I was almost murdered on a medical aid call .

I was trying to break up a fistfight between a security guard and a disgruntled homeless man , and had wedged my body between the two just as the knife came out . I never saw it hit me .

Worse yet , the homeless man was a prison-trained knife fighter who had perfected the art of shanking prison

guards despite their protective vests . I never stood a chance .

My assailant stabbed me near my kidney , severing a nerve in my back with the first strike . He broke a rib and punctured my left lung with the second strike . His third strike into the side of my head missed its mark by about half an inch . The knife went through my hair and his fist glanced off the side of my head , the blow almost knocking my sunglasses off .

I spent three days in the hospital with a chest tube sewn into my body and was sent home with a lifetime supply of opiates . The medical team told me to rest and , when the stitches came out in three to four weeks , I ’ d be ready to go back to work . I liked the diagnosis and was eager to return to my fire station .

Once home , the healing process began . I couldn ’ t bathe myself , so my

wife had to help me . If you ’ d asked me before my injury if I ’ d enjoy a sponge bath from my wife , pornographic mental images would have immediately sprung to mind and a wicked grin would have spread across my face . The reality , however , was demoralizing . I was a grown man who couldn ’ t handle his basic needs .

For two weeks , I puttered around the house , taking

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