Idle Afternoon

Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen) was an original essay by Mary Schmich and made famous by Baz Luhrmann when he turned it into a speaking song. In it the listener is given a plethora of advice relating to how one should live their life. One piece is not to worry about the future, “The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind. The kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.”

On Tuesday the 13^th of July, at 4:23pm I was hit by a car while crossing a street. It certainly wasn’t something that I had worried about, though it ended up being a turning point in my life and ultimately saved me in more ways than one.

I’ve written about this event several times: poems, journal rants, autobiographical essays, brief Facebook posts, but I’ve never posted anything encompassing the entire thing.

I know it isn’t Thursday for a throwback post, but on this the ninth anniversary of the day, I decided it was time to share my deeper emotional journey as well as how a terrible situation can turn out to be one of the most valuable moments. Please be warned there are some gruesome images.

13 July 2010

I always loved Davis in spring, the sunlight painting the youthful leaves yellow and the warm breeze flying past me on my bike. There were baby squirrels on every grass patch and sometimes on the cement darting between tires. After months of dreary rain, it was a relief to don the shorts and lounge about outside.

Summer was an entirely different affair. It was hot, sticky, and utterly unbearable. Except for a few golden days when a cool spell swept through and life was pleasant again. It was on one such day that I went to meet my friend Pryia for strawberry Nutella crepes…the best!

I had parked my car directly across the street from Crepeville and pulled my phone out to alert Pryia of my arrival. At the corner of the unmarked crosswalk I looked up and saw a green car in the distance. It had plenty of space to stop so I started walking and looked the opposite direction. There was a gold car that did not appear to be slowing down. I stopped to wait for the driver to acknowledge me. He began to brake, and I stepped forward.

There was a sound. Above everything, that is what I remember the most. I can’t exactly describe the noise, but to this day it haunts my dreams and jolts me awake. It was the sound of metal striking bone, of air being forced from my lungs, and my body falling into oblivion.

I was on the ground gasping, gasping to no avail. A woman was screaming, “Breathe! Talk to me! Breathe!”

“I can’t.” The thought stopped at my lips; there was nothing to carry the sound.

The air burned as it found its way to my lungs. I coughed, choking it in as quickly as I could. The ability to breathe brought my attention to other things. Questions I couldn’t bring myself to finish: Did I just? No. What? Did that just…no. I’ve been…it can’t be. It’s not real. Is it real? Is this happening?

I had been on my side when I regained consciousness, someone had forced me onto my back and was holding my head. Paralyzed. I jerked to move my hands and feet. The worst thing a person can do, but I had to know. They worked; I refused to consider paralysis might set in later.

Every breath was insanity, pain beyond anything I had ever experienced. My rational, lifeguard, mother hen brain took over: where was my cell phone, my purse, my shoes, someone needed to call my mom. Lying there on the ground I attempted to take control of the situation, to bring order to the chaos of disjointed voices and concerns.

A man recovered my phone and called my mother. He stuttered trying to explain I had an accident. In the end, words were lost to him and after a few moments he placed the phone near my ear. I hadn’t asked to speak with her, I didn’t want to. It was taking everything in me to endure the pain. Why couldn’t someone else tell her?

The position of the phone made it difficult to hear.

“Mom?” I don’t remember what she said in return. “I’m alright…I was hit by a car.” It was the first time I had said it in its entirety. And it was saying it that unleashed the tears. Soft, quiet, chilling tears crept their way through my body and out my eyes like hordes of tiny spiders. Each gasp meant to reign them in sent pain tearing through my chest. She asked if I wanted her to come. I did but I didn’t want to be an inconvenience and told her I would be fine.

The truth: I was nowhere near fine and really could have used my mom.

Sirens were ringing in the distance. I didn’t realize at the time they were coming for me. Silent water leaked from my eyes like a broken faucet. All I could do was breathe and wish I would wake up.

I was strapped to a backboard and lifted into an ambulance. The last kind person I would meet for some time was the paramedic who attended me. He let me call Pryia. She had seen me in the road but refused to believe it was me, telling herself it was only someone who looked like me. She said not to worry, she would let my other friends know and meet me at the hospital.

At the UC Davis Medical Center ER, I was wheeled into a white and grey room, still attached to the plastic backboard that had grown warm with the touch of my skin. They slipped off my dress and wrapped a hospital gown over my body. I don’t know why they didn’t cut my clothes off, it seemed simpler.

The curtain was drawn, and I was left alone.   

 A large, metal vehicle had just collided with my body. I knew I was bleeding in several places, my head was throbbing, each breath was a physical struggle, and I didn’t know if there was any internal damage. I couldn’t turn my head or sit up. I was utterly helpless, and completely possessed by an inescapable fear.

Icy hands of panic gripped my throat, and earthquakes raged through my body as torrents streamed from my eyes. I wanted to scream; I wanted to cry harder. My breaths were quick and shallow. What was going to happen to me? What had happened to me? What if there was internal bleeding and I died alone in that room before they discovered it?

That was the first panic attack of my life. It would be eight years before I experienced another, unrelated. Reason is lost in those moments, all that remains is terror, destitution, anxiety, emptiness. It feels like you’re falling into a black void and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it.

The curtain slid open as a nurse came to check one of my fluids.

My face was soaked, and my voice cracked as I choked out the plea, “Please…d-don’t l-l-leave me a-a-lone.”

She glanced down for half a second with unfeeling eyes and snapped, “You’re not alone.”

I wasn’t human, not to her. I was an inanimate object, another slab of meat to stick needles into and promptly dismiss from thought. She walked away, and I suppose some part of her robot heart heard my cry, because she left the curtain open.

Salvation arrived with my friends: Pryia was the first, followed closely by Matt and Mayank. Lastly, Shannon got there and faithfully remained by my side until I was released.

Hours ticked by. I had been relocated to the hallway, so the rooms were ready for an unexpected catastrophe that never occurred. I greeted each nurse and doctor with a smile, biting back the agony, and hoping that my kindness would awaken them to the fact that I was human. It didn’t.

The pain killers created a desperate thirst. The answer was always the same, “Sure, I’ll be right back.” The ER was quiet, yet no one had time to remember the water. My body ached as my mouth turned to sandpaper, and eventually I was crying again. This time it wasn’t the pain; it was thirst.

Among the various x-rays and MRIs, I had to have my elbow cleaned out and the joint examined. It had broken both the windshield and my fall when I hit the ground. This was my chance; I told the doctor I would like some water before the procedure. He jovially agreed, seemingly surprised that no one had brought me any before that point.

As he walked off I turned to Shannon and said, “if he thinks he’s sticking that needle in my arm without water, he is crazy.”

He forgot, but the look on my face reminded him because he turned around and came back with a large cup. The elation that swept through me with that first sip was beyond measure. I felt like I could face the world. I was naïve.

After one doctor scrubbed and picked at my matted flesh in a vain attempt* to remove all the glass and debris, the Water-Doctor returned with an intern. I was informed that the intern would be inserting the needle into my joint to release fluid and assure that no gravel had gotten into the socket.

*I say it was a vain attempt because I have pulled over five pieces of glass out of my elbow since the accident. The largest was over a centimeter; the most recent was earlier this year.

Three minutes later I was writhing in pain. The needle was the size of a ball point pen tip, and the intern kept missing the insertion point. While my screams echoed through the hallway, a nurse casually walked over and told me to straighten my opposite arm so she could change my IV. Guess she didn’t notice the needle being repeatedly plummeted into my elbow, or the cries erupting from my throat, or even the fact that every muscle in my body was contracting in pain. Na, she just needed me to straighten my arm, no big deal.

At last it was finished. A thin layer of perspiration covered my brow. I felt like Wesley after the machine has been tested on him in The Princess Bride, lying there whimpering.

Once more the hours ticked by. Stitches were necessary but impossible, there was nothing left to put them in. An MRI was cancelled, and I was told I did not have a concussion…odd considering I had intense vertigo for three months following the accident, and issues with dizziness that continue to this day. A doctor approved me for food, though per usual the nurses lounging around chit-chatting were too busy to bring me anything.

Then a miracle happened; an intern dressed in yellow brought me three packets of saltine crackers. I could scarcely believe it and thanked her profusely as she looked me in the eye and nodded. It was the first time all night that I had felt human.

By that point, my tolerance for the doctors and nurses was fast fading. So, when a nurse who had just been down the corridor munching on a sandwich and laughing with one of her coworkers tried to tell me I couldn’t be eating; I nearly bit her head off. I snapped right back at her that I had indeed been given the “ok” to eat so she could just bugger off! Well, that’s not exactly what I said, but I wasn’t polite.

Once the nurse was out of earshot, Shannon looked at me and said, “Hey, it’s not her fault.” The cracker turned to sand in my mouth. The entire night I had been overly courteous to everyone in that hospital, to no avail. I had waited hours (seriously) for water; I hadn’t eaten in over twelve hours, and when it came down to it, I would defend those crackers to my grave. But I wasn’t prepared to have my best friend scold me for standing up for myself.

I burst into tears. Shannon knew right away she probably shouldn’t have said anything and immediately tried to console me, while I blubbered my apologies for been mean, hurting people’s feelings, and how I probably deserved to be ignored and treated like an inanimate object.

To be honest, I just couldn’t handle it all. I was entirely overwhelmed; I wanted my mom. I wanted someone to stand up for me. I wanted the pain to go away. I wanted to wake up and realize it was all a dream.

Around two in the morning a nurse came to feel down my spine, claiming there was an abnormality in the x-ray. Side note: By this point I had been given at least three doses of morphine. She reached a point that felt entirely odd, which I mentioned. It didn’t hurt any more than the rest, but it was quite strange. With that I was dismissed and sent home.

I stayed with Shannon for a few days while we waited for my mom to book a flight; I needed to get my car back to Southern California and there was no way I was physically able to drive it.

There were quite a few times in those first few weeks of recovery that I nearly fainted. The first was when I had to change the dressings on my elbow. Remember there was no skin remaining, only raw flesh; and the hospital had not used non-stick dressings. Overnight the gauze sealed itself to my body. The act of ripping it off made me nauseous. I remember sitting on the floor in the bathroom, the dressing half removed, arching my head to the ceiling and silently screaming as tears washed my face and fell into my lap. It was probably only three or four days until we found non-stick patches that worked, but I cried the happiest of tears when that happened.

I had been prescribed with Vicodin, which I stopped using after the second day, when I chewed through my cheek while sleeping. So, I switched to ibuprofen, since the doctor didn’t think I required anything stronger. I was taking about ten per day, which resulted in ankle and leg swelling.

The second near-fainting-experience was three weeks after the accident. I sneezed and my world began to go black. Side note: breathing hadn’t gotten much easier; it was still quite painful, especially at higher altitudes; and my chest looked as though someone had punched it and it remained concave. When I reported these findings to the doctor, he replied, “I don’t know what your chest looked like before the accident. Of course, you’re going to be in pain, you just got hit by a car. Come back in a month.”

I was done with dickhead doctors, so I sought out a second opinion. I was immediately sent for additional x-rays, which determined the “abnormality” was a spinal fracture. Oddly enough it was the region of the spine where the nerves wrap around to the chest, which would explain the pain while breathing. The doctor prescribed stronger pain meds and started me on a rigorous physical therapy course for my back, knee, and elbow. Finally, there was someone in the medical field who cared, who listened.

Recovery was rough, but a year and two weeks later I completed a full marathon in under six hours.

I didn’t receive any compensation for the accident; as the police officer who arrived at the scene used the location of my flip flops to claim I was not within the cross walk. He also claimed that I had entered the street too quickly, which did not allow the driver ample time to stop. At first, I cared. Strangely enough, most of the witnesses agreed the driver wasn’t paying attention. However, when I had a lawyer look into it, the only valid phone number was for the one witness who agreed with the officer; all the others were disconnected.

Today, I choose to look at it as a trade-off: I would much rather be alive and able bodied than have it be the driver’s fault.

Before the accident, I had been in a severe depression. Looking back in my journals, I wished for death countless times. Well, death came knocking and I’ve never wished for him again. I realized that life can end in a heartbeat and each moment is precious. I sat down and asked myself what I wanted, not what everyone else expected, which was for me to be a veterinarian or zookeeper. I wanted to travel. Being hit by a car not only made me stronger, but also more committed to actively pursuing what I want in life.

Bad things happen, but only we can decide how to face them.