The abrupt, usually violent meeting between a car and a tree is never a picnic, even under the best of circumstances. Have you ever hit a tree at 50 miles an hour? I have, and let me tell you it is not something I wish to repeat any time soon.
It happened about fifteen years ago, in a little town in
Now, as anybody who has driven a car might guess, when the driver of a car going 65 miles per hour looks up and realizes that less than 100 yards away is a van going 15 miles per hour, the aforementioned driver doesn’t have very long to figure out exactly how to avoid what is sure to be a very sudden stop to his forward motion. It’s especially difficult when the one thing that 100% of us would try first – hitting the brakes – doesn’t seem to be working. How long do you think you have to make that next choice? A second? Maybe two? If I didn’t make a decision in less time than it takes to open a can of soda, a decision was going to be made for me. So, I made a decision. I took a right turn off the highway, making for a field that I had driven by a hundred times. I thought I was pretty clever, until I realized that the grass was wet and I no longer had any control over where my car was going. In less than six seconds, it was over. I had completed my journey, but the final destination was not my office in the middle of town. Instead, I made the acquaintance of a very large tree that was minding its own business as the drama on the road unfolded. The transition from 40mph to 0mph was rather sudden, and my body almost became a permanent part of the interior of my car. To this day, my knees will remind me of it.
Now, here’s where the story gets weird: I walked away from that landing. My car was a complete ruin – the frame was cracked in two places and the pedals ended up in the same approximate location that my knees would have normally occupied. Nevertheless, I shoved open the car door and stumbled out under my own power. One brief hospital visit later, the damage was assessed: ONE set of bruised ribs, NUMEROUS contusions and abrasions, and ONE slightly damaged ego. I was one lucky little boy.
Now I know that most of you might be asking, “Why does this story deserve any kind of mention in this kind of forum?” The answer to that question is lying in the Trauma ICU Unit of
You see, three of my coworkers were in a major accident over the weekend. One of them was discharged with minor injuries. One of them broke his leg and suffered the requisite bumps and bruises. He’ll be in the hospital for a few days recovering. The third coworker, however, is in bad shape. He’s in critical condition and it may be months before he can return to work. His family, his friends, and his coworkers are devastated and we are having a rather difficult time associating the smiling, confident man we know with the battered and unconscious body that lies in that hospital bed, buried under tubes and sensors. As I visited him on Sunday and talked to him, I had a thought that I am sure has crossed all our minds at one point or another. I have just never had it enter my brain in such a direct and immediate way.
Why not me?
Why was I blessed with the good fortune to suffer nothing more serious than a bruised ego, when someone else who had almost the same kind of accident was almost killed? Heck, why were the passengers in the same car, in the same accident, spared the injuries that he suffered?
I’m sure that most of you have an answer. I know I do. But the honest truth is that no answer can put my mind to rest. Even though I am old and cynical enough to know better, I can’t help but feel that somehow, in the great cosmic scheme of things, I traded places with him. I want to tell him that I’m sorry. I won’t, because that will only confuse the poor guy when he finally wakes up. And I know that I will eventually come to my senses and not worry about this anymore. But for now, I will nurse my fifteen year old wounds as best I can, and pray for my friend as hard as I can, and hope that it turns out all right in the end.
