Excerpt: 'Why I Jumped' by Tina Zahn

Oct. 10, 2006 — -- In July 2004, in the throes of postpartum depression, Tina Zahn sped to the top of Leo Frigo Memorial Bridge in Green Bay, Wis.

She got out of her car, walked to the edge of the bridge and jumped.

In a miracle of timing and sheer will, state trooper Les Boldt grabbed Zahn's wrist before she plunged into the water, pulling her back to earth and saving her life.

"Why I Jumped" is the story of what led Zahn to the bridge on that summer day and what happened after her suicide attempt. Compelling and full of suspense, "Why I Jumped" is a riveting true story of depression, redemption and hope.

Read an excerpt from "Why I Jumped" below:

Prologue

July 19, 2004Green Bay, Wisconsin

"Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?"

Tucking the cell phone under his chin, Daniel Zahnwhipped the steering wheel to the left, making a sharp turn,cutting off the highway and across the median. His Durangobounced, skidding across the grass as he accelerated.

"My wife. She's going to jump!"

"I'm sorry, sir. Your wife is going to jump what?"

"The Tower Drive Bridge. She's going to jump off the bridge!"

His tires caught pavement, the car fishtailing a bit before lurchingforward, nearly knocking his cell phone off his shoulder.He grabbed it. "You have to stop her!"

"Can you tell me where you are, sir?"

Frustration and rising panic surged through Daniel as hewatched his wife's car up ahead of him weave through thetraffic and disappear.

"On 29 . . . a couple miles east of Packerland.She's heading for 41."

"And where are you, sir?"

"Westbound on . . ."

No, that wasn't right. He'd made a U-turnafter spotting Tina's car and was now racing to catch up with her.

"Eastbound on 29. I'm in a Durango. She's driving a whiteOldsmobile Aurora."

"Can you see her?"

"No . . . Yes! She's getting in the left-turn lane at Packerland.I think she may be heading home."

Relief rushed over him,nearly snatching his breath away, but it was short-lived. Hewatched in disbelief as Tina whipped her car around waitingtraffic and shot through the intersection.

"No! She didn't turn! She didn't turn! She's going for thebridge!"

Parked in a vacant grocery store lot, Sergeant Bill Morgankept half an ear on the radio as he filled out paperwork. Suddenlyhe heard dispatch call him.

"Headquarters, four-Ida, Lincoln one-ninety-two."

Grabbing the mic, he checked in. "Four-Ida."

Immediately he heard Deputy Bill Roche check in as well.

"One-ninety-two."

"10-4, Ida. We have a 98 Olds Aurora, white. There is a suicidalfemale in the vehicle going ninety miles per hour at thistime on 29 eastbound. Severely depressed. Subject's husbandis on the line. She's coming up on Packerland."

Thirty-odd years of training kicked in as Sergeant Morganturned his car onto Highway 29, coaching his deputies intotheir places like football players, well-trained team membersknowing their part of the drill and carrying it out like the prosthey were. He'd known of others who had jumped from thatbridge and didn't survive. There was no way he was going tolet the Fox River claim another victim if he could help it.

Just as he pulled his squad car up on the ramp to 41 to watchfor the white Oldsmobile, an unmarked state trooper's car wentscreaming past, lights flashing and sirens blaring. He grabbedhis mic as his foot hit the accelerator.

"I think her car just wentby. Is someone behind her in an unmarked squad car?"

"10-4, Ida. State car is behind her. She's passing cars on theshoulder."

"I'm right behind him." Morgan glanced down at his speedometeras he hit his siren. Seventy miles per hour and climbing.

Eighty. Ninety. And still he couldn't catch up. And the ramp forHighway 43 was coming up fast. Hitting his brakes, he swungover into the right lane.

Suddenly dispatch barked into the radio. "State Police OfficerBoldt is right behind her, but she isn't pulling over. She'sincreased speed. All units be advised. She is heading for thebridge."

The dump truck in front of Morgan slowed down for thetreacherous S-turn on the exit ramp, either ignoring or unableto hear the sirens right behind him. Morgan moved a little tothe left, hoping to get the truck driver's attention, but the effortwas wasted. The truck merely slowed into the turn, leaving noroom for Morgan to slide past him.

Slamming his hand on the steering wheel, he eased back towait for his chance to get around the dump truck. He couldonly pray there was enough time. Once he hit the bottom ofthe ramp, it would be just over a mile to the bridge.

Seconds felt like minutes. As he monitored his deputies,received updates on the suicidal woman, and impatiently followedthe dump truck, Bill Morgan felt his heart poundinginto overdrive.

When they reached the bottom of the ramp, Bill glanced inhis mirrors, saw the opening, and shot out onto Highway 43.Up ahead he could see Boldt's lights flashing. He pressed downon the accelerator, taking the squad car to the limit. Ninety.One hundred. One-ten. One-twenty.

He hit the bottom of the bridge and saw the state policecar skid to a stop at the top of the bridge. "No. No. No." Heglanced in his rearview mirror and saw another car—lightsflashing—right on his tail.

He grabbed his mic. "We're on the bridge."

Slamming on the brakes, he skidded to a stop next to Boldt'scar. There was no sign of the woman. And no sign of TrooperBoldt. His heart fell, and he reported back to dispatch. "Shejumped!"

A Few Thoughts . . .If you're not prepared, the drama of this book could wear youout. It's my real-life drama, dealing with postpartum depression(PPD) and the traumas I have endured throughout my life.Many women who suffer from postpartum depression getover it quickly. They had a good childhood and no other psychologicalissues, and not long after giving birth, the chemicalimbalance they experienced returns to normal. End of story.But if there are other emotional traumas that haven't beendealt with, the postpartum trigger can drop a huge emotionalbomb into a woman's life.

I'm the first to admit that some aspects of my story are extreme.I didn't just have PPD. I had PPD as well as long-termsexual abuse by someone I trusted. I didn't experience onlyPPD and sexual abuse, but my mother rejected me when shediscovered the abuse. I didn't experience only the PPD, thesexual abuse, and the rejection, but the residual effects of thesethings led to my making bad decisions, which in turn producedother hurtful events. It was a never-ending cycle that led meto the bridge that morning.

I'm not writing this book so that people will feel sorry forme. Rather, I want this book to give someone else hope, thehope that she can be a survivor and start living a happy andwhole life. And while this book will firmly address the importantissue of PPD, my problems were much bigger than that.They stemmed from childhood trauma, emotional triggers,unresolved pain, abandonment, marital dilemmas, and faithtrials. But my story is also about many great friends, successes,setbacks, and finally a road filled with hope. My story is abouta lifetime packaged with pain, and how through the gift offriendship, a strong measure of faith, a loving spouse, and somegood medications, I have progressed from wanting to end itall to having much more to look forward to than I could everhave imagined.

What I want to say is this: if I can make it through all of thetraumas I've gone through, you or your loved one can too!It wasn't easy. It didn't happen overnight. But the processwas worth it, every painful step. And while I know that I amnot yet 100 percent out of the woods emotionally, I also knowthat few people are. We all carry baggage that affects us in ouradult years.

I've changed the names of many people in this book toprotect their privacy. I've tried to tell my story to the best ofmy ability and recollection. For parts of the story, I've had torely on others to fill in the gaps of my memory or for informationI didn't know at the time the events were happening. Forinstance, when you read my account of the jump later in thebook, I obviously didn't know the officers' names at the timethey were pursuing me, but it is easier to tell the story now byidentifying them by name.

If you're experiencing any kind of abuse or depression, it isessential for you to seek professional advice, whether medical,psychological, or legal. Nothing in this book is intended toprovide specific advice for your situation. It is simply a tellingof my own story.

I'm going to start where my story begins. And if you'll staywith me, you'll see how hope begins and how happy endingsare possible. And I think you'll see that God did a miracle inme and in my family.

Because of the grip of a caring and brave policeman, I'vebeen given a second chance at life. And because of that, I getto experience the joy of two precious children, my husband,and my friends, joy that I would have missed out on had I beensuccessful in jumping two hundred feet to my death.You know some of the ending—I'm still here! But the storyhas a beginning, an all too familiar beginning. So let's startthere, just a few months after my fifth birthday. I had beenexcited about starting school, but that excitement was wipedout, and each day at school became little more than a temporaryreprieve from my suffering. When I was only five, all myjoy, innocence, and naïveté were shattered, and life became aliving nightmare.