Here is a better story about my last post:
Almost to work. Getting up near my exit, and I have between 5-10 minutes to get to my theatre. Perfect. I will get there in time for sure.
Exit is backed up and we are slowing down. Okay. Whatever. There are a lot of people in the morning. Slowing down kind of quickly because everyone in front of me is doing that. Person right in front of me swerves a bit to avoid the car in front of them. I think about how dumb they are for not leaving enough space between their car and the one in front, but it’s okay because I have enough–
–omg not going in the right direc–
–wtf i’m going to die–
–don’t want to look–
Ah. Uh…I’m kind of diagonal. Okay. Facing the grass. Let’s drive there.
Car scoots valiantly, but can’t quite make it all the way out of the freeway. Okay. I stop. Am I hurt? Not sure. Maybe? Wait…why are my sunglasses hanging out of the air vent? I take them out and look for my case. I should probably be doing something more important, but…
I look at some cars passing around me, since I couldn’t make it all the way off the road. They look annoyed and I feel mad at them. Did they not see what just happened? They have NO right to look like that.
Wait. Where is my phone?
Oh. Haha. My pocket. Right. I should call 911. I call them and it says all operators are busy. Wtf. I stay on the line and look around for my bag. On the floor. Right. My mirror is dangling weird. Should I put it back on? Mmm. Probably bigger problems to worry about. WAIT! I know!
I put my emergency flashers on.
911 is finally talking to me, and I tell them what I know. Or what I think I know. I think I hit the person in front of me–that was the second BAM, right? I look around and don’t see that silver car anywhere though. Weird…but I see the car who hit me. It’s all crumpled on the front. But the guy is outside, walking around. I tell 911 that he looks okay, but I think my head hurts. I think I hit it. They try to connect me with police, and we are on hold with them.
I look around for my iPod and can’t find it. It disconnected from my radio line, and I know it’s on the floor somewhere. One small relief, I suppose. I can’t think how to turn the radio off and it is buzzing loudly…but at least it’s not playing my wwii era, carousel sounding march music. That would be embarrassing. Because thinking about that is keeping me from wondering if I have brain damage. (And at the same time, making me pretty sure that I do. Because who would be thinking about that? Me.)
Still on the phone. 911 and the police are talking to each other and me. It’s a confusing conversation. Probably because they are both men with similar voices and I can’t tell who is talking at any given point.
Aaand now another man is at my door. He says I need to get out of the car because it isn’t safe. He’s probably right. I am sitting half in the freeway, I guess. I grab my bag and let him lead me away because I don’t know what else to do. 911 and the police finish their conversation and we all get off the phone. I think an ambulance is coming and I tell that to the man whose car I am now sitting in to wait. I’m shaking pretty badly. Drug addict shaking? Yeah, maybe. Like that.
I think I should call my boss so that someone shows up to open the theatre. I call and ask if he’s opening with me, and the conversation starts out with him sounding like he thinks I am kind of an idiot and wth is the matter with me because he expected better from me and I am disappointing him. I tell him my car is squished and I am waiting for an ambulance to come and get me
–Oh shit! are you okay?!
–I don’t know. That’s why I’m waiting for an ambulance.
We get off the phone. Good. Took care of work. Because I’m good at managering.
Maybe I should call my dad now? Idk. Another lady comes down to talk to us. I guess her SUV was the second BAM–what was the 3rd?–but she was not in front of me. I’m confused. She says I zoomed out in front of her when I got rear-ended by the crumply other car and she couldn’t keep from hitting me.
She keeps asking me if I’m okay, and says that she’s first-aid trained…but I don’t know if I need first aid. My head is starting to feel like one time when I was getting into my dad’s old van and banged it on the door frame–feels like little bits of glass are being ground into my skull…
A man in a truck pulls over and tosses a tire into the grass. They tell me it came off of my car. Now I know why he couldn’t do better than scoot mostly out of the road. Poor thing.
The man who hit me never comes to speak to me.
Finally, an ambulance comes and the man who got me out of my car talks to the paramedics. One comes to the car and asks me about the accident…I tell him what the others have told me, since I wasn’t looking when it happened. Like. At all. I remember slowing and seeing the back of that silver car, and then the BAMs started and I was looking at my knees, mostly. I told him I could only tell him what I’d been told.
They get my pulse and look at my eyes to see if they are wonky. Nope. But then they bring a collar for me. I cooperate, thinking I will take it off soon. And then they bring a gurney. Ah…
I didn’t think about that. Well. Okay. I don’t know. Maybe I’m bad hurt. But I hope not. Because I feel alright. Except for the (figurative) glass bring forced down through my scalp.
They wheel me into the ambulance, and buckle in the gurney. And they talk to the firefighters who moved my car the rest of the way off the road. I can tell a little better how badly damaged he is and I feel sorry. Like this is the old west or something and my horse has been shot from under me. Poor horse.
Still haven’t called my dad. I should do that. I wonder if the medics will stop me? I decide to just do it and not ask. I call and explain what happened…but for some reason my dad is not understanding that I’m not at the accident site anymore. I am getting annoyed because I have to go over it a few times and then finally he’s like,
–wait…where are they taking you?
I tell him.
–oh. did you call your insurance agent?
–no. I can’t really move to look up the number…
–i’ll call and get there as soon as I can.
It’s wretched. The collar hurts. But at least getting annoyed is helping me get hold of my drug-addict-like shakes. No crying though. Huh. I thought if I was in an accident, I would cry. Guess not.
We get to the hospital and they wheel me into a room. It’s blue. So much blue. Yeah, okay. Trying to calm. Right.
I wait for a while, and then suddenly there are nurses and they are undressing me and I’m like wth?! and annoyed, but I have this collar on and I can’t really stop them, and they are blinding me really effectively by getting all my clothes caught on the collar. Thaaanks. Then I have a hospital gown. Aaand still have my wool pants and shoes? It’s weird.
And then a doctor comes in. And says,
–Hello. You are looking very Shakesperian in that collar!
The doctor is Russian. Because of course.
I note that down because it will be a good detail to tell my coworkers so that they can make their jokes about communists and Nazis and realize how glad they are that I did not die. Because who would they tell these jokes about then?
Comrade doctor checks my limbs for pain or damage, and advises scans and xrays of my head and neck. He is the first person who has shown concern over my confession that I don’t remember most of the accident and that I am repeating a lot of what I was told by others.
He wants to transfer me to a trauma center at a different hospital, and I want to argue and tell him that I wasn’t looking because I was busy thinking I was about to die and I’d rather not have looked…but I stop that me from talking because what if I really am hurt? I acquiesce.
They leave me to my own devices and I am replaying my questionable music in my head because carousels make me happy and I would like to stop shaking. It’s making my arms hurt. Then a police officer comes and talks to me and gives me a report number. And a nurse comes to get more of my personal information. And my dad arrives and tells me a little about my car’s location and what he was able to get out of it. Apparently there is glass everywhere and I no longer have a back windshield. I don’t remember that. in my head, a horse screams
We talk a bit and I apologise for not calling mom because I knew it would upset her. He says she is upset anyway. Naturally.
And then another nurse comes in and tells me they’re going to get the xrays and scans done before transferring me. And then the really traumatizing thing happens.
They need to start an IV and get blood drawn.
Aaand that is at about 1015…the rest of my day until 430 is one long panic attack in varying stages of intensity because I can’t deal with having a plastic tube in my arm.
On the upside, my scans were all normal and good. Everything they checked was normal. No brain damage. No skeletal damage. Good good.
Also, I did not attack any of the nurses or try to rip out my IV, and if there was a medal available for either of these things, I would recommend myself for it.
That does mean that I resorted to dramatizing my panic to get whatever extra sympathy I could…but that didn’t work on the last nurse at the trauma center. Probably because she knew I wasn’t that badly hurt. Or maybe because she is actually a bitch. I couldn’t tell. But being angry with her did give me something else to channel my thoughts.
And I also learned that when you panic and hyperventilate, you know in your mind that you are making a fist, but you can’t feel your hands anymore. And despite the medical staff assuring you that you can, you can’t open your fist because you can’t move your hand that you can’t feel. I couldn’t, at least.
But, yeah. Very exciting. I won’t be doing it again.
And I learnt two days ago that the third BAM was me hitting the center concrete divider. Because the rear-end propelled my car across four lanes of traffic to where I was facing the wrong way, hit the wall, and spun back around.
My poor horse…