earned the nickname “Bulldog” for nothing. He took Michael’s case personally and began banging on the doors of Human Resources and talking to the Fire Chief in person, insisting, in no uncertain terms, that Nash was coming back to work.

Steve Miller had everyone convinced but Michael Nash himself. When Steve heard that Michael was still having doubts, the Bulldog turned on Michael. 

“Nash, you better not let me down,” he snarled. “I’ve gone to bat for you.” 

That was just the kick in the rear Michael needed. He realized it was now up to him. The way had been paved, and he didn’t want to disappoint all the people who believed in him. Besides, he loved being a firefighter. 

His first task was to get back into shape. But where do you start when simply getting out of bed was an agonizing challenge? His abdominal muscles had been sliced completely through, and the doctors reminded him not to do anything strenuous for a while. The muscles needed time to knit back together. 

But Michael could walk. So, he made one painful shuffling step after another. Day after day and week after week he walked. He was determined to get better. 

Each day he walked a little farther, did a little more, and, gradually, his strength returned. By the time eight weeks had passed, Michael was fit enough—and excited—about returning to work.  

When he did return, it was as if he’d never left. Although he wasn’t 100% yet, he was out there, working. The guys saw that he could keep up and accepted him. The dream was still alive. 

Michael had been back only a short time when his battalion chief approached him about the possibility of working at the upcoming Olympics. Michael had been on the Urban Search and Rescue Team for nearly five years, and, because of the constant threat of terrorists, the teams would be needed in Atlanta.

Prior to his surgery, Michael had known about the possibility of going to the Olympics and had often though how special it would be protecting athletes from all over the world…but that was then. Since his operation, he had tried to keep from thinking about Atlanta, preferring to focus everything he could to get back to being a regular firefighter. 

“Michael, you’re the most qualified guy we have for the job. Can you do it?” His battalion chief continued. 

Could it be? Was there really a chance he could go? His heart began pounding. 

Accepting the opportunity would be a tremendous privilege but also a huge personal challenge. Was he ready? The team would be roughing it, camping out, and using outdoor bathroom facilities. There’d be no privacy. He was still getting used to his ileostomy pouch. What would happen if there were leaks and accidents? 

Then there was the team. A few guys from his area knew about the surgery, but what about the new guys he would meet? Would they be as understanding? He wasn’t sure. He had his doubts. 

Then, something occurred to him. His fire chief knew all that Michael had just gone through. He knew about the ostomy and, yet, he was still asking him to go. He wasn’t looking at Michael’s limitations; he was looking at Michael’s qualifications. 

Buoyed by his battalion chief’s confidence in him, Michael agreed to go. It turned into one of the highlights of his career, almost convincing him that maybe—just maybe—he could really come all the way back and become a firefighter again. Not long after he returned from Atlanta, Michael found himself battling not one but three structural fires in a single day. Only firefighters realize how unlikely such a scenario is. Yet there he was—four months after waking up on a hospital bed from life-changing surgery and what he thought was the scorching of his dream—at the helm of a screaming fire truck, nerves taut, muscles strained, racing from one fire to the next. It was the most physically grueling day of his entire career. 

Driving home that night with the Chief, Michael couldn’t help but marvel. Turning to his boss, he said matter-of-factly, “Hey Chief, look what happened today. I just went to three working structure fires and kept up with all the guys!” He leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and grinned. 

The chief glanced at Michael for a moment before looking back to the road. “Welcome back,” he said proudly. “We all knew you could do it…and now you know it, too.”