Monday Meeting — Krishna Thompson

Krishna Thompson

Krishna Thompson

Meet Krishna Thompson, 47: Shark attack survivor

From “The Against All Odds Club”
By Brooke Lea Foster
Psychology Today – April 2013

August 2001, Krishna Thompson and his wife flew to the Bahamas to celebrate their 10-year wedding anniversary. Thompson’s wife didn’t enjoy swimming, so one morning he woke up before her to get some extra time in the ocean. The water was usually crystal clear, but that morning it was murky and rough. Thompson was treading water when he noticed a shark fin coming toward him. He calmly backed off, hoping the animal would go away, but the 10-foot bull shark swam through his legs, its slippery skin grazing his right knee.

Then, without warning, the animal snapped back and took Thompson’s left leg in its mouth. It dragged Thompson underwater, shaking him like a rag doll. He thought about how he was going to die without ever having children. He feared that he would drown, which panicked him. Thompson summoned all of his strength, reached down toward his leg, and punched the shark in the face, which surprised the animal enough to release its jaws.

Thompson swam to shore and collapsed. When he caught sight of his left leg, all he saw was a broken tibia bone—there was no flesh left, no arteries, just bone. He remembers staring at the overcast sky and thinking: “I beat this shark, and I’m going to live to tell the world about it.”

As Krishna Thompson lay on the beach after the attack, his left leg ripped up to nothing but bone, it occurred to him: I am the man who conquered a shark. He approached his recovery with similar resolve, working hard to chase away any negative thoughts with positive ones—even after learning his leg injury would require amputation.

Thompson counted down the days for six months until he could return to work on Wall Street. In 2002, on his first day back, he didn’t drive in to New York City, which would have put less pressure on his leg. He insisted on taking the one-hour commuter train, pushing his way onto packed subway cars, and walking up the steps out of the station. He’s taken the same route in the decade since, his leg often throbbing at the spot where it’s connected to the prosthesis. Still, when a woman asked him to help carry her stroller up the subway steps recently, he didn’t tell her he had a prosthetic leg. Instead, he nodded and said: “We’ll just have to go slowly.” He held onto the railing with one hand, the stroller in his other, and used his good leg to inch his way up the steps.

Sometimes he stands in the mirror and shudders at what he calls his “deformed leg.” But he’s quick to remember: It could have been worse. “Yes, you lost a leg,” he’ll tell himself. “But you have a whole other leg. You have two arms. You can walk.”

Today, he and his wife have a daughter, Indira, 10, and a son, Chad, 5. As his kids have grown, he’s realized the attack can still rattle him. He and his family were swimming in the pool one day when his son accidentally kicked his foot—and a shot of panic rushed through him. He nearly didn’t let his daughter go on a class trip to a local beach. “I was scared they wouldn’t watch her closely enough,” he says.

When a Manhattan police officer was hit by a car and lost his leg, Thompson felt compelled to visit the man in the hospital. He strutted into the room in a suit, walked over to the windows, and put his leg up on the windowsill. “I heard about your accident,” Thompson told the officer, whom he’d never met. Then Thompson lifted his pants leg and showed the young officer his prosthetic leg. The officer’s face lit up, and Thompson said to him: “You’re going to be fine.”


In honor of all those who triumph over adversity with
courage, perseverance, determination and sheer will.
Your souls shine and your spirits inspire us with hope.
~ Theresa

Today’s Quote

Last, but by no means least,
courage –
moral courage,
the courage of one’s convictions,
the courage to see things through.
The world is in a constant
conspiracy against the brave.
It’s the age-old struggle –
the roar of the crowd on one side
and the voice of your conscience on the other.

~ Douglas MacArthur ~

150 Years Ago: July 2, 1863 – Gettysburg

Part II, Day 2 of the Battle of Gettysburg: July 2, 1863

On July 2nd, the battlelines were drawn in 2 sweeping arcs, the armies nearly a mile apart on parallel ridges. By night’s end, vicious fighting seared the names of Devil’s Den, Little Round Top, the Wheatfield,, the Peach Orchard, Culp’s Hill and Cemetery Ridge into the souls of those who fought there.

“The warm, humid weather of the second day of the battle of Gettysburg caused many to fall prostrate, overcome with heat and thirst. But so very many more came crashing down, split open and torn, pierced and pelted by the thousands of pounds of iron and lead missiles thrown by Southern and Northern weaponry. Fighting commenced around noon, just west of the old Emmitsburg Road and continued into the darkness of the night, as a poor sickly moon tried valiantly to penetrate the sulphurous air over Culp’s and Cemetery Hills. Names and faces became famous that day for the foul scenes surrounding them: The Trostle and Weikert and Rose farms; Plum Run and Codori’s thicket; peach and apple orchards, streams and woods and wheatfields – all had seared and thundered and crashed; until finally the blood enriched soil was open to accept the fresh bodies, the torn, innocent flesh of a gored and bleeding Union.” (Gregory Coco, “Killed in Action,” p. 32)

These are some of their stories…


On July 2nd, 1863, Col. M.J. Bulger of the 47th Alabama Infantry was wounded while attempting to “take and hold a crossroad in front of Little Round Top.”

“…a minie ball struck me just over the left nipple, passed through my body, and lodged under the right shoulder-blade… I nerved myself up to keep from falling, and eased myself down against a tree that grew out of a crevice of the rocks in such a way as to afford me a convenient and comfortable seat. When the men came to where I was they rallied and had a desperate fight, but were finally driven back.

While this was going on I was suffering intensely, and thought I should strangle with blood. I saw a Federal soldier coming in a direction that would bring him close to me, and determined to ask him for water when he came near enough. I said to him, ‘My good fellow, will you give me a drink of water? I am wounded and choking to death with blood.’

Without halting he threw his hand to the back of his neck, caught the strap of his canteen and laid it down in my lap, saying, ‘I have no water but there is whisky, a great deal better for you; drink it.’ He passed on a few steps, got down behind a rock, and commenced shooting my retiring men.”


Twenty year old Private John F. Chase, 5th Maine Battery, was atop a knoll between Cemetery and Culp’s Hills in the evening of July 2nd when North Carolina and Louisiana troops assaulted Cemetery Hill.

“My battery was enfilading the charging column as it dashed up the hill. Our shot, shrapnel, and canister was doing such terrible execution that the Confederates opened 3 or 4 batteries on us. One of their shrapnel shells exploded near me and 48 pieces of it entered my body. My right arm was shattered and my left eye was put out. I was carried a short distance to the rear as dead, and knew nothing more until 2 days after.

When I regained consciousness, I was in a wagon with a lot of dead comrades being carted to the trenches to be buried. I moaned and called the attention of the driver, who pulled me up among the dead and gave me water. he said my first words were, ‘Did we win the battle?’

I was taken to the First Army Corps Hospital on the Isaac Lightner farm, 3 miles from Gettysburg on the Baltimore Turnpike. They laid me down beside the barn, where I waited 3 more days until my wounds were dressed. The surgeon let me lie there ‘to finish dying,’ as they said, while they attended to the rest of the wounded. I lay on the barn floor then, several days, and then was taken into the house, where I stopped for a week. From there I was moved to the Lutheran Theological Seminary Hospital.

After about 3 weeks, I was carried out of the hospital to die again, and was told by the head surgeon that I could not live 6 hours, but I did not do him the favor. Three months later, I was sent to West Philadelphia Hospital until I was able to return to my home in Augusta, Maine.”


Miss Elizabeth S. “Sallie” Myers was a young teacher living on West High Street in 1863. On July 2nd, she was asked to assist the wounded in the Catholic Church east of her home.

“Among the first men I saw lying on the floor, to the right of the entrance, were 3 Southern soldiers. One of them particularly attracted my attention. He was a large man, his complexion was dark, and he had the blackest eyes and hair I ever saw, lying there helpless with an appealing look in his great black eyes.”

Several weeks later, Sallie was at Camp Letterman, the large general hospital east of town, when she entered the “dead tent” to visit several Confederates who were laid out waiting for burial.

“There lay the man who had attracted my attention in the Catholic Church, but the great black eyes were forever closed. On his breast was pinned his name – Hardy Graves, Company C, 6th Alabama Infantry, age 25 – and below it was his wife’s name and address – Julia Graves, Brundidge, Pike Country, Alabama. I cut a lock of his hair, and sometime after, I wrote to her, sent her the lock and told her what I knew of her husband. She replied and asked me if I could find his grave. He had been buried in a plot of ground along with many others near Camp Letterman. I gathered some wildflowers growing near and enclosed them in a letter, telling her how her husband’s grave was situated. I never knew whether Mr. Graves’ body was removed to Richmond or taken home to Alabama.”


From the historian of the 188th Pennsylvania Infantry – “Rabbit Fire:”

“While the regiment lay crouching for protection in its first position near the George Rose House, before it had become engaged, a rabbit, startled from its cover by the advance of McLaws’ assaulting Georgians, rushed in frightened, headlong leaps towards the Union lines. Innocent of purpose to harm, he plunged in one of his aimless jumps right into the ranks and planted his cold, sharp claws firmly into the neck of a soldier who lay flat near the right of the regiment.

It was too much for the poor fellow. He gave it up, and jumping to his feet, with pitiful expression, in woe-begone tones, wringing his hands in agony, announced himself a dead man; that he had been shot in the neck; that the ball had passed entirely through, and there was no hope for him.

He recovered his equanimity, however, when those in the neighborhood who had observed the cause of his trouble, received his dire announcement with the merriment it necessarily created. When informed that a poor little rabbit had innocently been the cause of his discomfiture, the soldier sheepishly resumed his place.”


Women played a significant role in the American Civil War, and, indeed, at the Battle of Gettysburg. Angels of mercy, spies, nurses, farmers, cooks, seamstresses, and as soldiers – women warriors – patriots in disguise. Over 240 women in uniform during the Civil War have been documented. Their reasons for fighting mirrored those of men – patriotism, honor, heritage, excitement – along with desire for freedom from their traditional roles and a desire to remain with their husbands or brothers. Dressed as men, some women eluded detection by their comrades for years, even gaining promotions. Often, their deception was not discovered until the “young boy” in their company was wounded, killed, or gave birth (Blanton & Cook, “They Fought Like Demons”).

Five women are known to have fought at Gettysburg: 2 Union and 3 Confederate. While the Union women survived, 2 of the Confederate women died on July 3rd in Pickett’s Charge (more details tomorrow) while the third was shot in the leg and captured. At the U.S. Military Hospital in Chester, PA, her leg was amputated in order to save her life. In a letter to his parents, a Union soldier recovering in the same hospital described her:

“I must tel you we have got a female secesh here. she was wounded at Gettysburg but our doctors soon found her out. I have not seen her but the(y) say she is very good looking [.] the poor girl [h]as lost a leg. it [is] a great pity she did not stay at home with her mother but she get good care and kind treatment. it [is] rather romantic to have a female soldier in the hospital and her only to have one leg and far a way from home but I hope she will soon get better and get home to her friends.” (Thomas Reed, 5th Michigan Infantry)

A Union drummer boy wounded at the Battle of Gettysburg was not the “lad of 15” he appeared to be, but a girl of 18 who refused to divulge her name or any personal information. “She wore a neat suit of soldier-clothes and made a pretty boy.” It was her second Army enlistment.

“It was here and like this that the women endured,
Here alone that they grappled with death
In a form more horrid than the soldiers encountered
While facing the cannon’s lurid breath.
They were watchful by day and wakeful by night,
And like Ruth they most faithfully cleaved,
And many a lady and lassie died
Of wounds that the soldiers received.
~ Confederate Veteran, Vol. 39:235.


Late that night, the guns were at last silenced, but the moans and cries of the wounded and dying continued. The stench of burning horseflesh and dead bodies, the unwashed in sweat-drenched wool and the debris of battle, lay over the small town, adding to the July humidity.

Civilians wondered what tomorrow would bring while they sweltered in their basements. Commanders looked at maps and modified plans for when they met once again in battle. Soldiers wrote letters to their loved ones, knowing that their words might be final. Surgeons continued their amputations, the only answer to the terrible mutilation and destruction of the minie ball on human flesh.

“And I turned away and cried…”

Gettysburg Devil's Den

Devil’s Den (National Archives)

Wheatfield (National Archives)

Wheatfield (National Archives)

Little Round Top )Library of Congress)

Little Round Top (Library of Congress)

“If we don’t end war, war will end us.” ~ H.G. Wells

150 Years Ago: July 1, 1863 – Gettysburg

The Battle of Gettysburg and The American Civil War
[The Gettysburg Foundation &
National Park Service, U.S. Dept. of the Interior]

The epic Battle of Gettysburg (July 1 – 3, 1863) changed the course of U.S. history.  

The first steps toward the Battle of Gettysburg started in June 1863. Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee’s soldiers crossed the Potomac River in Virginia and began to march toward the Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania, with thoughts that a victory in the North would erode the Union’s will to continue the fight.

The Battle of Gettysburg started on July 1, 1863, when Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia met Gen. George Meade’s Union Army of the Potomac. During the three-day battle, about 165,000 soldiers clashed in and around the small town of Gettysburg (battle-era population: 2,400).

When the Battle of Gettysburg was over on July 3, 1863, 51,000 soldiers were casualties (killed, wounded, captured or missing) in what remains the largest battle ever fought in North America.

The two armies met by chance on June 30, 1863. The first shot of the Battle of Gettysburg was fired early in the morning of July 1, 1863, when fighting broke out north and west of town, with Confederates attacking Union troops on McPherson Ridge. Though outnumbered, the Federal forces held their position until afternoon, when they were finally driven back to Cemetery Hill, Cemetery Ridge and Culp’s Hill south of town. That night, the Union troops labored over their defenses while the rest of the Army of the Potomac arrived and took up positions for the next day’s meeting of the armies.

Author Gregory Coco tells the story of the hospitals at Gettysburg – public buildings, private homes, orchards and groves, outbuildings and meadows – that were transformed into a “vast sea of misery” that sheltered and housed tens of thousands of Union and Confederate soldiers wounded in the three days of battle. In truth, the battle would continue for four more months, but this time in the hospitals filled with the suffering and dying.

“In every direction lay men of all classes, the rich man and the poor man, the commander and the private. At one place, near a fence, lay privates, corporals, lieutenants, majors and colonels, from New York, North Carolina, Indiana, Mississippi, Connecticut, Georgia, New Hampshire, Alabama, Maine and Delaware side by side, on the bare ground, or on a little wet straw; no distinction.” (p. vii, “A Vast Sea of Misery”)

The Trinity German Reformed Church was one of many buildings that served as one of Gettysburg’s hospitals. By 11 am on the morning of July 1st, Dr. Abraham Stout, assistant surgeon of the 153rd Pennsylvania Infantry, had taken possession of the church after being ordered to by a Colonel in the Louisiana Infantry and opened it as a hospital.

Witnesses described the scene inside:

“The wounded were carried into the lecture room of the church and there was so much amputating done there that the seats were covered with blood and they had to bore holes in the floor to let the blood run away…” (Eva Danner, 16 years old)

“Men were lying on boards on tops of the pews, the walls splattered with blood…”

“I found the church full… I should call it a slaughter-house. There must have been 10 or 12 amputation tables in one room…they were all busy… The doctors had their sleeves rolled up to their shoulders and were covered with blood.” (Reuben Ruch, 153rd PA Infantry, Company F)

The Gettysburg hospitals don’t tell a Union story or a Confederate story, but a human story. Acts of kindness by volunteer nurses and civilians, performed out of charity and with love, often with steadfast courage, have been passed down, in marked contrast to the utter brutality of the battle itself. Ordinary, common people showing extraordinary, uncommon valor as caregivers to soldiers regardless of the color of their uniform or the manner of their speech.

Sarah Broadhead, a volunteer nurse, described her first reaction to the hospitals of Gettysburg: “I turned away and cried.”

One hundred fifty years later, when looking at the photographs of the aftermath of the battle and reading first-hand accounts, we may still feel the need to “turn away and cry.”

Instead, I send up a prayer for the souls of all those lost in all wars since the beginning of time. In remembering them, we honor their sacrifices.

Instead, I turn toward their memory and cry.


Alexander Gardner

Alexander Gardner

“It is well that war is so terrible. We should grow too fond of it.” ~ Gen. Robt. E. Lee

The Greatest Miracle in the World

“However, I am not that sort of a ragpicker.
I seek more valuable materials than old newspapers and aluminum beer cans..
I search out waste materials of the human kind,
people who have been discarded by others, or even themselves,
people who still have great potential
but have lost their self-esteem and their desire for a better life.
When I find them, I try to change their lives for the better,
give them a new sense of hope and direction,
and help them return from their living death…
which to me is the greatest miracle in the world.”
~ Og Mandino, The Greatest Miracle in the World

If there is any one thing that being a Licensed Mental Health Professional can teach you, it is that every single person you meet has a story. Some are easier to detect, while others are cloaked in near perfect images of success. The complexity of these stories is enhanced by gender, socioeconomic status, culture, genetics, upbringing, faith tradition, age, marital status, family situation, education…the list goes on.

But every person has a story…

In my work, I am privileged to be a co-journeyer with another person when they choose to share even a small part of their story. The details of some of their stories can crush you; I often find myself marveling at their strength and courage. Indeed, I do not know if I would still be standing if I had to go through what some people have gone through. And yet many of them retain their inherent goodness as they keep pushing forward…

The single mother whose younger son was tragically killed in a car accident by his older brother, which she was reminded of each time her oldest son came home from school…

The woman whose father had sexually abused her since she was an infant, with whom she had three children, receives word of his terminal cancer diagnosis and is torn between wanting to forgive him and wanting to condemn him…

The man who never told anyone else about his molestation when he was a little boy at the hands of his stepfather…

The former gang member, his body covered in tattoos, crying about how his mother died in her native country without knowing that her son left the gang and started a new life…

The teenaged girl, left pregnant from a brutal rape, whose daily morning sickness reminded her each day of the horrific incident…

The Viet Nam veteran who was plagued by flashbacks of his best buddy being blown into pieces right next to him…

The teen-aged girl, without siblings, who lost both her parents within 6 months of each other – her mother to cancer, her father in a car accident…

The woman who suffered from schizophrenia and refused psychotropic medication, who was evicted from another apartment every 3 months…

The woman who committed suicide because she could not see a way out of an abusive relationship…

A successful business woman who was now living out of her car because of her husband’s secret gambling addiction…

A young woman who would seek shelter in a closet during every thunderstorm, unable to forget how her mother used to bathe her in scalding hot water to try to cleanse her daughter of her fear…

“Each of these individuals and everyone else in the world
still have their own pilot light burning inside them.
It may be very diminished in some,
but…it never, never goes out!
So long as there is a breath of life remaining,
there is still hope…and that’s what we ragpickers count on.
Just give us a chance and we can provide the fuel
that will be ignited by any pilot light,
no matter how diminished it may be.
A human being…is an amazing and complex and resilient
organism capable of resuscitating itself
from its own living death many times,
if it is given the opportunity and shown the way.”
~ Og Mandino, The Greatest Miracle in the World

We are resilient, we human beings.  And we are even better when we are joined in our pain by someone who cares…by someone who believes in our worth…who does not judge us, but rather sits with us in unconditional positive regard…who holds on to hope until each of us finds it once again…by someone who is simply present.

So I will continue to be present with those in need, whether those dying at the end of life or those dying while they pretend to live. I will search out those who have been discarded and slowly help them to believe in their worth. If I can find them, then they can find themselves.

And in our connectedness, together we will transform their diminished pilot light into a burning blaze that shines brightly for all to see.

Circles of Compassion and Grace. Remembering the Ragpicker’s instruction by following his very own:

Laws of Success and Happiness

~ Count your blessings. ~
~ Proclaim your rarity! ~
~ Go another mile. ~
~ Use wisely your power of choice. ~
~ Do all things with love. ~

And remembering that we humans are indeed the Greatest Miracle in the World…