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Editor's Note: Reader's Digest has learned that Dr. Eugene Alford, the doctor profiled below, has suffered a terrible tragedy: His son Charles, 16, was killed on February 13, in Carlsbad, Texas, when he lost control of a car he was driving. Charles's mother, Mary, survived the accident with minor injuries. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the Alford family. Click to read Charles Alford's obituary in the Houston Chronicle. Donations in Charles' memory can be directed to the First Presbyterian Church (5300 Main Street, Houston, Texas 77004), in care of Charles Knox Alford, for youth mission trips.
--Posted on February 16, 2009
Whenever Eugene Alford needed to relax after a particularly grueling period of work, he'd drive to his ranch in Bellville, Texas, 70 miles west of his Houston home, and lose himself in farm chores. He didn't make it out there as often as he would have liked. As a plastic surgeon at Methodist Hospital, he'd performed 800 operations over the previous year. December had been especially busy, and he was booked solid in the OR for months ahead.
So on a chilly Sunday a few days after Christmas, Alford decided to forgo church in favor of a spin around his 80-acre property. At the wheel of his bright-orange tractor, he headed out through the pine bush and mesquite, intending to clear a trail for deer hunting.
Pinned to the steering wheel, Alford could barely breathe. He tried to hit the brakes, but his legs failed to respond. When he found he could move his hands, he turned off the ignition, then with great effort pulled his cell phone from his shirt pocket and called his wife on speed dial. "Mary," he gasped, "a tree fell on me. My back is broken. I'm going to die."
"Don't quit!" she shouted. "We're coming to get you!" Alford promised to hold on, but he knew that if he went into shock, his chances were slim. The idea of leaving behind his wife and three teenage children was unbearable. A minute later, he called her back. "In case I don't make it," he said, "I have to tell you that I love you."
He closed his eyes and prayed.
Gene Alford, 49, grew up in Henderson, a small town in East Texas. His grandfather, John Rogers Alford, was a successful businessman and philanthropist, and his father carried on both traditions. Alford was raised to work hard and help others. "You didn't tell anybody you did it," he said of his parents' values. "You just did it."
After graduating from medical school, Alford built a lucrative career as an ear, nose, and throat specialist and a facial plastic surgeon at Methodist. In the summers, he and Mary, a dentist and former pediatric nurse, would join a church-sponsored medical mission to Honduras, where he operated on the needy in a rural clinic.
At home, Alford treated many prominent Houston residents, but he also waived his fee for less fortunate patients. Carolyn Thomas, for instance, went to see him with a large gauze bandage over a cavity in her face. She'd been shot by her boyfriend, who'd also killed her mother; the bullet had blown away Thomas's nose, upper jaw, and right eye. Reconstruction would have cost a million dollars, but Alford, his medical team, and his hospital did it for free.
Like many of Alford's patients, Thomas valued his empathy almost as much as his medical skill. "On days when I was down," she recalls, "he'd say, 'I know something's wrong. Are you missing your mother?' I could talk to him about stuff like that." Thomas became a spokeswoman for victims of domestic violence, and Alford appeared with her on The Oprah Winfrey Show and Larry King Live.
Now the man who had offered hope and comfort to so many was fighting to stay alive.
Alford was still conscious when his neighbors Kevin Wingo and Snuffy Garrett, alerted by Mary, hauled the tree off him. They were afraid that doing so would make Alford's injuries worse, but they went ahead when he said he'd die if they didn't. A rescue helicopter touched down minutes later, and Alford advised the paramedics on which drugs to administer to him. Then he blacked out.
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