Brent Miller’s life took a turn on the afternoon of June 17, 2024. He was using his sickle mower under electric fences on a road.
“There was a culvert that goes under the road, and I remembered from the year before that there were some fence posts they’d driven in to stabilize the rock along Rough River,” Miller said. “It’s really rough country. I stopped the tractor and took it out of gear, shut off the mower, and engaged the emergency brake to investigate the area by the culvert. As soon as I stepped off the tractor, I heard the emergency brake disengage, and I was in the path of the mowing arms. I stepped back on the tractor to regain control. But when I pulled myself off, I grabbed the wheel and accidentally cut it a bit, causing the vehicle to slide off the embankment, off the road, through the fence, and down a tributary drain of the creek.”
Miller landed among tree stumps, rocks, and other sharp impediments that sliced open most of his side, exposing his internal organs. In addition to his injury, Brent had broken three ribs, his back in two places, a small bone in his leg, and his neck in C1 and C2 vertebrae, also known as the Hangman’s Vertebrae. He also had a bone fracture in his knee.
“I called the guy who owns the farm and told him that he needed to come get me because I wrecked the tractor,” he said. “The guy came and I told him that I would need his help getting out of this hole. He walked around and could see my side, but I couldn’t feel anything, it wasn’t bleeding profusely, and my clothes weren’t wet or anything. He gave me a few minutes and then said he needed to call an ambulance. I said surely not, but he insisted. It turns out there was a wreck in town, and a girl was in a pretty significant accident already. Several nearby ambulances and helicopters were all tied up, including those in Brett County. The fire department came out and they stabilized me and got me on a stretcher and a neck collar. They even said they picked up pieces of rib and meat on the hill. It tore my side.”
His wife, Patty, said Miller’s diaphragm, his intestines and his abdominal wall could be seen.
When Patty got the call about the accident, she asked where to drive and the person who called told her Miller had to be flown out.
“That’s when I knew this wasn’t a band-aid injury,” Patty said.
Miller was initially taken to the hospital in Litchfield, while the medical team struggled to find a decent place to land their helicopter. He handed over his personal items and then took the flight to Louisville.
“There’s no telling how many people helped me,” Miller said. “I’m very grateful for everyone who was able to help me in those first few moments.”
“When they released him from ICU, he got over to the other bed by himself, something the nurses note they don’t see often,” Patty shared. “We’ve been very fortunate. We’ve lost parents, we lost a baby, and we’ve been very fortunate in all these years that we’ve been married. Never have we experienced anything like this. Medical technology is wonderful, and the fact that he was being operated on just 22 minutes after his helicopter took off is remarkable. That 22 minutes was the difference between life and death, if it were 30 minutes he might have been gone. I cried more and have been more upset about it since it happened than I did in those 10 days because of the adrenaline. I don’t think he ever saw the wound, I don’t think he wanted to see it. I dressed it three times a day to get it smaller. You could see the abdominal wall, you could see the fat layers, you-” Miller interjected, “There ain’t no fat on this body.”
Miller’s wound eventually shrank small enough to be eligible for a skin graft.
“I have always been active, and pretty tough,” Miller said. “I worked all my life, and I think that had a lot to do with healing. It was hard mentally because I was always active, and suddenly I couldn’t work anymore. The first few days, I’ll be honest, I just wondered, ‘Why am I here? I’m probably ruined for life, why am I still here?’ Then I realized how selfish it would be of me to just give up, because of Patty, JB (his son), and my grandbabies. So I’m living for them. But the hardest thing is that I couldn’t do anything. Now, I still can’t lift anything. I can’t go down and work on my car. I can’t get sticks out of the yard. There’s a little concern for the wound, and I don’t want to make it any worse. Before that, I had no idea how bad my neck was until I got up there in Louisville and they told me I was lucky to be alive, because I was up and walking around. Arguably, I shouldn’t have been. That was the good Lord taking care of me.”
Reflecting on his experience, Miller said he learned you are not promised tomorrow. “Things like getting that car finished, or working on projects—I’m going to do it, because you never know when or if you may not have that chance,” he said.
In addition to his physical injuries, Brent notes that his mental health took a hit throughout his experience. “I had some real rough times, anxiety attacks and all that early on, but I’ve worked through them. There was a day in August, it was a really hot day out. I remember a fellow deacon and friend of ours got us a few window air conditioning units. I felt smothered in the house, I was dying in here. A lot of it was in my mind, but being that hot with a collar around my neck. We were very lucky to have friends who could help us through moments like this.”
