Thirty-six hours before surgeons wheel him into the operating room for the fifth time, Hunter Alexander isn’t focused on his own hands.
He’s focused on the brotherhood.
Less than two days before another critical procedure aimed at saving what function doctors can in his severely injured hands, Hunter is asking supporters for something unexpected: don’t forget the others. The men who stood beside him during the devastating ice storm. The linemen who climbed poles in freezing rain. The ones who were restoring power when everything went wrong.
Names like Denny McGuff.
Names like Dakota Hudson.
And many more whose stories haven’t reached headlines.
That’s who Hunter is.
A Small Night of Rest Before a Big Morning
Overnight, there was a modest but meaningful development. After days of relentless discomfort, doctors adjusted his medication slightly to better manage pain and improve rest. For the first time in several nights, Hunter was able to sleep longer than expected.
It may not sound dramatic. It won’t trend. It isn’t a miracle headline.
But in homes walking through medical trauma, rest is everything.
Surgery is still scheduled for Monday morning. The goal remains the same: preserve tissue, prevent further complications, and give Hunter the best possible chance at long-term recovery. Each procedure carries risk. Each one represents both hope and uncertainty.
And yet, inside the house where his family waits, the emotional weight isn’t centered on one man alone.
It’s on a calling.
The Reality of Linemen Injuries
When powerful ice storms cripple communities, most people see the aftermath: downed trees, dark neighborhoods, silent refrigerators, cold homes.
What they don’t see is the risk.
Linemen step into environments filled with unstable structures, live wires, unpredictable currents, and weather conditions that can turn deadly in seconds. Electrical trauma is not like a broken bone. It can burn internally while leaving minimal surface damage. It can destroy tissue beneath the skin. It can compromise organs. Recovery often stretches months — sometimes years.
Hunter understands that reality intimately now.
He knows the long hospital stays. The repeated operations. The uncertainty of whether hands that once gripped heavy cables will ever fully function again.
And that’s precisely why his mind isn’t only on himself.
A Brotherhood That Doesn’t Walk Alone
The culture among linemen is built on trust. When you climb, someone is holding the line below. When you step into danger, someone has your back. That bond doesn’t disappear after an accident.
As the clock ticks toward surgery #5, Hunter has been asking about the others. Checking on their progress. Wondering how their families are holding up. Hoping the public remembers that multiple households were changed forever by the same storm.
Because when one falls, they all feel it.
His family says that’s been one of the most humbling parts of this journey — watching someone facing the possibility of permanent hand damage worry about whether his fellow workers are receiving enough support.
It’s not about heroism. It’s about character.
What Happens Next
Monday morning will come quickly.
Surgeons will scrub in. Lights will glare overhead. Consent forms have already been signed. The procedure will focus again on delicate reconstruction and preservation — doing everything possible to protect mobility and prevent further loss.
There are no guarantees.
There never have been.
But there is faith. There is grit. And there is a growing community of people following updates, sharing prayers, and offering words of strength.
Hunter’s family has made one thing clear: they are grateful. Grateful for the messages. Grateful for the quiet financial support. Grateful for strangers who have taken time to say his name.
Yet if they could expand that circle of support, they would.
Not just for him.
For every lineman injured in that storm.
The Families Behind the Headlines
Serious workplace injuries don’t just impact one body. They ripple outward.
Spouses shift into caregiver roles overnight. Children watch routines change. Parents carry fear they can’t fix. Financial pressures build. The emotional toll compounds with every procedure date circled on a calendar.
And often, these families walk that road quietly.
No viral video. No national coverage. Just hospital corridors, medical jargon, and the long wait outside operating rooms.
Hunter’s upcoming surgery has brought attention back to the broader reality these families face. Recovery from electrical trauma is rarely linear. Progress can be measured in inches. In reduced swelling. In the ability to move one finger slightly more than yesterday.
Small progress.
But real.
A Request Before Monday
Before the anesthesiologist places a mask over his face.
Before surgeons begin their careful work again.
Before his hands are once more placed in theirs.
His family has one simple request:
Pray not just for Hunter.
Pray for every injured lineman.
Pray for the families navigating this season without spotlight or applause.
Support doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful.
Sometimes it’s a message. Sometimes it’s a shared post. Sometimes it’s simply remembering that while lights come back on across neighborhoods, the men who restore them may carry scars long after.
One Question Remains
As Monday approaches and surgery #5 becomes reality, there’s a question his loved ones are quietly asking the community:
What would you want Hunter — and every lineman fighting to recover — to know right now?
That they are seen?
That their sacrifice matters?
That their brotherhood extends far beyond the job site?
Moments like this redefine strength. Not the kind that climbs poles in freezing rain — though that matters. But the kind that, facing uncertainty, still turns outward and says: don’t forget the others.
The full update is in the comments below.
And before the operating room doors close again, your words may be the encouragement that carries them through.
