Sometimes I can remember it so vividly it feels like a few short years ago. Close to midnight, on a cold and dreary November night, I returned a couple movies to Video Update and them made my way home. Suddenly, there were bright, blinding headlights. The next thing I remember I'm on the cold, damp cement, trying to move, in an attempt to pull myself out of the way of traffic. The moments flicker by as if watching a scene through a viewfinder: moments of clarity, and moments of darkness.
Initially, I was yelling for help, that my leg was in paid and that was why I was trying to drag myself out of the way. The next thing I know, I'm lying on my back nearer the side of the road, and a woman is standing over me, asking me questions like, do I remember my name? And is there someone I can call? I still remember blinking against the rain falling onto my face and in my eye as I manage to give her my home number, in hopes of at least reaching my roommate. The next time I come to, there is a blue tarp hoisted above me to block the pouring rain, I don't know where it came from, but more people are around me. And then I'm in an ambulance. I'm repeatedly yelling about the pain in my leg as by this point it's quite severe. I can still remember the ambulance attendant who was in the back with me, tell me to stop yelling about the pain, that they couldn't administer anything to help until we reach the hospital. "Well, then you may as well ignore me," I told her, "See how quiet and calm you'd be if you were me." She didn't say anything else to me for the remainder of the ride, not that I remember anyway.
The next thing I know, I'm in a room with glaringly bright lights hanging overhead. There's a doctor with dark brown hair and a thick mustache leaning over me, trying to get my attention. He introduces himself as Dr. Gordon Pate, and asks for my name, if I knew the day of the week and the date, those sort of things. Then, he tells me I'm not going to like this part very much. I didn't know what he was referring to, since he is holding a face cloth above my face as he says so. I can recall with acute details when he put the hot cloth on my face. All the while wondering, what the big deal was. And then he proceeds to move the face cloth as if to clean my face. A thousand sharp piercing cuts all at once, all across my face. I swear I could see little flashes of lights for every one of those sharp pricks. For each one was from teeny, tiny, nearly invisible, shards of glass. From the wind-shield, as Dr. Pate informed me.
And then I could remember it exactly. I remember taking a step or two as I started to cross the street and suddenly seeing bright headlights. Startled, I turned around and tried to get out of the way. But it was too late. The car struck me on my right side. I went up on the hood, hit the windshield, that's when I acquired the minute fragments of glass. The driver must have slammed on the brakes at this point, because soon I'm flying through the air (up out of my shoes I later learned), and land on the front, right side of my head.
"You're going to need surgery". Dr. Pate tells me and wheels me into the hallway until an operation room is available. While in the hallway, two officers stop by. "It was you? Little olè you? That Saturn looked like it hit a deer!?"
That's the last thing I remember before they rolled me in for surgery.
I hope you've enjoyed the first part to my story of being hit by a car, Check back next week for Part Two!
Until then, have a wonderful week and stay warm!