Breathe, just breathe

I'm alive when I could easily have been dead for hours. I shouldn't have lived through that, I shouldn't be alive now ... but I am.
All it took was one stupid, reckless mistake. As a result, I pulled in front of one of those huge Home Depot lumber trucks. I heard the policeman say that the truck was probably going over 25 mph.
"He just came out of nowhere." Just like in the movies. But unlike in the movies, it didn't happen in slow motion. I didn't see him coming and have time to think, "Oh no. I'm in his lane. He's going to hit me. This is it, I'm going to die." I didn't have time for that. I barely had time to turn my head away after I saw him. One second his engine-grate is an inch away from my window, and a second later my head is thrown back, my mouth in pain, and I'm facing the opposite direction. Motionless. My head seems to spin and I start shaking, fighting to stay conscious. Something thick and hot is pouring down my face. The pain in my mouth is getting worse. Did I break my teeth? I can't feel my legs. Are they broken? I'm still clutching the steering wheel, and there are shards of glass and bits of broken plastic from the steering wheel on my skirt and coat. My windshield is a spider webbed maze, and everything around me feels wrong. Out of place. Why is the steering wheel bent up? Why is my seat so far forward? Why is the rear-view mirror bent so far up? The hood of my car is bent up almost backwards over the windshield.
Then I finally realize exactly what happened. The things that run through one's head right after something like this is amazing. First, I realize I'm alive and laugh and cry at the same time. Then I think, "Oh shoot. My car is totaled." And then I think of my parents. My mistake just cause them a lot of money for insurance. I hate myself. Then I think of my friends. Cristina and Josiah and Pete and Abbie and Clayton. I wish they were here to tell me everything is going to be okay. And then I realize my weekend plans just went down the tube. There goes money from work, singing in the concert, going out to dinner tonight, watching movies with my friends, and everything else I had planned. Overall they're pretty negative thoughts, but I always came back to "I'm alive. Thank God!"
A guy on the sidewalk in front of me is on the phone, and I know he's talking to the police. "There's a woman inside. No, no one else is in the car with her. She's moving, I think she's okay." He comes over to me and tries to open my door. Its bent in and jammed shut. "Can you roll down your window?" I move my arm as best as possible and try the button. The window goes down half an inch. "The door and window are stuck," he says into his phone. My left shoulder spazzes out in pain, and I try to not move it. I can't breathe anymore, and choke on the blood covering my nose and mouth, draining down my neck and throat. I reach for my scarf and try to wipe away some of the blood from my mouth and nose. I shut my eyes, breathing carefully, and thanking God that I'm alive.
The man outside hangs up his phone and stands beside my window. "Hang on. They'll be here in a few seconds." I don't know who he is but I'm glad he's with me. I wouldn't know what to do if I were on my own. I still cannot feel my legs; I've no idea what's going on down there. I don't need a mirror, I already know that I've bitten through my tongue from the impact of the truck. The right side of my waist is beginning to sting, and I decide its best not to move. Its probably only scraped a bit, but I remember learning about this in Drivers Ed. Don't move until the EMT gets here. I hold my scarf to my face, crying and bleeding.
In the distance, I can hear the sirens coming. The man on the other side of the glass straightens up and looks behind me. "They're here! Hang on, lady!" I try to smile and nod. That's all I can do. Seconds later the truck pulls up behind me, and my car is suddenly surrounded by EMTs. On the sidewalks around me people stop as they pass and watch, their faces contorted in unhelpful horror.
The EMTs try to open my door and fail. One of them comes around to the passenger side and comes to me that way. His name is Ted, he says, and asks me to try to remain still. He gets my name and birth date, and asks what happened, and did I black out? I tell him what happened and say that I'm pretty sure I didn't black out. I don't know how I ended up suddenly facing the opposite direction, and is the other guy okay? Yes, he's fine. Where does it hurt? My legs, my right hip, and my left shoulder. And my tongue. Was I wearing a seat belt? Yes, thank God. Did my airbags deflate? No. A policeman comes up behind him and looks across the car at me. Is there anyone I want him to call?
Yes, my parents. I give him their number and he goes off to call them. Ted carefully cleans the blood off my face and then tells me that Scott and James are going to cut open my door so that they can take me to the hospital.
They get the door open and chuck it off to the side. Ted comes over to my door now. "Okay, Faith, we're going to put you on the flat board now, and don't you worry about moving anything. We'll do it for you. Just try to relax." They bring the flat board over, and Ted and Scott lift me out of the car. "If I drop you, you have my permission to sue me, okay," Ted jokes. I actually burst out laughing at that. He laughed too and put me gently on the board. Scott puts blankets over me and begins to strap me in. The policeman, Whitmore, comes over and says my mom wants to talk to me. I have a neck brace on, and am still on the brink of tears, but I do my best to sound like I'm okay to my mother. I fail, and break down again as she says she'll be at the hospital right away. Ted is holding my hand as I cry, and I can't help but squeeze it a little as Whitmore takes the phone away and continues talking to my mother.
The funny thing about getting in accidents is that once it happens, you only see whats in front of you, and then what's above you because of the stretcher. I have no idea what was happening on either side or behind me. Only if someone were standing over me could I see them.
I saw the sky. White-gray clouds. Snow clouds. But they're not snowing. Then, a glimpse of brilliant blue, and then gray again. I can feel that I'm in motion now, and Scott and James wheel me to where I assume the truck is. Ted walks beside me, still holding my hand. He climbs into the truck with Scott and they lift the flat board in. James climbs in last and closes the doors.
This is my first time in an ambulance. I was surprised to find that the truck felt as if it were going very slowly. Not because I was eager to get there, but because I'd always imagined that it would feel pretty speedy. James and Ted made small talk about how the lights on the ceiling of the truck were always going out. Trying to distract me, obviously. I was thankful. I had told Ted earlier that I was just so happy to be alive. That all I felt like doing was singing, and he said that I was the first person he'd come across who wanted to sing after getting in a wreck. The hymn My Soul Now Bless Thy Maker was running through my head over and over. I wanted so badly to sing it. I tried on the way to the hospital, but even Ted holding my hand couldn't stop me from crying again.
Embarking from the truck was every bit as smooth as getting into it. I was surprised. They warned me that there would be "bumps and clicks" and I responded that I watched movies. They laughed. I was wheeled down a couple hallways somewhere, and into a room with a green curtain. Ted stayed with me while the nurses were fetched. He said he was surprised that I was still in good humor and making jokes. I knew that I wouldn't be able to make it through this without having a good attitude about it. All I could think about was the fact that it could have been so much worse than it was. I didn't care that I was now completely car-less, and in a hospital, and in pain, and bleeding. My legs could have been broken. I could have been crippled for life. I could have been dead. But I wasn't. And Ted, though he understood, was amazed.
Soon the nurses came, and Ted left, and the clock on the wall above my head read 10:05. I was five minutes late for recitation. The tears began welling up again(how could I have been so stupid?!). But the Lord works in mysterious ways, and a moment after I started crying, I saw a face over me whom I recognized. "Been in any plays recently?" she asked. " .... Ashley!" She smiled, and I started crying harder. She and I played nuns in the Sound Of Music play two years ago. She was one of my best friends from the cast, but I hadn't seen her since then. She gave me a tissue and I dried my tears for the fiftieth time in half an hour. I "chatted" with her as best as I could with my neck brace on, when a guy came in and said he needed my signature for something. My right hand was hooked up to an oxygen thing, though, and when he saw that he said he'd ask my sister outside to sign it instead. "My sister is here? Which one?" And then I saw Emily in the doorway, with Aaron and Henry behind her. I was so happy they were all there. Knowing that someone was there waiting for me was enough to give me more strength to get through it.
Dr. Brown (who, coincidentally, played Captain Von Trapp in the Sound of Music with Ashley and I) came in a few minutes later and had checked to make sure everything was working properly. I could bend my legs and arms without too much pain, and nothing appeared to be broken. My legs were badly bruised and swollen(from hitting the dashboard and steering column), as well as my entire waist (where I was thrown against my seat belt), and my left shoulder (from the shoulder strap), and my sternum. That one confused me. Why should my sternum hurt? Dr. Brown said that since I didn't have airbags, I was probably thrown against the seat belt which was in turn slammed into the steering wheel. That would explain why I had seen bits of the steering wheel on my skirt and on the floor by my feet. I had broken the steering column when I fell on it. (booyah!) But because of those two seconds where my car got turned around that I couldn't (and still can't) remember, Dr. Brown wanted xrays done on me just in case. He didn't say it, but I could tell that he was afraid I might have some brain damage. I prayed that this wouldn't be the case.
A few minutes before I was sent off to the xray room, Mom and Dad got there and stayed with me until I was taken off to find out the final verdict on my mental state. I was wheeled down the hallway by someone named Eric, and he took me to get my head examined. This only took a moment or two. My head and shoulders were put into this beige colored tube with a red light shining on my forehead and shoulders. A whirring sound came from the edge of the tube, and the red light suddenly felt hot on my head. "Hold your breath," he told me. I held my breath and found myself counting the seconds. Nine seconds later: "Okay, breathe again and relax." I let the air out and took more in. It tickled my throat as it flew down my blood-coated throat, and I coughed. Eric took me out of the tube and wheeled me down the hallway to a larger room. With yellow lights in the corners. It smelled funny. I was asked to roll myself off the gurney onto this special xray table. I did my best, and he helped me avoid the rails and got me warm blankets. We ended up taking about fifteen different shots, and all I had to do was lay there and move my arms where he wanted me to, so as to get a better shot of my shoulders and ribs.
I've no idea how long that took, but it seemed very fast and yet very slow at the same time. Time alternates between standing still and making mad dashes when you want something to come, yet have no desire to see the results, and in the meantime have nothing to do with yourself.
Soon I was taken back to my green-curtained room, and mom and dad joined us there. Dr. Brown had me stand to be sure I wasn't too discombobulated. I ended up getting a tetanus shot, which didn't hurt half as bad as I thought it would, and I was out of there by noon. My only instructions were to take the prescription three times a day, and not to do anything too active until Sunday. That was the thing I was most dreading. My hopes to still be able to sing in the concert were dashed. I'm not even sure if I'll be going to listen to the concert.
I staggered my way across the parking lot to the car, and plopped into the backseat. We went out to find out what the deal with my car is now. He looked so miserable, with his hood all bent up, and the glass shattered. It looked as if the EMTs had taken off the bumper after I had been taken to the hospital. It made me want to cry again. I shouldn't be aloud to have a car. I can't even take good care of that. Dad and mom pulled the rest of my belongings out the car, and I went back and sat in the Buick, trying to keep warm. What a horribly, awfully, miraculous morning it had been. A bit too much for me, apparently, having spent the past two and a half hours in tears.

I'm home now, though. In my room, missing my friends, and wishing I weren't such an idiot. Its so easy to make dumb mistakes like mine, but the thing is... they happen all the time, just not to me. It is an eye opener to say the least. I know there's a reason that it happened to me today, some purpose that the Lord had behind it. I don't see it, perhaps, but I know its there. No matter how much pain I might be in, and no matter how much I cry, I am so thankful that God was protecting me. If the truck had been going any slower, or if I had been going any faster... he would certainly hit the driver side door. And thus, he would have hit me full on. The Lord was with me. Protecting me, and watching out for me.

My Soul Now Bless Thy Maker
By Johann Kugelmann

My soul now bless thy maker,
Let all within me bless His name.
Who maketh thee partaker
Of mercies more than thou darest claim.
Forget Him not whose meekness
Still bears with all thy sin.
Who healeth all thy weakness,
Renews thy life within;
Who's grace and care are endless
And saved thee through the past;
Who leaves no sufferer friendless
But rights the wronged at last,
But rights the wronged at last.