Excerpt: 'Love Always, Petra' by Petra Nemcova

Dec. 5, 2005 — -- In December 2004, Petra Nemcova, a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, was on a romantic trip through Thailand, showing off the country she loved to her boyfriend, Simon Atlee. Then the tsunami struck -- the fierce waves carried Atlee away to an untimely death. Nemcova survived, clinging to a tree with a shattered pelvis.

In her new book, "Love Always, Petra: A Story of Courage and the Discovery of Life's Hidden's Gifts," Nemcova shares her story of how she healed both physically and emotionally from the tragedy. She also tells the story of her rise from a poor Czech teenager to an international modeling success. Below is the prologue from the book.

Prologue

December 26, 2004

Khao Lak, Thailand

10:30 a.m.

Pain.

It brought me back to consciousness, a sharp, agonizing,throbbing pain racking my body, my legs.

My legs.

I opened my eyes and looked down. Black filthy watercovered the lower half of my body. I couldn't even see mylegs. My arms, bare, scratched, bleeding and aching, werewrapped around a palm tree. I was holding on, leaningagainst the trunk. Black, oil-slicked, muddied waterchoked with debris was everywhere. I looked up. The skywas blue, clear, untroubled, the sun was shining. Wherewas I? Where was Simon? What had happened?

I remembered.

Simon and I were in the bungalow when a rush of waterrose up so suddenly there was not even a second to think,a rush of water that came from all directions, hurtling usout into the furious current. For one split second, beforethe water separated us, I saw Simon's face.

"Petra!" he screamed. "Petra! What's happening?"

I couldn't answer. I didn't know. Then I lost sight ofhim. Seconds later, I saw him again, whirling in the tumblingwaters. He was a few yards ahead of me. Behind hima rooftop was sticking out of the water.

"Catch the roof! Catch the roof!" I shouted. Then hewas gone. I don't know whether he heard me or not. Iprayed that he would catch hold. I was sure he would. Hewas a strong swimmer; he had to be okay.

It was impossible to tell in which direction the waterswere streaming. I needed to grab onto something or beswept away. I saw another rooftop. I reached out my arms,and sending out every bit of energy I had, I grabbed theedges and held on. Instantly, my legs were sucked underneath,and everything accumulated by the raging water,the wood and metal objects, all the trash, began slammingagainst my hips and legs. I hung on, screaming with painand fear. I would be crushed into nothing. For the firsttime, I thought of dying.

Miraculously, the pressure of the water began to lessen.I pulled myself up onto the roof. My clothes had been tornfrom my body. I was naked. Then, as quickly as the first,another tremendous wave rose up and poured over therooftop. I lost my grip and was drawn down beneath thewater. Frantically, I flailed my arms, trying to get out fromunder the thick layer of filth between me and the surface.Desperately, I fought to get some air until I had no breathleft. I stopped fighting, stopped struggling, and began swallowingthe inky water. A great feeling of peacefulness cameover me. I surrendered to the calmness. Whatever wasmeant to be, whatever God will decide, it's okay.

At that moment, without any effort on my part, I wasthrust through the barrier of debris to the surface. I threwmy head back and gasped for air. Above me was the blue,blue sky. I was never so happy in my life to see the sky.

I don't remember ever being happier. I was in Thailand, acountry I loved, with my love, Simon Atlee. Simon was a photographer,and we'd been a couple for eighteen months. Wewere going to spend our second Christmas and New Year's togetherin a very special way. Usually, Simon booked our holidays,but this time I did everything. That is, I made all thearrangements through a travel agent in Los Angeles. She wasThai and took particular interest in helping me create the perfectvacation. This was my fifth visit to Thailand and Simon'sfirst; I wanted him to experience with me the lush green of theland, the smells, the sunshine, the ocean, the food explodingwith taste in your mouth, the culture, and most important, thepeople. The Thais are the kindest people I ever met, and itcomes from inside -- it's not learned, it's natural. They put theirhands together and bow their heads to greet you, taking themoment to show respect in such a gentle way. The gracefulnessand peacefulness are addictive, and this land is in my heart. Ithad been nearly three years since my last visit, but the minutewe arrived, I knew I was "home."

At Bangkok International Airport, we changed planes andflew on to the first of our three stops, Chiang Mai. This wasmy first visit to this city, so Simon and I were seeing thingsthrough the same eyes. We went on different tours, includingguided visits to nearby Buddhist temples. One tour guide explainedthat, in the past, there had been a war between theBurmese and the Thais. Bad things happened, but the goodthing was, the Burmese brought Buddhism to Thailand. I aminspired by the gentle teachings of the Buddha, so this was especiallyinteresting to me.

We went to see a giant, seated Buddha on a nearby mountaintop.It wasn't a very touristy place; in fact, Simon and Iwere the only visitors. As is customary in many sacred places,we took off our shoes and went inside on our knees to pay ourrespects. We lit a candle and incense and placed flowers beforethe golden statue. Off to the side, two young monks wearingsaffron robes were seated at a table with a checkerboard on top.The monks were playing checkers with flower petals and brokenmatches for the game pieces. Simon wanted to take a picture,but the minute he took out his camera, the monks puteverything away and ran off. Obviously, they didn't want to getcaught playing games.

We went to see the Long Neck Ladies, tall, thin, and elegantwomen who wear golden rings around their necks. Theserings are a sign of beauty. They are put on starting when thewomen are little girls, and in time their necks stretch up manyinches. I think they are a tribe from Burma.

Simon took lots of pictures, especially of one adorable littlegirl. She kept smiling and repeated every word Simon said.

"Hello."

"Hello."

"Can I take a picture?"

"Can I take a picture?"

"Thank you."

"Thank you."

Simon giggled like a schoolboy.

We went to the umbrella factories and the silk factories andbought presents. We went to see the amazing elephant shows.The elephants play football with their feet, play harmonicaswith their trunks, and most incredible of all, they paint pictureson large pieces of paper. The keepers put brushes in theirtrunks, and the elephants paint with such a concentration -- not all over the place, but very precise. The keepers change thecolors, and the elephants make flowers and trees. It is unbelievable,and even more unbelievable, the paper is made fromelephant dung. Simon bought two of these specially preparedpaintings for his niece and nephew. We fed bananas to the elephantsand played with the cute little babies with the spikyhairs on their heads. Of course, we took an elephant ridethrough the jungle.

Before we left Chiang Mai, Simon and I went to a specialtemple where monks give out cloth bracelets. The threadedcloth comes in one very long piece; the monks tie an endaround your wrist, make a knot, and cut it as they chant aprayer. The bracelet is for protection and once on, must remainuntil it falls off. Women get the bracelet on the left armand men on the right, but for some reason, both of ours wereput on our right arms. When we got back to our hotel room,Simon said his bracelet was in the way and he was going toswitch it to his watch hand. I told him to let it be.

"You're not supposed to undo it. You're not supposed to letit get away from your skin."

"Don't worry, Petra, I'll keep it in close contact with myflesh. It'll be okay."

He kept his arms pressed against each other as he undid thebracelet, slipped it around his left wrist, and quickly knotted itagain.

"See?" He smiled, holding up his arm to show me. "Everything'sokay."

From Chiang Mai we flew south to Phuket, and fromthere we drove an hour and a half to the Khao Lak OrchidResort. Khao Lak is noted for its scuba diving school, andSimon was eager to scuba dive. Recently, I'd had some innerear problems and couldn't dive, but I wanted Simon to enjoyit. We checked into a front-row bungalow on a beautifulstretch of white-sand beach with palm trees everywhere. Thebungalow was a big room with a large bed on one side and asitting area with a table and chairs on the other. At the entrancewas a door to the bathroom. The bathroom had ashuttered window that opened onto the main room. Youcould open the shutters and look out from the bathroomthrough the living room window to the ocean. We stayed thatnight in the bungalow happy to be in paradise together. Wespent the next day playing on the beach, where Thai ladies,carrying cooler boxes, walked up and down, crying, "Pineapple,papaya, watermelon, massage." You could get fruits or amassage or both. There is nothing like a Thai massage -- sorelaxing. I learned how to give them on my first visit, andthough I was good at it, I wanted Simon to experience thereal thing.

Early that evening we checked out of the hotel and went tothe scuba center. From there we took an open van to the harbor,where many boats were lined up side by side. After scramblingover a number of boats, we reached ours. I have to admitI was nervous about climbing from deck to deck in the dark,but holding Simon's hand made me feel safe. Once we got onour boat, we had to remove our shoes, and they stayed off forthe three days we were on board -- I loved it. If I could, I wouldstay barefoot all the time. Simon and I were shown to our livingquarters, a little cabin with bunk beds -- we slept on thebottom spooning happily together. The divers were a mixedgroup -- English, Swedish, American, and Australian -- of abouttwenty-four people, plus the Thai crew.

Every morning there was an on-deck briefing, to go overthe dive site, the currents, the rocks, the depth, the fish, etc.Then you'd suit up, get your oxygen tank, and go over the side.There were four dives a day. I was with Simon every time heprepared for a dive, and I was waiting for him when he cameback. He was so happy; he loved the scuba diving. And he wasmaking everyone else happy, too, with his good spirit and hissilly humor. While Simon was in the water, I read, took somesun, or chatted with the crew. Simon and I never said that wewere a photographer and a model -- we were happy to leave ourpublic lives behind.

We became friendly with a Swedish couple, who at onepoint came over to us carrying a Swedish magazine."Isn't this you?" they asked, opening to a full-page photo. Ihad to admit that it was. You can't keep a secret even in a boatin a harbor in Thailand. Although the others learned that wewere a model and photographer, nobody bothered us; it was avery casual time. In between dives we went snorkeling orswimming in the bay. Diving or snorkeling, everyone gets excitedabout what they've seen. Simon was bubbling over withdetails about his undersea adventures.

The second night, Simon and I sneakily went up on deck,climbed into a hammock, and slept out under the stars. It wasa beautiful experience. Really all we did on that boat was eat,sleep, scuba dive, sunbathe, and make love. It's the best holidayyou can imagine.

On the last morning, December 24, one of the instructorscame out on deck wearing a white beard, a red suit and hat,and full scuba gear. Santa Claus had joined the dive! I took apicture of him and planned to send it to friends as a Christmascard. After lunch we sailed back to Khao Lak and disembarked.

We returned to the diving center, where we droppedoff the equipment and exchanged addresses and telephonenumbers with the others. Simon and I went back to the OrchidHotel. We were given a different bungalow, same layoutand still on the beach, but this little house was in the secondrow. Instead of overlooking the ocean, our room overlookedthe pool.

Before dinner that night Simon and I went to an Internetcafé. The connections were so bad I couldn't send individualmessages, so I e-mailed a group message, something that I'dnever done before. I couldn't put the picture of the scuba Santaon the e-mail, so I just wrote "Merry Christmas." We left thecafé and returned to the hotel for dinner. It was a hilariousevening. People wore silly hats, and there were balloons toblow up and funny competitions for the children, as well as amagician doing his tricks. This was Christmas Eve Thai-style,easy and delightful.

The next morning, Christmas, we woke up late, and wentto the beach, where we spent the day. We swam, we read, andwe played. We found a coconut and tossed it around like afootball. We took a stick and played tic-tac-toe and hangmanin the sand. Everything was laid-back; we were like kids. Wesat on the beach in the late afternoon talking about the future.I asked Simon what his wishes were now, what hewanted to accomplish next. He thought a moment and thenanswered.

"Everything I dreamed of doing, I've done. I think I'veachieved all my goals."

Just before dinner we called our family and friends. Simonspoke to his mother and his sister, Jodi. He told them howmuch he loved Thailand and how much he loved them.

"I'm so happy," he said, "and I'm so in love." He looked atme with his beautiful blue eyes and handed me the phone.

"You should see Siddy," I said. Siddy was Simon's nickname."His eyes are shining."

That night we had dinner on the beach on plastic tables underneatha roof of palm leaves. There was a barbecue pit madefrom half a tin drum. We had fresh fish grilled with deliciousThai spices, chicken satay on skewers with delectable peanutsauce, and many varieties of vegetables and fruits. I've dined infive-star restaurants around the world, but none were betterthan this feast.

After the meal we sat at the plastic table and talked by candlelight. We looked out at the ocean and at the starsshining in the dark sky. I brought up the subject of children,and for the first time, we spoke about how many wewould have together. We decided that we'd have two andadopt at least one. We had been talking about marriage fora while, and Simon had asked me for a signal to let himknow he could propose. We established that when I startedtalking about children, it would be an indication that Iwas ready for marriage. Children became our "c"-word. Itwasn't a question of "commitment"; it was a matter of timing.I wanted to continue my modeling for a while. WheneverI talked about children, and the subject came up oftenbecause I adore them, Simon would smile and say, "Be careful,Petra, that's the forbidden word." That evening he didn'tsay anything. It was a confirmation that both of us wereready.

We went back to our little bungalow, where we curledup together on the bed and watched movies. Because Igrew up under a communist regime and was unfamiliarwith Hollywood films, Simon was giving me a crash coursein great old movies. One of my presents was a DVD ofWhite Christmas. We put it on and cuddled. We saw abouta quarter of the movie before we turned out the lights andfell asleep in each other's arms.

At 7:30 the next morning Simon woke me with softkisses.

"Do you want to finish the movie or go for a walk on thebeach?" he asked.

"Let's watch for half an hour, then we can go to thebeach."

We turned on the TV and watched, cuddling andspooning. We didn't watch it all because we wanted to gofor an early morning stroll, something that we hadn't yetdone. We got dressed, left the bungalow, and headedtoward the water. How beautiful and still the morning was!The warm sunshine kept us company as we walked alongthe beach. The tide was quite low. I knew there was a fullmoon around that time and that the moon moves the watersaround the world, so I didn't pay much attention.

Every so often, we would start to sing "Sisters, Sisters" fromthe movie. Lucky for us, no one else was on the beach, becausewe were the worst singers. We took a brisk walk andthen went back to the bungalow. We were leaving in twohours for Koh Lanta, our final Thai destination. Simonwent into the bathroom, and I started to pack. I was wearinga bathing suit and standing with my right side towardthe window.

What did I hear first?

I think it was the screams. Hideous shrieks filled the air.Out of the corner of my eye I saw people running. I put myhead up and looked out. Men, women, and children weredashing helter-skelter, some jumping into the pool—therewas no concept of running in one direction. Next camesteady ear-splitting, crack-cracking thunderclaps ofhideous noise as bungalows, buildings, everything crumbledbefore the onslaught of flooding waters. One minuteI was packing a suitcase, the next second I was fighting formy life.

That's how fast it was.

10:35 a.m.

Released from under the thick layer of accumulatedtrash, I was back in the rushing current. I had to find somethingpermanent to hold on to. Ahead of me, I saw a palmtree sticking out of the water.

Okay, I have to catch it. I have to catch it, I said to myself,or maybe aloud.

No use. I swept by the tree so quickly I couldn't eventouch it. No time for despair, another tree was in my path.

Again, try again. Get your arms out!

As the debris-choked water rushed me past the tree,I grabbed at a branch, curled my fingers around it, andheld on with every bit of strength I had. It was enough.The waters rushed on. I stayed and began to pull myselfcloser to the tree. The water was below my chest, and Icould feel another branch beneath my feet. I tried tostand on it. It was too painful. I couldn't do it. I hungon to the upper branch trying not to get pulled away bythe current and at the same time, trying different positionsto relieve my agony. By the intensity of the pain,I knew bones were broken. I maneuvered my back towardthe tree trunk in order to brace myself against itand let my legs float out in front. I managed to hold thisposition, and it did ease the pain. The water, which hadcaused all this horror, was now helping by cushioningmy body.

It didn't last. A couple of hours later the floodwatersstarted to recede; my legs were no longer being supported.As they lowered down, the pain became more intense. Ihad to keep moving my body to find the most comfortableposition, and at the same time, I had to make sure my legsdidn't get trapped by the debris. I lay down on the branchwith my legs stretched out. Every movement brought excruciatingpain. The air was full of horrible sounds, crashing,smashing, violent sounds. I was terrified that theymeant another wave was coming. I heard the tree cracking,and for a moment I thought that the weight of the trashsurrounding me would cause the tree to collapse and takeme under the water again.

Dear God, I prayed, please, dear God, don't let anotherwave come.

I looked around. I couldn't see anything -- a jumble offloating objects blocked my vision -- but I could hearpeople crying out. Two women were on a tree behind me.I knew there were two because one was speaking English,the other was speaking Thai. They were screaming forhelp. In the distance I heard a child crying; after a halfhour or so, the crying stopped. I was thinking of all thepeople, of Simon, and I was sending energy to them,praying for them, and hoping for the best. It helped meto stay focused.

Time passed. The sky stayed blue, and the sun beatdown. Cuts and scratches covered my arms and legs, noneof them very deep. Even so, the water was bloody aroundme. I thought I must have been having internal bleeding,but I put it out of my mind. For many hours the watersteadily lowered. I eased myself down with the water, stayingon top of it to help soften the pain. I kept splashingwater in my face so I wouldn't faint. I know I must havedrifted off quite a few times. Once, I was brought back intoconsciousness by a tickling, pinching sensation on my leftleg. I looked down and saw a little crab crawling around myankle. I couldn't reach it because I couldn't move, so Ibroke off a branch from the tree and tried to get the crabonto it. I wanted to set him down somewhere where hecould crawl. Every creature has a right to live, even a littlecrab.

As the water receded, I saw that a patch of mud hadformed below me and I tried to get on it. I hung on to thetree branch and began lowering myself. The stabs of painstopped me. I couldn't do it. I passed out. The sun wokeme. It was so very strong. My whole body was hot, and thescratches were stinging. I splashed water on myself, thatfilthy black water. I put my head down and passed outagain. When I awoke, I saw that the water had gone downso far I couldn't reach it anymore -- nothing to ease thestings of my flesh. It was now getting toward evening.Soon the sun would go down. The day had been filled withthe sounds of people crying and screaming for help. I didn'tcall out. I knew that screaming wouldn't help, and I had tosave my energy. Did anyone know we were there? Even thehelicopters that eventually flew over went off quickly. I rememberthinking there must be many people worse off, sothe helicopters should go where they were most needed.

It was around 6:00 p.m. when I heard different kinds ofcalls. "Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello."

These weren't cries for help; they were cries of help.

The others around me began screaming, "Here! I'mhere!"

"Here, I'm here!" I was screaming, too.

In the distance I saw two Thai men pushing their waythrough the chest-high water toward me.

"I'm here! I'm here!"

They reached me, and I was so happy I burst into tears.

"Kop Khun Kha, Kop Khun Kha. Thank you. Thank youfor coming," I cried.

The men bowed and smiled. They didn't speak English.One man opened a can of juice for me. It had been nearlyeight hours since I'd had anything to drink. I was lying flatout and couldn't sit, so he helped me swallow by holdingmy head up. The other man was wearing swimming trunkswith swimming shorts over them. He took off the outer pairand tried to slip them over my legs. I had forgotten mynakedness.

"I can't. Thank you, I can't put them on," I told him. "Ican't move my legs."

The poor man was trying so hard to cover me. And I wasso not caring about it. He stopped his attempt to clothe meand laid the shorts over my lap. I pointed to my pelvis."Broken, broken."

Both men nodded their heads, their faces full of compassion.How brave these men were to put others' safetyahead of their own and to come back into the ever-threatening danger. I soon learned that many people weredoing the same thing. Again the men tried to help me up.I screamed.

"I can't sit up."

One of them motioned with his hands, asking if hecould give me a piggyback ride.

"No, no, no," I cried. "Not possible. Too painful, toopainful."

They looked at each other and then at me. I understoodthat they could do no more; they would have to go andbring back more help -- at least I hoped they would. I motionedto the man who had covered me with his shorts, askingif I could have his T-shirt. Immediately, he took it offand tried to put it on me. I shook my head. "No, no." I didn'twant to wear it, I wanted to use it. The water had gone solow, I couldn't reach it with my arm anymore.

I took the shirt, let it fall into the dirty water, andthen drew the dripping cloth up to my face. It felt sogood, so refreshing, that filthy water. The men bowedand went off. I dropped the shirt again, pulled it up, andrubbed the dripping cloth over my neck, my breasts, andmy arms. On my right wrist, muddied and shredded, wasthe bracelet from the Chiang Mai temple. I lay back, putthe wet shirt over my face and chest, and closed my eyes.I read once that when people are dying, their whole lifeis flashing before them. I wasn't so sure I was dying, butwhile I waited, and prayed for help to return—for bothmyself and all the others—I began to think about Simonfirst and then my mother, my father, my sister, mygrandfather, my grandmothers, my friends... my work.I believe that there is a pattern to life, and lying there,cradled in the palm tree, I could see how what hadgone before in my life was making it possible for me tosurvive.