Seatbelts and Jesus

This will be a long post.  So sorry.  And quite frankly, it’s not well written.  And I’m not going to proof read it.  And I’m just leaving it as such.  This will be the one time I just don’t care.  I’m skipping pages and pages of details because at this point, they’re just not important.  Very little about this is important.

October 23, 2014

Our little friend, Mary, had invited us to be her guest at a fund-raising dinner being held  at the University.  We accepted her gracious offer, after all, how could we resist the opportunity to have a date-night out with friends?  It was a dress-up event, though not formal.  Bobby and I put on our nicest date-night clothes and headed out.  We were in his white Toyota Pre-Runner pick-up truck, Bobby driving, riding through downtown Tallahassee headed west on College Avenue, and that’s when it all happened.

We were approaching the intersection of College Avenue and Monroe Street.  As we were almost to the intersection, the black SUV in front of us slowed to turn right onto Monroe Street and we slowed down but not to a complete stop.  Bobby accelerated to continue on through the intersection.  At this point the traffic light had turned yellow.  I remember thinking, sarcastically of course, “Oh, guess we’re gonna run the yellow.”  We still had forward momentum, and had he decided to stop, he would have been far beyond the stop-bar, so “running the yellow” was well withing the realm of do-able.  Bobby says he was watching the traffic light countdown timer on the opposite side of the intersection, and that he saw the number 2; that was the last thing he saw.

We crossed the north-bound lanes of Monroe Street, then as we approached the south-bound lanes I looked to the right and saw a car coming toward us; it was in the left lane of the two south-bound lanes.  I saw it, and saw that it was not stopping.  I remember that the last thing I thought was, “Oh my God, that car’s not stopping!” I also, at the same time, had the thought, “that’s a really nice car.”  Of course, when a car is THAT close to you, you can see that it’s a nice car.

The car was approaching our truck so quickly that I didn’t even have time to react.  I didn’t have time to even yell to Bobby; to warn him, to tell him to stop, to do anything to help him.  I didn’t even have time to brace for the impact.  That may or may not have been a good thing.

I knew we were going to be hit, and I couldn’t even warn Bobby.  There was no time.  We were immediately hit on the passenger side of the truck.  I tried to quickly calculate where on the side of the truck the impact would be, as both cars had forward motion.  I suspected it would be on the bed of the truck, near the tire.  I was incorrect.  It was a hard and powerful hit.  I remember the sound.  I will never forget the sound.  I expected that hit and I figured we’d slide across the intersection, maybe spin around clockwise, because I figured she was hitting us near the rear-side of the truck.  But I was wrong.  The truck was a 4-door truck with a standard size bed.  The car hit us square-on pretty much right on the seam between the two doors, low at the bottom of the doors, almost on the running board.  The car was traveling so fast, and hit us just low enough, that it actually picked us up and flipped us on our roof. But because we still had forward momentum, we slid to the other side of the intersection on our roof.  So we had a side-impact, and an upside-down-impact; two hits.  I heard the sound of the side-hit, felt the impact, and tried to find something with which to brace myself.  There was nothing.  I screamed out for Jesus.  A loud, gutteral, life-clinging scream.

Poor Bobby didn’t know we were going to be hit.  He was truly blindsided.  We neither knew we were upside-down until the truck stopped sliding.  The sound of the truck sliding on the asphalt is another sound I will never forget.  So loud.  Such a foreign sound. So gravelly.  I hope to never hear it again.

The side-impact airbags all deployed immediately, as they should.  That is one reason we were so discombobulated, we couldn’t see out of the truck.  I was surprised to see that the curtains are a pink color.  Oh, the things that go through your mind in traumatic situations.

We were wearing our seatbelts, as we always do.  In our family, that’s a non-negotiable. So, when our truck stopped sliding we were suspended upside-down, hanging by our seatbelts.  Jesus and seatbelts; we were alive.

But we were stuck.

As I hung there, trying to figure out what had just happened, I started asking Bobby if he was ok, and he was asking me. We were alive, and at that moment, that was all that mattered.  At that moment.  As I hung there, I could see out the front windshield a dark brown liquid dripping.  My first thought was that it was gasoline and we were going to blow up. But I realized that it was too thick to be gas, and that it was oil, so I put it out of my mind.  Later, Bobby told me he had seen and thought the same thing. Neither of us said anything at the time, because we didn’t want to scare the other.

As I said, one has very odd thoughts in a traumatic situation.  While we were hanging there, my next thought was, “I need to dial 911. No one is going to call them for me.”  So, I dialed 911.  My phone was in my hand the entire time.  There was nothing in the truck for me to grasp during the impact, so the phone already in my hand had to suffice.  I dialed 911 and it rang with no answer.  I heard someone outside the truck yell, “someone call 911!”, so I hung up my phone.

Voices.  It seemed like an eternity before we heard voices.  We couldn’t see a thing, but we could finally hear voices.  I heard someone on my side of the truck say, “I can’t get this door open.”  I heard a man on Bobby’s side of the truck begin to ask us questions, “How many people are in the truck? Are there children in the truck? Are there baby seats in the truck? Is anyone unconscious in the truck? Is anyone bleeding?”  I am sure that whoever he was, he had some kind of training.  I heard a man say to another man, “Help me pull this door open.”  Bobby’s door had just enough buckle in it that they could grab it and force it open.  Sunlight.  It was so good to see that sunlight – and people.  It mattered not that they were complete strangers.  They were angels in flesh, and we were so happy to see them, whoever they were.

Bobby, while suspended upside-down, was resting on his head, which is a really bad thing. He pushed the release button on his seatbelt and fell to the ground.  He kind of rolled out of the truck.  I yelled to the men to not let Bobby stand up, that he sometimes passes out and I was sure he was very traumatized and more than likely hurt.  They propped him up against the truck, sitting on the ground.  I was still suspended by my seatbelt, and because I am short, I was just hanging there.  A nice lady, probably in her late 50s or early 60s, squatted down in Bobby’s doorway and asked me if I could release my seatbelt.  I couldn’t.  My hanging there in it had the tension so tight that it wouldn’t release.  That sweet little lady, and I mean that literally, she was a tiny little person, crawled in the truck to help me.  The truck was already a mess, with everything strewn about, and as she was trying to help me, she accidentaly popped open the center console and everything fell out of it. Remember, everything is upside down, and there’s gravity.  It was startling to us both, and we both laughed a nervous laugh and just left the mess laying there.  I had to put my hands on the ground, which was the ceiling of the truck, and push myself into my seat to relieve the pressure on the seatbelt and she pressed the release button. All so very confusing.  She crawled out, and I tried, but my high heels were stuck on something.  So, while still basically standing on my hands, I took them off and threw them out the door with instructions to those awaiting my appearance to not move the shoes.  I crawled out, slipped my heels back on, checked for my earrings, put my hands on my hips, and said, “Well, I’m still wearing both earrings.”  The men looked at me like I was nuts, the women all felt my pain.  May it never be said that I don’t maintain my sense of humor in stressful situations.  I checked on Bobby, saw that he was alive, and then I started taking pictures.

I know it sounds odd that I was taking pictures, but it is testiment to the art of drilling things into your kids when they are young.  My mother worked in the insurance industry her entire career and if there was one thing I heard my entire life it was, “get photos.” So I did.  I took multiple photos with my phone. And will be forever grateful that I had presence of mind to do so.  Proof that repetition pays off.  Thanks Mom.

People kept trying to get me to sit down, but I knew if I did, I’d pass out when I got up.  I knew I’d be better off and more in control of myself if I stayed upright.  Shock had not totally set in on me, and I knew if I sat down, it would.  People were all around, offering to help, directing traffic, checking on us, people of all ages.  I wish I could thank them.  We had so much stuff strewn about the intersection, and cars trying to get through were running over it.  I’m not so sure that someone didn’t run over something and pop a tire.  I hope not, but it sure sounded like it.  There was one young girl that kept trying desperately to help, so I asked her to get her friends and they gather up all the debris in the street and put it in a pile next to the truck.  Among other things, the tool box had opened and spilled; there was just stuff everywhere.  That sweet little girl did what I asked, and a little while later I saw a neat little pile of tools and things next to the truck.

By this time we had emergency vehicles on scene.  A couple of fire trucks, police cars, ambulance, rescue.  One of the most beautiful sights was my old friend, Todd, who is a firefighter.  He put his men to work, took off his jacket, and took care of me.  He listened, walked with me, helped. The other EMT’s were taking care of Bobby.  I kept telling everyone that he had been on his head, yet no one put a collar on him; still frustrates me.  They eventually stood him up, and he did fine, didn’t pass out.  We weren’t bleeding, and didn’t seem to have anything broken, but we knew we needed to go to the hospital on the ambulance, so we began to prepare for that.  Any time there is a flip, and the seatbelts engage so tightly, there is the chance of internal organ damage.  We were gonna have a ride on the “bus.”

But, before I let them haul us off, I insisted on rummaging through the debris in the cab of the truck, to make sure we weren’t leaving anything of value.  Todd walked me over and helped me search.  I picked a few things out that I knew we’d need sooner than later, but the best part?  He uncovered my new favorite lipstick.  I exclaimed, grabbed it, and he looked at me like I was nuts.  What’s with people looking at me like that all the time???

When I was satisfied that I had found everything I needed, we had spoken with the authorities, and they had told us how to proceed, we loaded on the ambulance and headed out of downtown.  We’d made quite a mess, and had traffic blocked for who knows how far.  I felt so bad about that, but needed to remind myself that this was not our fault.  At all.

The EMTs on the bus were delightful.  They took excellent care of us.  We were ambulatory, so they thought we were good, but we were oh, so not good.  At this point, the shock had set in.  We were both coherent, but Bobby was struggling.  He was so stunned by it all, still trying to figure out what happened and how he got where he was.  I was answering all of their questions with no problem, but my body was beginning to get out of control.  The shock was hitting me physically;  I was shaking uncontrolably and my blood pressure was a bit crazy.  Very frustrating when your mind is clear enough to take care of business, but your body isn’t cooperating.

When we arrived at the hospital’s emergency room, I saw my sweet friend, Rebecca, walking down the hallway.  She’s the nurse you want taking care of you in the ER, but unfortunately she was not on patient care that night; made me sad. We were able to walk into the emergency room – mistake on our part.  They thought we were fine and benched us. We were put in the lobby with the task of filling out paperwork.  One of the most difficult physical tasks I’ve ever had to do.  When I tell you I was shaking uncontrolably, I am not exagerating in the least. It was a challenge to hold the pen, much less use it properly.  It was excruciating.

I was finally able to turn in the papers and return to my seat – where we waited.  And waited.  I’m certain they were unaware that we had been flipped and suspended by seatbelts, because if they had known that, I’m sure they would have attended to us. Right?  Please tell me I’m right.

But I didn’t have the fight in me at that moment, so we waited.

Eventually we were taken to the back and given rooms.  Bobby and I were separated, which I did not like.  I wanted to be able to keep an eye on him and make sure he was ok.  Once we were gowned up, I sneaked over to his room next door.  The nurse eventually realized what I was doing, but let me be.  We both went down to have CT scans, the doctor came and examined, the police officer came to take our statements.  When the Officer told us that the young woman who hit us said in her statement that she had a green light and we ran a red light, I’m fairly sure I blurted out a really, really bad word.  That was the one time Bobby gave me a pass.

I knew I needed to let our families know what was going on, but how do you make a call like that?  I called my sister first; she’s the most rational amongst us. I made sure she heard me loud and clear and heard me say that I was fine, then I dropped the bomb on her.  She, as expected, handled it perfectly.  Then I told her that SHE had to call the parents. I’m sure I still owe her big for that one.  But she did, and I eventually spoke to them, and to Bobby’s family and everybody was fine.

Oh, and then there’s sweet Mary.  You know, the young lady who invited us to dinner that evening.  I sent her a text and told her we were fine, but had been in a wreck and unable to make it to dinner.  Bless her heart, she didn’t want the shock to show on her face when she read the text, and she didn’t want our friends at the dinner to be worried, so she kept it to herself.  When the dinner was finished, she came to the ER to be with us, and to take us home.  Oh, yeah, ’cause our truck was upside-down in the middle of North Monroe Street.

We were eventually released from the ER and headed home.  Dazed, confused, still in shock.  I don’t even know if we slept that night.  I considered going to work the next day, but I was easily talked out of it.  Would’ve been a stupid move on my part.  Instead, we went to the tow yard to see the truck and get the rest of our belongings.  It wasn’t as traumatic as I thought it would be.  A vehicle upright, no matter how smashed, is far better than a vehicle with it’s tires in the air.  I snapped more pictures, handled the paperwork, made phone calls, and we began to set a plan in motion.

I went back to work the next Monday.  By this point in time, we’d become more sore and were beginning to realize just how serious it all had been.  I called our primary physician to schedule and appointment, was talking with the insurance companies, and learning far more about the insurance process than I could have possibly ever wanted to.  I was rapidly fostering a great disdain for the entirety of it all.  But it was only the beginning.

We made an appointment to see an attorney, thus beginning that portion of our journey.  I’ll spare you all the details of my dealings with them and the insurance companies, and just go ahead an admit that I lost my cool on more than one occasion, had to apologize often, and acted a fool a few times. I am less than proud of myself.

The first few weeks after the wreck were oddly fascinating to me.  The first thing I noticed was that every time I talked about it, which was as often as a new client would come in the salon, I began to shake uncontrollably all over again.  The first few days I’d cry, and if you know me, you know that’s completely out of character.  But the shaking? That lasted a few weeks.  And there was nothing I could do about it.  My co-workers were so good to me; making me laugh and giving me space and grace. They make my world easier.  But, much to my dismay, because I am not one for taking medications, I had to lick a Xanax or seven to get through it all.  I’m a “cheap drunk,” so after just a week or two, I truly was down to just licking the pill instead of scraping off slivers of it.  I had to be able to function.

We found our way through much of the frustrating process, and ended up in physical therapy.  It was helpful, but after a while became a terrible inconvenience.  We were already gym-goers and have a good understanding of body mechanics, so once we learned what we needed to do to gain improvement, we were able to carry-on at our gym.  But, even with all of that, there is only so much improvement a body can make, and we maxed out.

We all, Bobby and I, the attorney, the insurance companies, the physicians, were terribly weary of the process, and decided it was time to complete the case. I say “complete” because the word “settle” ended up meaning different things to each of us. They settled the case, as in finished it. I settled the case, as in settling for something less than what you desired.  We’ll just leave it at that.   It was just short of a year-and-a-half before the case closed.  Seemed like forever.

With an experience like we had, a person is never quite the same afterward. Physically, emotionally, it’s all just a bit askew now.  Our bodies have life-long changes, as will our minds. I can no longer sleep on my back or turn my head as far to the left, and I still catch myself tensing up if a car is coming toward me from the right.  Of course I realize it all could have been worse, far worse,  so we’re learning to walk out the lasting effects we do have and be thankful for those we do not have.

Marshall was with friends that evening.  We’d given him the opportunity and choice to come with us or go to a friend’s house.  Being the typical teenager he, of course, chose to go with friends.  When we went to the tow yard the next day to look at the truck uprighted, the thing that stood out to me most was that even though we landed on the roof of the truck, only one corner of it was smashed in and pushed all the way down to the headrest of the seat.  It was the corner where Marshall would have been sitting.

Let that sink in a minute.

I do not wish ill of the young woman who hit us.  I do, however, wish she’d just admit to what she did.  Accidents happen.  We’re all very fortunate it wasn’t worse.  All the glory for that goes to God.

If there’s any two things I’d say to anyone, and I do say it often, it’s “‘seatbelts’ and ‘Jesus.’ ”

Seatbelts and Jesus.