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I was 17, just home from 22 days in Germany with a few classmates on an exchange. That trip was a blast. Loved every moment and couldn’t wait to tell my family about the all wonderful adventures I just had. I don’t believe I was even home for 24 hours when it happened. And to be honest, I don’t even remember it happening. I do however recall asking for my pastor because I feared death was knocking at my window.

My California Grandma was in town visiting that summer. To be honest, I rarely enjoyed her company. She only visited every four years but when graced with her presence all I heard was “you should watch your figure” and “your hair would look so cute with a froo-foo”. A what now? I learned to just avoid her as I got older. If I wasn’t around she couldn’t complain about the way I dressed or ate. Now that I look back I bet the whole mess would have been avoided if I weren’t such a brat. I had gone to my fathers body shop the day after my trip, just so I didn’t have to be at home alone with Grandma. I was out there all day messing around, helping my brothers clean the yard, climbing trees, playing with the new puppy in a pasture where the horses used to be kept. Hours passed and soon mom called up wondering when we’d all be home. Dad had some things to finish up, so he commissioned my older brother drive us home. Dad would follow in a half hour or so. We piled into the Ranger, my older brothers pride and joy, his first automobile that was just his and not borrowed. I sat up front passenger side, my younger brother sat in the half-seat in back with the dog. Away we went. Two miles later we were all scattered on the highway in front of a golf course.

A drunk driver was on his way home too, and for whatever reason he had crossed over the center line and hit our truck head on. We went over the top of his car, shearing part of the car off in the process. The truck sort of rode up over top the car, flew a short distance in the air and landed on the street facing the wrong way, lying on the drivers side. The mans car ended up in the ditch opposite our truck. By some freaking miracle the three of us AND the dog were just fine, so to speak. We were alive. No one knows how my older brother, who was driving, got out practically unscathed. He had in fact called my mom right after (asking where dad was). My younger brother flew out through the sun-roof, still clutching the pup tightly, and they landed in a ditch. The dog suffered a broken leg. Some kind soul took him to the vet and paid the bills. My little brother had a mild concussion and a little internal damage but nothing terribly serious. A week in the hospital and he was out. Then there was me.

I was the only one wearing a seat belt. When our truck was hit and landed driver side down, my seat broke. If you picture a truck laying on its side, think of me sitting inside, on the door, one leg on each side of the steering wheel with the wheel pressed tight up against my chest. My right leg was through the windshield, my left was trapped under the drivers door, out the window. That ankle snapped in two. My right foot survived with several toes broken into pieces on the inside. It must have looked gross. My back was pressed up against the hump on the floor from the steering column, which is what broke/cracked my spine. Lucky for that seat belt huh. Had I not worn it I may have just flown out a window or something.

I had to be cut out of the truck with the jaws of live I’m told. I really don’t remember anything to this day. Not before and not after. Just a few flashes of random instances such as the guys in the ambulance asking how old I was and some faceless-blonde haired woman standing in front of the golf course sign mouthing unintelligible words at me, presumably trying to keep me awake and attentive while the truck was eaten by the metal snips. The hospital was where I really came to. But even then, I remember only a little bit here and there. I know I was in pain, so I bet I was a joy to work with. I had a long wait for the Xrays and when it came time to shoot the ankle, well you can imagine they had to move it in different positions to see the extent of the break. A lot of me going “knock it off” and “cut it out, it HURTS!”, as if they didn’t know. My biggest worry, after my mom and pastor convinced me that I wasn’t going to die, was where my shoes were. My favorite kicks - black suede Samba Adidas indoor soccer shoes. They took all my clothes and stuck me in a paper gown without telling mom where my sneakers were. I was worried sick over them. So many memories of lost games and horrid practices were sweat into those shoes. Rest assured I did get them back several weeks later.

I had two surgeries. The first was to fuse two metal rods to the sides of my spine along the break. If it had been any lower I might be paralyzed today. There is a scar on my hip too. I believe bone was removed for use on my back, but I’m not entirely positive. The second surgery was for my foot and ankle. Two screws to set the ankle back in place and long pins were jammed through the bones in my right foot to set them straight as they healed…those hurt like hell when they came out. “I’m going to count to three then pull, ok. It won’t hurt I promise”. When a doctor promises no pain, never believe them. Two of the 4 toes healed a little stiff but they look normal and I can still wiggle them, and that is all that matters. The top of my foot looks perfect now, you’d never know my foot was smashed.

Due to the extent of my injuries and the need for surgeries, I was in the hospital for three weeks. The stay in the hospital was almost more painful than the injuries themselves. Because I was under 18 I was in the children’s hospital. I was probably the oldest one there but I had a big room. Score! I was bedridden, hooked up to a million tubes, and not allowed to eat anything. At all. Wait, I was allowed to eat ice chips, nowhere near as tasty as Doritos. I watched the Disney channel a lot because of the five stations, that was the only one entertaining enough to watch. I saw the grand opening of Disney World no less than seventeen times. Few things I learned while laying in bed:

• IV’s left in your arm for over a week will cause that arm to swell up like a balloon
• Free-will morphine injections are nice, unless the needle is plugged in to the top of the wrist, in which case it BURNS
• Children’s Hospital food is much better. Choices included milk shakes, taco’s and pizza. Not that I could eat any.
• It sucks having to rely on someone else when doing simple activities such as rolling over, covering up with a blanket, and grasping for a water cup.
• Not being able to shave sucks. Talk about itchy!

For a few months after leaving the hospital I was confined to a bed, unless I wore my turtle shell. The shell was my free-pass to sit in the wheelchair. The shell was two large personally fitted pieces of plastic that covered my entire upper body, velcroed together with the strongest velcro straps ever. The purpose was to keep my spine in the perfect position while it healed, and it was terribly hot and uncomfortable. And embarrassing. The front of it had an oval cut out for my boobs to fit through. It looked funny and I hated it. I felt like each time I sat up wearing this thing that I was shoving my breasts in peoples faces. Look at me! I also had casts up to my knees on both legs. As you might imagine, the summer was spent sitting in my wheelchair indoors near the air conditioning unit.

Fast forward: A year later, to the amazement of my team of doctors, I was nearly 100% healed. Even to this day people don’t believe me when I tell them. I do a lot of work I shouldn’t be able to do, and actually shouldn’t do because there are limits. But I’m stubborn and tough. Hell, I was doing landscaping and digging ditches the year after the accident. I hate to think I have a “handicap”. But, I do have those days when I feel that evil arthritis setting in, and I will get back pains that put me in tears. I get through it though.
I have a terrible memory, but this is one of those moments that will be impossible to forget. It was a pretty crumby time, but I met some great people. Dave, my cast technician who always talked about(and smuggled me some) barbecue sauce. Caz who designed my turtle shell. He was an eccentric man who loved frogs. The young surgeon who used to wake me up every morning by tickling my toes “just making sure there is still feeling”.
I just wanted to share my story. Many of you know that I was in an accident, but I’ve never had the time to go into detail about it - mostly because I hate having to remember those times.