On our way to a banquet for Fire District 7, a sixteen year old girl decided to wait until I was less than 50 feet away and closing at 35 miles per hour to begin her left turn in front of me.
I was about to say, “You’ve GOT to be shitting me,” but the words never made it out.
I pulled toward the right to try to make it a glancing collision instead of a full head on [our car is damaged in the left front, her entire front end is demolished]. There was nothing to do – it was over with too quickly.
In any unexpected and rapidly unfolding event, it is amazing what you are aware of and are able to recall, compared to what you know must have gone on but you have no recollection of.
I remember a single, loud “whump” of the initial impact, and being aware of decelerating into the air bag – whereas I know there must have been a cacophony of skidding tires (the impact forced the other vehicle back along the road about 30 feet from the intersection), of breaking glass and crumpling metal, dislodged wheel covers rolling to a stop, the spray of shattered parts raining onto the pavement…
I heard none if that. Right after the single loud sound of impact, I heard nothing at all for what seemed like a full minute or more as my mind coldly raced between observations and questions:
Sitrep. Alive. Stunned. Listing severely to the right, are we still moving? The cabin is full of a horrible stench and thick dust, we’re in a ditch – we might fill with water, my mouth is full of shards of some sort, broken teeth? Why don’t I feel any pain?
I used the last air in my lungs to say aloud, “we need to get out of here – now,” and held my breath as I struggled to push the door uphill to get out. Although I struggled to recall, I could not remember the active ingredient in air bag propellant, and I did not want to sit there inhaling it.
Camille opened her door, which startled me. Because I had thought about the possibility of filling with water, I had expected her to climb out my door. But she stepped out into a foot of muddy water, and I turned back to struggling with my own door.
In my head: Safe to exit? Could cars come alongside? No, don’t think so. Fuck it. Let them take the door.
Notice the air bags that protected my knees (!!!!).
Push, shove, struggle, freedom. Raindrops, cold air.
I got out, stood up, and turned back toward the door I just exited, leaned against the car and moaned in pain. My entire chest locked into a spasm, and I could not breathe. Voices behind me:
“Are you alright?”
“Are you alright?”
“Is everyone all right?”
When the spasms stopped, I began panting. Ah, yes. My old friend, adrenaline.
In my head the training kicked in: Call 911.
I turned to look for someone to give that order to and saw someone calling, overheard that it seemed to be a call to the Sheriff’s Deputy. “Are you calling for the Police?” I called out.
To my right, another voice, “I already did. They’re on their way.”
Funny thing that I automatically sought to delegate the phone call. In first aid training, I was drilled that the first thing you do is call for medical assistance. For every accident I have attended, I was busy conducting triage or giving first aid and directed someone else to make that call. But in this scenario, I was the victim.
A passenger from the other vehicle said her nose was broken. Didn’t look that way to me, but what do I know? I was in shock. I am not trying to go all erudite, here, but I’ve read quite a bit about how the brain processes information, and whenever I get to be the lab rat, I am open-mouthed in astonishment at how poorly we (I, we, all humans) perform in crisis.
In my head: Get some photos before anyone moves anything.
Camille suddenly appeared at my left and was asking me to do something, and I said, “not right now. I need to make some pictures.” Strangely, she thanked me. I opened the back door, got my go-bag, pulled out a camera and began documenting the scene. Already, the road had a long line of cars in both directions, as both lanes were blocked by the VW Jetta. (It was only 5:30 PM.)
On the far right, Camille (in a burgundy coat) is retrieving her purse.
I tried to retrieve the car keys, and could not, because the car was still in gear. I struggled to put it into park, and my recollection is that I was unsuccessful. (Four hours later, I found the keys in my coat pocket, so my recollection was completely wrong. I had actually succeeded in my mission – on autopilot.)
Our perceptions of time, spatial relationships (distance, proximity) and responsibility are completely distorted. It is the force of habits, burned into neural networks, that carry us through safely. I have no idea where Camille was for most of the next five minutes or so (maybe even longer – who knows?) while I studied the scene in a daze. It never occurred to me to check her condition. I think that the fact that she was wandering around and appeared to be OK was all the reassurance I needed. It is impossible to say. A passerby asked us if we wanted to wait in his vehicle (out of the rain). Trembling with nervous energy, I declined, but told her to go ahead. He stood outside with me, eyeing me with concern, while Camille sat with his family in a warm SUV, and I paced in circles intermittently.
My mind was spinning. It never occurred to me to get insurance information, which I would normally do reflexively. I was more impatient for the arrival of Police. I asked about the speed limit. “It’s 35 along here.” OK, I thought, I wasn’t speeding. Fact is, we were half an hour ahead of schedule, so I was very relaxed and driving a little below the speed limit.
The aid car arrived and got stuck in the maze of drivers who could not figure out that they needed to move aside to allow the big shiny trucks with sirens and flashing lights to get through. Suddenly, a man in full fire gear appeared at my left, asking me if I hurt anywhere. I was beginning to seize up – my neck and lower back… my chest was aching, a thermonuclear headache. I figured I might have cracked a rib at the sternum. “I’m sure it’s nothing” I told him.
Next came the neck brace, the back board, and lying on the pavement without my jacket in rain at forty degrees Fahrenheit. It makes no sense at all to strap someone to a back board to immobilize them, and then leave them in a place where violent shivering aggravates the condition. Oh well. Fact is, the aid response was professional, courteous and as efficient as it could be, given that they did not know that there were 6 casualties.
A short ride to Cascade Valley Hospital, then 300 questions, poking, prodding, x-rays, and a benediction. Take these painkillers if you need them, then go forth and sin no more.
Camille was scanned for internal bleeding, because she had pain in her lower left abdomen. Nothing unusual. She got the same meds and benediction as me.
It took three hours until I realized which teeth were broken, four hours to realize I had Camille’s car keys and had not lost my notebook, and seven hours to discover a deep bruise in my groin.
I just can’t wait to see what tomorrow will bring.
Comments:
Khog: Holy shit man. Please keep us updated if you are able. At this point, all i can say is ‘glad you’re alive’. Fuckin A, that sucks! How are you and Camille, what about the other car passengers?
Randy: OMG. Are you two ok?
Marlene: Mike – I’m so glad you and Camille are OK. Don’t you just love young drivers? I hit a snow bank of solid ice last week but only damaged a wheel. I can’t imagine anything like what you two experienced.
Me: They give a license to anyone that can fog a mirror. Out here, they don’t even make you prove you are a legal resident.
Jonathan: Michael, I’m very sorry to hear the news. Life is so tenuous. I’m glad to know that you and Camille are not seriously injured. Thank God for air bags. Jocelyn and I are thinking of you too today and hoping you have no lasting injuries. It will take time to get over the trauma. One day at a time. Love to you all, Jonathan
April: Holy shit Michael. I’m glad you were able to write. Thank you for that. Will be in touch soon. All my love and hugs to you both.
Teri: We are both so grateful you and Camille are alive! What a horrendous thing to happen. Take very good care of yourselves and take no chances. If it hurts, don’t ignore it. Our thoughts are with you.
Paul: WOW!! Let me know if you need anything? Not like I’d actually follow through, but just pretend I would 😀 Just Kidding, anything let me know.
David: It sounds like you may or may not be injured badly? let me know if I can do something.
Paul: …glad you are ok, was the other driver on the phone? Glad to hear that you both are okay. I can’t imagine what that experience would be like. As usual, you found a way to pass it on.
Kipp: Glad to hear that you both are okay. I can’t imagine what that experience would be like. As usual, you found a way to pass it on. I am looking forward to you waxing poetically when you describe the experience of passing into the spiritual world. You will find some way to pull it off, I am sure of it.
Carisa: Wow! By the grace of god you both are alive and not paralyzed or anything. I am so sorry you had to go through that. Maybe there are hidden blessings, or maybe the accident kept you from some other fate. Anyway, everything happens for a reason I am told. I hope you both are recovering well. Best wishes.