Read: The ‘unfortunate family’ of American shooting survivors

Miraculously, he survived. It took him about a year to recover from the injuries. At first, he was breathing with the help of a tube and unable to talk, blinking once for “yes.” Doctors plucked bullets from his body during multiple surgeries. He relearned how to walk. He couldn’t return to his job as a refrigeration mechanic, because he lost coordination in one of his hands; however, a $5.5 million settlement with the sheriff’s office and the corrections department staved off financial concerns.

It’s profound luck that Theoharis can be counted among the tens of thousands of Americans injured by guns each year, and not the thousands killed by them in homicide cases. Nevertheless, luck only goes so far. In the years since the shooting, Theoharis has grappled with lingering injuries and the emotional toll of such violence. Though upbeat and optimistic, he’s still figuring out how to navigate his spared life.

Over the summer, I drove out to meet Theoharis in Puyallup, Washington, where he owns a duplex not far from where he grew up. He and his girlfriend, Tara Miller, rent out one of the house’s units and spend a few months in the other each year. Mostly, they live in Arizona, where Theoharis used some of his settlement money to buy a second house and escape the gloomy weather. He says the cold makes his body ache, but he and Miller love to return to the Pacific Northwest during the brief window that the gray skies cede to the sun.

When I arrived, Theoharis welcomed me at the door. Their home was neat and furnished with a comfortable sectional in front of a large flat-screen TV. Golf was on, and quiet pops punctuated our introductions as balls sailed across the green. Dressed in a T-shirt, shorts, and socks, Theoharis perched on the edge of the couch and fidgeted with an e-cigarette as he told me about life after the shooting. If someone can have an aw-shucks attitude about besting 16 bullets, Theoharis is that self-effacing survivor. He shrugged and chuckled as he recalled the time that he pulled a forgotten bullet from under his left arm as if he were tweezing a splinter.

But Theoharis’s body remains vulnerable. Miller, standing behind her boyfriend, widened her eyes and shook her head at me as Theoharis mused about skittering across the lake on a wakeboard or water skis, as he used to. She returned to the kitchen, where she was working, after he waved away the idea; he’s too afraid of wiping out and smacking his face on the water. His jaw already hurt just from talking too much, he said. He’s more fragile now. He avoids moving heavy objects. Running is hard on his joints, but sometimes he rides an exercise bike. He golfs a lot.

That Theoharis can do anything in the first place is a matter of chance. “You can be shot once and die, or you can be shot multiple times and live,” says Eileen Bulger, a surgery professor at the University of Washington and the trauma chief at Harborview Medical Center. “It very much depends on where the bullets go and how much damage is caused in the path of the bullet.” Even when someone survives, being shot can cause lifelong nerve damage, bowel obstructions, or other problems. What doesn’t kill you can still shorten your life span.