An excerpt from Wipe Out, Rise Up: A Surf Session In Being a Leader, Pushing Past Limits, and Sustaining Health. Copyright © 2024 Scott Ellner. Published by BrightRay Publishing. All rights reserved.

Growing up in Southern California, I was well-acquainted with the waves of the Pacific Ocean. Cold water from Alaska flowed down the coast, meeting the warm, sunny climate of Los Angeles, roasted by the heat of the Santa Ana winds. I have always loved surfing in these waves. This beach was so meaningful to me that I was even preparing to study environmental law upon graduating from UCLA, ready to dedicate my life to protecting the ocean and the planet.

On a balmy late August day in 1991, I surfed Zuma Beach like I had hundreds of times before. Surfing alone in Malibu was a meditative experience; sitting on your board, thinking, and clearing your mind is the essence of self-care. That hot day was no exception. The sun was warm, the rays dancing on the waves, setting brilliant diamonds on the blue surface. The beach was packed; everyone was out on the sand, catching the last few days of summer. And as afternoon approached, the sun turned the clouds a beautiful, reddish hue.

After riding a wave in, I stood on the beach and pulled off the velcro leash that attached my surfboard to my ankle. With the heat drying my skin, I felt satisfied that I had a great surf session. As I set off back to the truck with my surfboard, the blistering-hot sand burned my feet so badly that I had to play an impromptu game of “the floor is lava.” Many beach towels were trampled on, and my quick “sorrys” punctuated the air. As I passed the lifeguard on duty at Zuma’s lifeguard tower 12, I threw him a shaka hand sign and received one in return. I thought it was the end of a fantastic day.

The accident

I placed my board into the back of my Toyota pickup truck parked along the side of Pacific Coast Highway when a horrible screeching noise of breaking metal pierced the air. I heard and felt something roll up behind me on the road. I turned and looked down; I saw him. A helmetless man, about 30 years old, lay next to my truck, his torn shirt revealing a large “Hells Angels” tattoo. He was unconscious, with green-tinged blood leaking from his ear. His motorcycle was 150 feet away, splayed out on the highway. In the distance, the car that had swerved across the double yellow lines and struck him was now fleeing the scene.

The man had rolled so close to me that when I knelt down, I was pressed right against the wheel well of my truck. His arm was twisted awkwardly toward the sky. I looked around for help, but the only faces I saw were a group of 10- or 11-year-olds from the beach who had seen it all. Their eyes were filled with fear, and I’m certain mine were as well. For about 30 seconds, I was the only one on the scene. I didn’t know what else to do but hold his hand and pray.

A surgeon steps in

At that point, a car pulled over right in front of my truck, and a woman in her 50s emerged with a calm and focused demeanor. Initially, she seemed like just another Good Samaritan eager to assist, but her confidence quickly revealed more: She was a trauma surgeon. The lifeguard I had passed by earlier arrived with a medical kit. The surgeon and the lifeguard assessed the victim: He was missing teeth, and there was a lot of blood and secretions in his airway. The surgeon used a laryngoscope from the medical kit to open up his airway and intubate him and used a manual resuscitator bag to pump air into his lungs. And all I could do was watch.

An ambulance arrived, and the Samaritan surgeon and the EMTs did their best to save this man’s life. Recognizing the severity of his injuries, they quickly called for more assistance. Soon after, they loaded the Hells Angel into an air ambulance and flew him to the nearest trauma center.

That evening, I could not stop thinking about the accident, the Angel on the Harley, and the trauma surgeon. I thought about the victim and the callousness of the hit-and-run driver who caused the crash. I was shaken by the fragility of life and, at the same time, moved by the courage and conviction shown by the trauma surgeon to give this patient a chance at surviving a gruesome accident. I wondered what she had felt as she tried to save a stranger’s life on the side of a road. Was this just another trauma patient? Did she know that she positively impacted me and others (and most importantly, the patient)?

The medical reality

I returned to surf Zuma Beach the next day. I didn’t expect to find any evidence of the crash from the day prior. What I did find surprised me, though. A gruff, husky man (someone you wouldn’t want to be in a bar fight with) stood by the side of the road, crying. I asked him if he was OK. This fellow Hells Angel told me about his friend’s accident, and I told him I had been there when it happened. He explained that the doctors had done a brain death protocol exam at the hospital, but his friend’s brain had swelled to the point where the trauma was unsurvivable. He lived long enough to donate his organs.

As a doctor, I can recognize things I was oblivious to when I knelt beside the man. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the fallen Hells Angel was in hemorrhagic shock. The green tint to the blood leaking from his ear was cerebrospinal fluid from a traumatic brain injury. When I watched his tattoo fade in the sunlight and lose all color, it was due to internal bleeding. But even if I had been there at the accident with the knowledge I have now, I still wouldn’t have been able to save him. The trauma surgeon who arrived by happenstance had done everything she could. And while he didn’t survive, he left a lasting legacy by donating his organs and giving many others a chance at life.

The Angel on the Harley changed my life forever. After a few weeks of deep reflection, I tried to process everything I had seen and experienced. Somehow, I resurfaced from witnessing this traumatic accident with one fresh gasp of air, one clear-cut realization: I wanted to help others live.

My passion for the health of others crystallized that day on the side of the Pacific Coast Highway. As I studied medicine and eventually became a surgeon, that passion became more refined and focused; not simply cutting into people but encouraging them to have a healthy lifestyle to facilitate a life unconstrained by physical or mental health limitations. To live is to freely experience what the world has to offer, not to be held back by the constraints of poor health, too breathless to climb a hill to admire the view, or too fatigued to embark on adventures with loved ones.

The Angel on the Harley gave me a purpose. I never planned or dreamed any of it, but when life revealed it to me in broad daylight, it was impossible to look away.

Scott Ellner has been a general surgeon for over 20 years, and can be reached at PEAK Health. He has transitioned into health care executive roles due to his passion for patient safety, quality, and value-based care delivery. His authentic leadership style inspires team members to navigate challenging situations, such as resistance to change and innovation, in order to bring about meaningful transformation. Most recently, he served as the CEO of Billings Clinic, the largest health system in Montana. During his tenure, Forbes recognized the clinic as the best place to work in the state. It was also at that time that he formulated a strategic growth plan that included the development of a level 1 trauma network and a rural-based clinically integrated network.

Prior to this role, Dr. Ellner led large physician groups and clinically integrated networks in major health systems. He holds a master’s degree in health care management from the Harvard School of Public Health, a master’s degree in public health from San Diego State University, and he completed his general surgery residency at the University of California, San Diego. Currently, he is enrolled at the University of Oklahoma College of Law, pursuing a health care law degree.