What's to learn?

I'm supposed to be napping since everyone's at church, but I'm going to post instead. (As always, if you have not read all the posts from July 22 on, scroll down and start from the bottom, if you're the type who likes the ending to not be spoiled.) I want to get the ENTIRE experience blogged as soon as possible before my body heals and my energies are focused on my hectic life and Therapy Thursdays again.

Which brings up an interesting point. It has been so nice (despite the pain) to be able to slow down and get a break. (unfortuantely, literally a break) Somewhat PUH-thetic that it took being run over by a car to get said break, but I'll take it!

While visiting me a few days ago with Bishop Huntsman, Brother Sunberg asked me what I had learned from this experience. Because I was caught off-guard, I gave a couple of lame answers. Since then, I've given some thought to the question, and thought I'd make a list. So here it is.

What I learned from being run over by a car:


Being hit by a car really hurts.

People in Alaska don't know how to drive. Actually, I already knew this, and if you have ever driven in this state, you know it, too. A couple of stories to illustrate my point: A few days after I returned home fromt he hospital, I had a doctors apointment. My dh loaded me carefully in the car and headed off to the hospital for my appointment. As he cautiously and gingerly made a legal right-hand turn onto Providence Drive about a block from the hospital, a vehicle made a wreckless and illegal U-turn in the middle of the semi-busy road over two sets of yellow lines--the kind with diagonal yellow lines between them. My dh had to hit the brakes, and then got hit in the arm. (Reflex. It really hurt.)

The next time we ventured out, we went to the school in our neighborhood to run the dog and kids. (I sat in a camping chair with a pillow.) On our way home, my aforementioned dh noticed that there were two dozen or so children on skateboard, bikes, and foot scattered all over the neighborhood, (73% of whom WERE NOT wearing helmets) and was therefore driving a conservative 20 mph. All of a sudden, we saw a car flash by, passing us illegally on the right, going at least 43.4 mph. And the driver flipped us off. Nice.

Last example, and this is my "favorite". We were driving home from a visit to the mall to purchase Webkins for the kids. We approached our street, heading East on Tudor. All of a sudden, a truck with a trailer jumps the center median, where he is now driving TOWARDS oncoming traffic. He then makes an illegal left turn into our neighborhood.

I think my dh is going to start leaving me home, because his shoulder is getting fairly bruised everytime we venture out! Sorry, babe!
Riding a bike in Anchorage is risky business. The following story illustrates:
An adorable middle-aged man walked into a restaurant to pick up a small pepperoni and pineapple pizza for himself and a Philedelphia sandwich for his witty, beautiful, and talented wife. The woman behind the counter told him how a week before her husband got run over by a car while bicycling. He was unhurt; his bike was a twisted mess. Overhearing the conversation, a fellow patron said that he worked at the Lake Otis Pharmacy and witnessed a terrible bike vs. car accident just a few weeks ago. The adorable-middle aged man confessed he was married to the victim of said accident, and that he himself was in a biking accident involving a car a year prior. I am adding a poll question to my blog, because the more I talk to people, the more I find that although my story is dramatic, it is not that unique. So many people have had close calls on their bikes, or know people who have. So take a sec and answer the question, please! I'm really interested in the results.

Some times things happen for many reasons. Since my accident, many people have told me why they think this happened. Not always WHY, but often what they or someone they know can learn from it, from close family, to friends, to church associates, to nurses and doctors in the hospital, to good people in Veracruz Mexico. Some I may share at some point; others are too sacred and personal. So if you haven't already, you may want to ask yourself: why do YOU think that this happened? Whatever your answer is, it is the correct and possibly singular reason that this happened.

-DAD SKIP THIS ONE! :)- Bras are, like, the best invention, ever! Ladies, do you have any idea how important this piece of clothing is? For us big-bossomed gals, especially! (I warned you, Dad.) It's more than support. Its the fact that all that skin-to-skin contact causes a lot of sweating, and it gets very funky under there. If y0u are EVER in a situation where strapping on a braisierre is not an option, I suggest a thin layer of deodarant, especially if you're nursing. It at least keeps things smelling fresh!

Peoples true colors come out in times of crisis, including my own. And most people shine some really beautiful shades!

I am truly loved. While I had always hoped it was true, it is so nice to find out that people really care about you. So many people have rallied around me--I'm just amazed.

Good intentions don't always lead to good results. I never said that everything I learned was positive or comfortable to talk about, and I don't want to ignore one of the biggest aspects of my bicycle journey. Sometimes people, usually the people who love us/know us the most, get carried away trying to help out. In this case, at some point, and I'm not even sure when, helping me out turned into deciding for me what I needed to learn from this, how I needed to keep my house, and how I needed to be a better mother.

Carpets are really, really, important to me. Actually, it's not so much carpets as my identity as a mother. While I was in the hospital, loved ones wanted to change my carpet. I didn't want them changed. It may have cost me some friendships. I hope not. It's not really about carpet. It was more about me having no control over what was happening with my kids, my dog, my house, or myself. Carpets was my way of trying to say, "Stop! Let me recover from this trauma, and then we'll talk!" Carpets was my way of trying to say, "I am not a bad person because I have a messy house!" Carpets was my way of trying to say, "I AM a good mom. I know it, my kids know it, and the Lord knows it." Carpets was my way of trying to say, "I'm capable of being an active participant in correcting my own short-comings as a person. I DO have a say in how my problems are resolved." Carpets was my way of saying, "This is already really hard, and I don't need to worry about fixing myself as much as healing myself for now!" Carpets was my way of saying, "Give me six months and I will be better, and will have the physical ability to work on changing carpets! " Carpets was my way of saying,"I am a good person, dang it!"

Short of the atonement, agency may be the greatest of God's gifts. Mine was taken for a short time, and it was terrible. Not having control over your body, health, family, house, meals, pain medication, hair style, or even which glasses frames I'll be wearing for the next few months was awful. I'm grateful that the Savior was chosen to fulfill Heavenly Father's plan. I am grateful for agency.

The Book of Mormon is pretty much my best friend. It's always there. It always has great advice. It always makes me feel good about myself. It is always honest. It is always true.

Firemen are people, too. They squabble, work, debate, wonder, and plod along just like the rest of us. Sorry to burst your bubble, Logan!

Surgeons really DO want to cut you up! I'll blog more details later, but long story short, doctors don't want surgery; surgeons do. Just like in hospital shows on TV! Amazing!

I'll leave it there for now. There are a zillion more things, but I've been working on this for hours over the past two days, and I think Dale has finsished a bean burrito for me. Yum!

I was not contemplating the meaning of life, just the details of camp, and then I got run over by a car.