How to Manage Surgical Trauma

For the last twelve months, I’ve been preparing my mind for the surgery I’ve dreaded for over twenty years. At this point, most people think I just run into surgery with gusto, like I’m headed to a party. But nothing could be further from the truth. Just like everyone else, I dread this part.

My preparation is on another level, though—I do this both physically and mentally, but the mental preparation is what keeps me alive. Twenty-eight years of surgeries, and people have actually said to me, “Must be a cakewalk by now.” DON’T be that person.

I know many people living compromised lives solely because they don’t want to deal with the hell of more surgery. I’ve had surgeries on multiple continents, and I can tell you one thing about surgery: it has never not sucked. The trauma from surgery alone in this country is unquantifiable and greatly underestimated. I just told my surgeon friend, “Bro, I think I’ve developed new PTSD from all this surgery.” His response was reassuring as usual: “Well, yeah, you’ve been through some shit.”

The fact is… I’ve been through pain in the last eight years I didn’t think humans could endure—and I’d already been through some serious shit. I’ve woken up from two amputations with ZERO anesthesia. I’ve woken up from a bunch of surgeries with partial anesthesia. My only solutions in these situations? Scream like a bitch or meditate.

Screaming isn’t an option for me, but believe it or not, meditating doesn’t work because clueless medical teams think you’re going to sleep. You know how many times after starting to meditate I hear, “He’s sleeping already”?

My response is immediate: “I’m not sleeping; I’m meditating ‘til you fix this shit.” It’s happened at least a dozen times.

Luckily, my Ranger buddy was with me post-op for my first amputation. When the medical team didn’t believe me that their block didn’t work, he kept me from fucking people up with a freshly amputated leg.

I looked at him—being Best Ranger partners, we have a look—and he said to the medical team, “Shane never admits to pain, so it must be off the charts.”

Sure enough, the nerve block was dislodged, and all the medicine was in my splint. My wife is still traumatized from the chaos that ensued. It took eight hours to get to normal, manageable pain levels.

The same thing happened during my second amputation because anesthesiologists are arrogant asses and don’t listen. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my Ranger buddy this time at Ohio State, but at least when I told them the nerve block wasn’t working, they gave me more ketamine. The problem is, ketamine only helps as much as you can push your brain—unless they K-hole you.

This time it took two hours to convince them my nerve block wasn’t working (civilians). But why?

Their answer: “We didn’t know it was possible to be in that much pain and still be calm and cool. You were telling jokes.”

I said, “I was telling jokes to keep myself from ripping your throats out.”

It was one of those “hahaha… wait, is he serious?” moments. I live for those moments. And I was serious. I won’t go into all the other times anesthesiologists have ignored me and then fucked me up, but I have more bad outcomes than good, including permanent pain from a procedure I told two anesthesiologists not to perform.

This added stress and cortisol is deleterious for the best possible surgical outcomes. So, what do you do?

First, no doctors thought my medical rebuild was possible, so listen to yourself. Don’t be afraid to fire your doctor—to their face is best. Feels awesome too. Doctors give care based on averages. Don’t be an average human; be the exception that changes human possibility. It took sixteen years, but I found my two guys, both world-class surgeons, and they’ve done what all other doctors wouldn’t do: chop off my leg to save my life. Now, I’m pushing the limits of the human mind and body again.

Second, prioritize living—then start thriving. Find your new happy and make that your priority. I prioritized everyone else in my life for forty-six years, and that almost killed me—for real. Living with catastrophic injuries is hard, very hard, but I’ve also had some of my happiest life moments while on the last leg of this 30-year medical journey. Eliminate the negative, people included. Don’t add more pain to your life because you fail to keep the negative ones out—or, at best, at arm’s length.

I found my “happy” back on Park City Mountain in 2021. I committed to it 100%, immediately. I’m an adaptive ski and snowboard instructor now, and one of the top amputee ski bikers and snowboarders in the country. I ski the best mountains in the country for free now. I’m in my 50s, doing what I dreamed of being able to do in my twenties. I now ski down mountains with old, gimpy Army Rangers, celebrating life—no matter how we live it now.

Find something that makes you smile when you talk about it. That’s what I found in para-Alpine skiing and snowboarding. The rest of my year-round training supports my alpine goals.

Third, be deliberate with your self-care. If you don’t save yourself, no one else will. And if you’re a veteran, your death is the cheapest option for Congress. This leaves you worthless to everyone else—and probably a major burden during your slow, pathetic demise.

My body rules my life now. If my body says I need a day in the pool, I cancel everything and take a pool day. If I need to get on the mountain, that’s what I do. The best therapy session I can have is shredding down a mountain, solo or with friends.

Part of my deliberate preparation for this year of transformative surgeries was spending all of winter 2024 on the mountain—and that’s what I did. Eighty days on the slopes. The social media comments about my “kush life” or how it “must be nice” were beyond comical and devoid of an iota of thought or humanity.

The reality is that you are the only person who knows what you need—physically, mentally, emotionally, and psychologically. My wife asked me last year when I was headed out west, “Why do you have to leave for so long?”

I said, “I have to if I wanna save my life.” That was my truth, and it did save my life. She came to visit at least, and she understands the benefit now.

Those snide, condescending, and petty social media comments? I keep those close to my heart. I’ve been to hell and back a thousand times. If you think my life is “kush” or that I’m “lucky” to live this life, you really couldn’t give me a bigger compliment. I didn’t realize I made awesome look so easy—thanks.

To those in The Struggle, it is real, daily, and you are your only path back. So, fight, advocate for yourself, and be the person who makes the impossible possible. Be the human who shocks the medical world—your mind is that powerful.

If you’re in surgical distress or just want information or an advocate.  If you need world class care, we have a Military Medical Program at Ohio State with former USSOCOM docs and surgeons.   shane@75thadaptivesportswellness.com.

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Shane was a former elite athlete (football & wrestling) who left college after getting hurt to pursue his dreams of being in U.S. Special Operations as a Ranger in the 75^th Ranger Regiment. He spent 13 years in the military before being medically retired in 2005/2008. He served in 1^st Ranger Battalion, the 173^rd and as a Ranger Instructor and Combat Diver at 6^th Ranger Training Bn. Since retirement, Shane spent the last 19 years as a tech entrepreneur while enduring a grueling full body rebuild to include multiple artificial joints and amputations. He’s been training and competing in para-sport and adaptive sports since 3 weeks after his initial amputation and now teaches, coaches & mentors disabled children, adults, veterans and Rangers. 

Most recently, Shane started an adaptive sports & wellness program for members of the 75^th Ranger Regiment in partnership with over a dozen national Adaptive Sports Organizations. In his spare time, he is still involved in LED & renewable technologies, writing and curing PTSD with psychedelics. He also competes for U.S. Special Operations Command on Team SOCOM.   

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.