The Man Who Learned To Live Again

    “Do you know what this is?” he asked, pointing at an evergreen. 

    “It’s balsam,” I said. 

    “No,” he replied. “It’s hemlock. I’ll show you the difference.” He then told me the intricate details of the snow-topped trees and terrain of the vast Adirondack Mountains surrounding us. I was in the presence of an expert. 

    As we stood in the snow, I wished some other people could be there with Paul Gibaldi and me—people like the surgeons and therapists who had worked so hard to turn his wrecked body back into a thriving human being. Most of all, I wished that one man could see him: the physician who, 11 years ago, told his parents that Paul would never have a mind again.
 

    In 1984, Paul Gibaldi was 23, popular, had been active in three sports in Tappan Zee High School in Orangeburg, N.Y., and had once been named the school’s Athlete of the Year. Then came a soccer scholarship to West Virginia University. Shortly after graduation, he became national sales manager of a wholesale jewelry company in Pearl River, N.Y. 

    The youngest of four, he was close to his two brothers and sister. So when his sister, Lee, needed him, he went to her side. She had moved to California with her husband and two sons, but the marriage had turned sour. Lee wanted a separation and had asked Paul to help her move back East. “She was the greatest sister,” Paul recalled. “Of course I went.” 

    One the drive back to New York, where her two sons were waiting at her parents’ house, they stopped off first in Pensacola, Fla., to visit their brother Joey, and they stayed the night. “On Sunday morning, we got into Joey’s car and went to church,” recalled Paul. 

    The facts are stark: On Jan. 22, 1984, their car was hit at high speed. Lee, in the front passenger seat, had no chance. Although she was wearing her seatbelt, the force of the impact threw her from the car and killed her. Joey, who was driving, suffered a shattered knee. Although Paul was sitting in the rear seat with his seatbelt fastened, the tremendous force of the accident ripped him loose and propelled him through the windshield. He suffered broken ribs, a fractured ankle, a punctured lung and hundreds of cuts from glass. His face was ripped open. Joey called for a medical helicopter to airlift his brother to a trauma center. “I was in a coma for two months,” said Paul. “My head injury caused it to swell up to twice its size.” 

    Although doctors at first thought that he had no mental activity, Paul said he can remember a few days before he woke up: “I was in peace. I did not feel pain until I came out of the coma. I remember everybody who came to visit me, the people in the room talking.” 

    By surviving, Paul Gibaldi had beat the odds, but his biggest challenge was yet to come. “I had a six-year-old mentality when I got out of the coma,” he said. During months of physical therapy, he relearned such basic skill as walking and how to tell his left side from his right. “I progressed to a second grade level,” said Paul. “I finally got all the way to college-level [after five months]. When I finally walked six steps, I was so proud of myself that I called my mother.” 

    Paul admits that the frustration of recovery could have led to self-pity. At the time, his short-term memory was weak, and he had difficulty modulating his speech, often talking too loudly. 

    “I used to play on a softball team, and I started thinking about all of the things I was missing out on, he recalled.” “One night I went out with the team and had a bunch of beers. I ran a stoplight driving home, and I was arrested for driving while alcohol impaired.” 

    He was ordered to attend driving and alcohol-education classes, “I started to think that the Lord had saved my life,” he said. “Now I had to do something with it.” 

    Paul decided to volunteer. He first worked with the elderly in Appalachia, then decided to volunteer as a camp counselor. While working there, he met the camp nurse, Laura Pruett. “I never met anybody who appreciated nature that much,” he recalled. “I thought, ‘I’ve got to get to know her.’” 

    Three years later, they were married. Today, Paul and Laura live in their log home in Chestertown, N.Y. “I was 25, and I knew what I wanted,” said Laura. “He had so many good points that over-road the problems. I knew he would be a good husband and a good father.” 
 

    Before they were married, Paul and Laura decided on a big change: They made a plan to live in the Adirondacks—the immense, unspoiled paradise of mountains and lakes in upstate New York. They bought land by a river and had a home built. “I had been coming up to the Adirondacks for 20 years,” said Paul. “I loved the beauty of the place.” 

    In preparation, Paul spent hours exploring the wilderness in the Adirondack Mountains. He learned the subtleties of the woods, the names of the birds, the places with the best fishing. “There are 100 lakes and ponds and rivers,” said Paul. “I got out the map and learned them all.” He exercised his brain and built up a memory until he knew tens of thousands of details about the woods and lakes. His goal: to be an Adirondack guide. 

    It was no idle choice. Adirondack guides lead people into some of the most remote areas of North America. The must not only know the territory but also have full command of survival skills and emergency techniques like CPR. They are licensed by the State of New York only after a rigorous exam, which Paul passed with flying colors. 

    In 1989 he started Gibaldi Guide Service, which is based in Chestertown, N.Y. Today he gives audiovisual presentations about the Adirondacks to schools, libraries and groups, in addition to his guided tours. He uses a canoe, in which he paddles clients to secluded places he has discovered. Paul gained confidence, and his speech and memory improved to near-normal. 

    “If the accident hadn’t happened, I’d probably be just like my old friends,” he said. “Going out, getting drunk, maybe even cheating on my wife.” Out of the accident, somehow, came Laura and the chance for a new life. “And then there are these three,” he said as he gestured around the living room, where his daughters—Alison, 5, Mariana, 2, and Damaris, 1—were playing. 

    Paul and Laura have built a remarkable life for themselves. I asked Paul if he had ever thought of giving up. 

    “I never did,” he said, “because I learned long ago to be determined. Back in high school, when I played three sports, I realized something important: It’s too easy to give up. You have to work for the things that are important.”