Just about everyone who knows me knows about the crash I was in a year ago. If you don't and you care to read this, then let me fill you in.
On May 2nd, exactly a year ago today, I was in a head on collision while on my way to work. I was driving a '94 Oldsmobile 88 Royale LS, and I hydroplaned, skid on loose gravel, then impacted an '03 Chevy Blazer head on. We were both going about 45-50 MPH.
The crash damn near killed me, and laid me up for a good while, at least, as far as I am concerned.I could not move for about 2 days, being laid up on my back. I ripped the meat between every rib, separating them all, and I had my femurs rammed into my hip sockets so hard that it shredded the cartilidge, and almost snapped my hip sockets off. My left shin bones were fractured, and I suffered a concussion. My shoulders were bruised and tweaked, and still give me trouble, as do my hips and shins.
That morning, I left my house at 6:55 AM, and my car stopped at 7:47 AM. It was raining lightly after a late night/early morning heavy downpour. There were puddles and gravel all over the road, and the water was oily, from the gravel plant it flowed from.
Now, all of this is fine and dandy, of course. But this morning, the anniversary of the wreck... It was raining lightly after a late night/early morning downpour. I had to stop by Wal-Mart, to get some lunch for later today, and so I left a bit earlier, at 6:55. When I got all the way to work, and stopped my car, it was 7:47. That kinda made me think about it all day. After work, I went to start my car...... nothing. Not a damn thing. The wires had popped loose from my battery, but it still struck me as a bit odd. The weather, the date, the times, and now, my car not running... It was all alot of coincidence.
Anyhow, I got my car back to running, and I started home, thinking about the morning I almost died, and I came up with something I believe in very strongly.
In this life, there are two things that should never, ever be refused to someone, if their intentions are pure. One is advice, when asked, and another is a cigarette.
That may seem shallow at first, but think about it for a moment, and use this as a kind of mood/guide.
I was laying there, on my back, people huddled around me, in the rain, the ticking, smoking wreck of the only vehical I had ever owned not a dozen paces from me. I felt like I should be dead, and that feeling was intensifying as the adrenaline wore off. I hurt so very bad, and I knew that my life, as I knew it, was pretty damn fucked. There was a man who had helped me once I pulled myself out of the wreck, by helping to haul me up the embankment with another manb, and he was very very distressed. He didn't like the sight of blood, and I was covered in it, and he was worried that the ambulance wasn't going to be there in time. He asked about five people if he could have a cigarette, since he had left his at home. I remember this very very clearly. Each and every time, they all told him that the didn't have any, and there was a man who had even opened a new pack, lit one, and then put the pack away, then lied and said he didn't have any more. I reached into my pocket, and pulled out my pack, and gave the man a cigarette. After the ambulance arrived, I wasn't allowed to smoke any more (fuckers...) but in retrospect, the thought struck me. Perhaps it's not a cigarette.... By the cigarette is a symbol. One should never begrudge someone something that costs you little, if it will bring them peace, and you won't miss it.
Now, as I was being driven to the hospital, I asked the technician advice on several thing, all of them in hius feild. Should I lay still, should I move my leg, should I try to get comfortable and stop the pain, should I not talk, should I do this, that, dot do this, not do that. He refused, for legal reasons, to give me any advice. If he advised me wrong before a doctor could examine me, then he'd be liable, and he wouldn't have that.
I didn't give a fuck about the advice. i was terrified that i was going to get the the hospital and have ruptured intestines, a punctured lung, a bruised heart, (turns out the only organ damage I had was bruised lungs... those suck badly.) or any number of other things. I was terrified of needing surgery. I just wanted someone to talk to while I was trussed up in those thrice damned braces. He refused, so as to not make himself liable.
Now, legally, I understand. But it was still not the most comforting and compassionate thing in the world that he could have done. it made me feel even more alone when I was already so shaken up that I could barely even think.
I am sure that there will be conflicting thoughts, but this is just something that I feel I needed to say. Kind of a way to mark the day that I was almost cased in an aluminum coffin.
Happy anniversary me. It's good to be alive.
