"I'm going to be okay",

even though I just got run over by a car

The strangest thing about my accident, and maybe the best, is that I never thought I was going to die. (If you just tuned in, you may want to go down the the first "ran over by a car" post so you don't miss the beginning of my memoir.) I never had a sense of impending doom, my life didn't flash before my eyes, I never saw a light or a tunnel. The PA who was by my side heard me say again and again, "I'm going to be okay. I'm going to be okay." She kept encouraging me and reassuring me that I was right, I was going to be okay, but I'm not sure she believed it. I wish I knew who she was. She was a guardian angel that day.

The ride to the hospital was nothing less than torture. The paramedics kept asking me a million times if I was allergic to anything, if I was diabetic, what my name was, how old I was, what my address was, blah, blah, blah. Then one made the mistake of asking me my medical history. I actually said, "Medical History?!? You'll (breath) have to (breath) look it (breath) up!" (If any of you have ever seen Malcolm in the Middle, I sounded (still do) a lot like Stevie.) I really didn't want to go into my whole history there in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. I wasn't about to go over the checklist with him about family history and explain about 5 c-sections and a gallbladder. Anyway, I kept begging for drugs (I was really really hurting) and they kept trying to find a vein. (Thanks, M&D.) They never did find one in the ambulance. They are just too small, so after digging around for several minutes and leaving a huge hole in my arm they gave up and let the ER staff do it. I still have a scab on my arm from that.

The trauma section of the ER is bizzaro world. I know these nurses and docs do this a lot, but so much of it seemed overly routine to me. Like one of the nurses kept saying she was going to send a photo of the helmet to Schwinn (maker of said helmet) as a testimonial that it saved lives. I think every single doc and nurse in there took a photo of the helmet. I heard a million times about how they were going to show the picture to their son/daughter/husband/neighbor/co-worker/stranger-on-the-street who refuses to wear a bike helmet. Now, I have nothing agaist being a shining example (better than a blaring reminder, especially in this case!) but could we focus on getting me some pain meds, please?

Finally, they got me some drugs. They didn't help a whole lot. It lasted about 3 minutes, got my pain down to about a 6, and then it would fade out. I have an extremely low tolerance for pain, so this was agony for me. I kept begging for them to just put me under, but they said they couldn't until they knew what the damage was, just in case I had to go into surgery to get my arm cut off and then I woke up and was like, WHAT?!? I told them I didn't care, they could do whatever they wanted, but they wouldn't give in. I punished them by groaning and complaining a ton. I was hoping to become abnoxous enough that they would do anything to shut me up, but they must be used to the ploy because it didn't work. Next time maybe I'll try lewd comments and crude language. Maybe that would work better.

I went to get an MRI (I think they were playing a fun game called: "How many times can we move a trauma patient from bed to bed?"). This was interesting as well. "Take a deep breath and don't move." Take a deep breath? Are you kidding? Shallow breathing is killer, and I can feel my ribs crackling as it is. A deep breath would have knocked me unconscious. (Wait, maybe I should have done it!) Don't move? Uh, okay. I'll try really hard to stop tap dancing from my bed. Like I could move if I tried! (I was strapped to a table, wearing a neck brace and in an MRI machine, not to mention I JUST GOT RAN OVER BY A CAR!!!) They asked if my wedding ring would come off. I said yes. They tried to pry it off, and it killed. Finally, they unstrapped my arm so I could get it off myself. The guy didn't think I could do it and turned his back to get some soap. I got it off in .5 and told him so, but he wouldn't listen. Finally, the other guy yelled at him and said it was off. Then there were some "funny" comments about how of course a guy couldn't get the ring off my finger....ha ha ha, now can I have some drugs, PLEASE?

The worst part about the ER was seeing my kids. Dale had no clue I was there for over an hour because he wasn't at home and I accidentally gave the staff his work number instead of the cell. Oops. Blame it on the Pain, yeah, yaa! (Take ten points if you laughed, minus five if you don't get it.) He showed up at the church as planned, saw I wasn't there, dropped of the girls, and headed to the hospital in hopes I decided to go to the Diabetes Support Group meeting. Just as he was arriving at the hospital, I realized my error and they called the cell. So Dale came trotting into the ER with Logan, Lily, and the baby. My face had not been cleaned up yet, I had a million nurses and docs milling around, I was wearing a neck brace, and was lying in the bizzaro trauma world. The kids were pretty freaked out. Dale was worse. I had to calm everybody down and tell them I was okay. Lily was fascinated, but Logan was really not pleased with the situation. I told him I got to ride in the ambulance, and he started to perk up. I'm so grateful for the spirit. I cannot tell you how many times I have known exactly what to say to that boy to keep him from totally falling apart. He started asking me questions about that, and I told him that there was a fire truck and firemen there, and he thought that was pretty cool. Then I told Dale to get the heck out of there, I was fine. He did.

Later, a friend was driving them to Danitra's house. Lily kept talking to her about the accident. Then Logan said, "We're not talking about mom anymore." End of conversation.

I got to ride in an ambulance and meet a bunch of firemen. That's cuz I got run over by a car.