In March 2011, at 5:45 a.m., Dr. Michael Shannon, a pediatrician, was cruising down California’s Pacific Coast Highway en route to the beach. The scent of the ocean wafted through the air as he followed a familiar path to meet his friend for their customary Tuesday stroll. His destination was Dana Point Harbor. However, his journey took an unexpected turn when a sudden expanse of white obstructed his view. A semi-truck had emerged onto the road directly ahead. With no opportunity to respond, the physician had no time to react.
“I probably said a few expletives in my mind,” he recalls. “I remember the wham and the sound of breaking glass, and then everything stopped. I was sitting still.”
Remaining conscious throughout the impact, Shannon found himself in a moment of silence following the collision. His initial realization was that he had survived the ordeal. Swiftly, his second thought emerged—he needed to remove himself from his vehicle rapidly. An unmistakable scent of burning reached his senses, and he felt the heat in his legs and feet, trapped beneath the distorted dashboard. Despite his urgency, he was trapped.
Assistance materialized with remarkable speed; a team from the Orange County Fire Department arrived on the scene in under two minutes. The crew aboard Engine 29 consisted of four men, two of whom were skilled paramedics. By chance, they were en route to their firehouse after a night of intense work when the emergency call came through. Although fatigue weighed heavily on them from their overnight shift, the timing couldn’t have been better. They were already in the truck, primed and prepared.
As paramedic Chris Trokey stepped onto the scene, the gravity of the situation was instantly evident. With eight years of experience under his belt at the age of 30, Trokey recognized the severity of the accident, rating it a nine out of ten on the scale. The front of the SUV was wedged beneath the semi’s body, and he noted the engine was in flames now reduced to a modest red glow. Aware that an explosion could happen within minutes, he observed the trapped man in the vehicle displaying an unexpected composure. Recalling the moment, Trokey shared,
“He wasn’t in a state of panic. No screams echoed. Instead, he pleaded, ‘Please, get me out of here.'”
Meanwhile, a rising heat enveloped Shannon’s lower limbs, the nylon mesh of his running shoes melting against his toes. The response team sprang into action.
“Passing a fire extinguisher through the window, I probably used another colorful word and demanded, ‘I need a hose!'” Shannon recalled. A fire hose was handed to him, which he used to quell the flames within his vehicle.
The firefighters promptly extinguished the engine fire and sent out a call for additional assistance: stronger tools were necessary to pry open the SUV. During the wait, Trokey reached out to Mission Hospital in Laguna Beach to notify the medical trauma team. After about 20 minutes, with the assistance of a second crew, the Chevy Suburban was unlocked using the Jaws of Life tool. Trokey efficiently moved the man onto a backboard and then onto a gurney. Seated together in the back of the ambulance, sirens blaring, Trokey’s mind began to focus on the name of the crash victim: Michael Shannon.
A question arose in the paramedic’s thoughts—Could this be the same individual who had saved his own life three decades earlier? A preemie born with great difficulty, Trokey had been cared for by Shannon, the doctor who had stood by his side in the hospital until his recovery. However, amidst the immediate situation, Trokey refrained from saying anything about this recognition. “My priority was the present moment,” he shared.
Back in June 1986, Chris Trokey made his early entrance into the world, arriving ten weeks ahead of schedule. His father, Mike, often humorously mentioned his son’s affinity for ambulances due to the almost-ambulance-birth situation. After his wife Dee’s water broke, they rushed to Mission Hospital. From there, they were urgently transported by ambulance to the University of California Irvine Hospital, located 25 miles away. UCI housed the region’s sole neonatal intensive care unit (NICU), and the Trokeys were informed that their baby had only a 50-50 chance of survival.
At a mere three pounds and two ounces, Chris could easily fit in his father’s palm. Yet, he demonstrated remarkable resilience, independently breathing within hours. During his time in the NICU, his parents commuted between Irvine and their home in Dana Point. In those initial weeks filled with anxiety, they sought a local pediatrician capable of handling the potential health challenges that often accompany premature birth. Mike, an educator in the Saddleback Valley school district, noticed a name repeatedly surfacing in student files: Dr. Michael Shannon. Upon meeting Shannon, the Trokeys were immediately impressed, drawn to his capable demeanor as well as his characteristic shoulder-length hair, denim attire, and distinctive turquoise belt buckle. Dee recalled,
“He exuded a warmth that made you feel like you were talking to a brother, yet his competence instilled unwavering confidence.”
After spending seven weeks in the neonatal intensive care unit, Chris was finally discharged. Eager to ensure everything was still alright, his parents brought him to Shannon’s office for a check-up. Chris showed no issues during this visit. However, within a mere two weeks, he developed what Shannon referred to as “a fairly substantial fever” — a concerning condition for any newborn, and even more precarious for a premature baby. As the fever escalated, the Trokey family maintained contact with Shannon, who advised them to meet him at Mission Hospital.
Dee, understandably stressed, was on edge. Having already faced the grim possibility of losing her newborn and having been separated from him for almost two months, the emergence of a life-threatening fever felt like an overwhelming blow. At the hospital, Shannon awaited the Trokeys with his characteristic composure, ready to take the entire family under his wing. During that period, Mission Hospital lacked an infant intensive care unit, so, as Shannon recounted, “pediatricians handled their own critical cases.” Shannon proceeded to draw Chris’s blood and send it to the lab, performing a spinal tap to rule out meningitis. He initiated an IV antibiotic treatment and instructed the parents to go home and rest, assuring them he would keep a vigilant watch over their son. For two nights, Shannon remained at Chris’s side, and on the third day, the infant was cleared for discharge.
Throughout his upbringing, Chris carried with him the family’s cherished tale of Shannon’s unwavering presence during that crucial time. The story was retold as the most heartening resolution to their most desperate phase. Chris continued to be Shannon’s patient until his teenage years.
In the aftermath of the car accident, mirroring the events of three decades earlier, Chris Trokey found himself by Shannon’s side in the trauma room for a brief period. Chris recounted, “I asked him, ‘Do you remember me at all? You stayed with me when I was really little.'” Shannon had sustained a perforated small intestine, second- and third-degree burns on his feet, and a portion of a toe had to be amputated. Fragments of glass were embedded in his skin.
Upon hearing Chris’s name, Shannon immediately recognized it. Among the numerous children he had cared for throughout his career, it was those who were in the most critical condition that left a lasting impression. However, if the two had crossed paths on the street, they likely wouldn’t have recognized each other. Shannon, now 72, had opted for short hair, and Chris, standing tall at six feet three inches and weighing 195 pounds, bore no resemblance to the fragile infant he once was.
The day following Shannon’s surgical procedure, Trokey and the crew from Engine 29 paid a visit to Shannon in the Intensive Care Unit, an uncommon occurrence. Despite being firefighters and paramedics accustomed to preserving lives as part of their routine, this particular instance held exceptional significance. The near-tragedy and the incredible alignment of circumstances underscored its uniqueness. Trokey expressed, “I’m not sure if he truly comprehends how fortunate he was.” The bond they shared and the serendipity of their connection still astonish both men. While neither Shannon nor Trokey identifies as a regular church attendee, both acknowledge the profound sensation of someone entering their lives during a critical juncture, guiding them towards recovery, and the reciprocity of receiving a gift when most needed. This experience has instilled in them a sense of belief in a higher force.
Juggling busy schedules—Shannon tending to patients four days each week and Trokey fulfilling three 24-hour shifts per week—the two men manage their time efficiently. Yet, every year, on the anniversary of the car accident, they come together for a shared meal. The ritual serves as a reminder of their enduring connection. In 2015, Trokey himself embraced fatherhood, welcoming a baby boy named Porter into his life. So far, Porter has not encountered any significant health issues, and interestingly, Dr. Michael Shannon is the chosen pediatrician for his care, marking another meaningful chapter in their intertwined journey.