She is electric, can I be electric too?

Abkhazia - 2004. 

I was in my first operational deployment in Abkhazia. An autonomous state in a state of division and post conflict angst. The United Nations had Military Observers, the Russians their Peacekeepers and a population divided by ethnic barriers. It is an incredible place where the snow capped Caucasus mountains meet the Black Sea and the end point in landmine clearance was close. 

This is my recollections of an innocuous event.  

My body convulsed with a symphony of agony, a sensation so alien it felt as though my very existence hung in the balance, teetering on the precipice of surrender. In the heart of a post-conflict zone, I found myself ensnared in a battle for survival unlike anything I'd encountered before.

As the current surged through me, a relentless force beyond my control, panic tightened its grip, not merely the familiar embrace of anxiety, but a profound sense of disillusionment and disgrace. How ironic, I thought, that my tale might not end with a heroic embrace or indeed peacefully in my sleep, but with the whimper of an electrified demise, etched into memory as a footnote of folly. Yet, in that harrowing moment, as my mind danced on the edge of oblivion, a primal instinct stirred within me – the desire to defy death, to cling desperately to life. And so, in the quiet hours of a November morning in Abkhazia, fate intervened with a jolt. 

The innocuous act of reaching for a door handle became a brush with mortality, as a surge of electricity coursed through me, binding me in its merciless embrace. Rational thought dissolved into a cacophony of fear and disbelief, as my body, no longer my own, betrayed me in its inertia. In that suspended moment, as darkness encroached and oblivion beckoned, I found myself on the precipice of surrender, poised to embrace the tranquillity of release. Then with  a violent jolt, I was thrust back into the realm of the living, gasping for breath amidst a sea of concerned faces. How long had I teetered on the brink of oblivion? How close had I come to becoming a mere anecdote, a cautionary tale of misplaced wires and shoddy craftsmanship? 

In the aftermath, as I grappled with the fragility of mortality, one truth became painfully clear – our time on this earth is finite, and the manner of our departure often beyond our control. Yet, in the face of uncertainty, we cling to life with a tenacity born of defiance, embracing each fleeting moment as a precious gift, bestowed upon us by the whims of fate. Today I live with a painful reminder of that morning, a left hand with a deformed finger, scars where the electricity burned my feet and wrist and a reluctance to grip door handles.