Driving by my "Moment in Time"

It is mid-March, I am pale from never leaving the confines of my home and cabin fever has taken its toll on me.  Grocery shopping needs to be done, my husband suggests I accompany him and see how I feel while riding in the front seat.  Then we will be able to gauge how often I can make trips from home.   It is certainly a hassle to transport me because I am of no help getting into and out of our truck, but my man never complains.

As we head to Cuba, Missouri, just twelve minutes from our home, my heart clenches as my husband does not turn left towards the interstate, instead continuing to drive on the outer road, knowing we will drive the exact route of our collision.

 I have never questioned him about this decision, although I do wonder if this was an oversight or his way of urging me to overcome this obstacle.

Passing the turn off, I mentioned that I was becoming nervous due to the direction we were traveling.  Instinctively, he reached for my hand, holding, caressing my clammy skin the entire drive.  Not being clear on exactly where our desecrated pile of metal landed, Greg softly said, “Right here.” 

My eyes moved to the right side of the road, the scene looking different in the

daylight as our wreck happened under the cloak of darkness.  Railroad tracks, pine trees, pain.  Three vague memories create an ache deep within my heart.  That night, the impact, our girls quivering voices brings a heaviness to my broken soul.  Throwing me into a silent, lonely place filled with immense heavy sadness.  Each time pained thoughts of this chaos chisel through my protective wall, it overwhelms me with these emotions and I wonder how long it will take my spirit to heal.

Quietly, slowly bringing in long, deep breaths as we pass the spot in mere seconds, my body releases as if it broke from a fever.  Reaching our destination, I release my grip on Greg’s hand, rip my jacket off due to the profuse sweating happening underneath and announce, “We made it.”    

Just a week later we again headed to Cuba, but this time night has fallen.  We were attending a fundraiser my family had organized for us.  

Before I knew what was happening, I was staring into a huge set of white head lights passing by us.  Mesmerized by their intensity, my eyes becoming huge, my breathing stopped, reliving the impact at that exact moment.  As the truck was equal distance to ours, my head jerked hard to my right just as it did when we were hit that frigid evening.  Quickly realizing I was staring out my own window, we were not actually colliding and that this was just a flashback, I forced my heartbeat to slow. 

Eyes tightly squeezed shut, softly I urged,  “Greg, I need to travel more at night, to get over these feelings that I have.  I did not realize I still have so much anxiety about traveling in the dark.” 

Although this is my first expedition into the night, it would not be my last flashback under these circumstances.  If I conquered this episode of apprehension and survived to tell it, surely I could conquer the ones to come.


My largest challenge is just that, challenging myself too hard, too early.

Stronger than Yesterday FB

If Tomorrow Never Comes

     Scouring our digital photos for a specific one I was searching for, I clicked on this image.  At once, I stopped, filled with emotions and memories flooding my thoughts.

December 25th, 2010.  One day after my thirty-fifth birthday, four days before our family would be forced to adapt to a new way of living. 

The next image that enlarged on my computer screen was this one. 

My heart nearly fell out of my chest.  Our family, our children, our world.  Almost lost.  

"What if's" came to my mind for the first time ever about the footings we poured as the foundation of our little tribe we had formed.

     "What if" we knew what was going to happen just days from when this photo was taken, would we have absorbed more from this memory?

     "What if" we would have slowed down more instead of just talking about it?

     "What if" we wouldn't have let the stressors of this life disturb us so much?

     "What if" one of us hadn't lived, would the rest of us know how much we loved them?

     That's the one that became my main focus.  Had I not lived, would the rest of my family understand how much love my heart holds for them?  

     We cannot use "what if's" to look at or change our past, we can use them to look at and change our future.  

     I have been working on this concept for five years now.  Not thinking about "what if's" and just doing what my heart feels regardless of life's circumstances.  

     It can be so hard at times, so hard to keep that positive outlook with the negativity influencing our posse of six. 

    Our teenagers may not want me to hug or tell them that I love them, but I'm doing it anyway because it is true.  They may not want to take things as slow as I do, to stop the moment so I can cuddle up in it and feel the warmth surrounding me, but I'm going to do it anyway. 

     My husband may appear bashful as I stroke his ego for stepping up and choosing to be the protector, mentor and leader of our family until I could again stand by his side in partnership, but I will continue to lift him up with praise.  When our lives fell apart, he dug in his heels instead making an exit.

     My hopes are that each of us will have no regrets of not showing enough affection, not saying I love you or of not sharing in the memories.  At the end of our lives, creating memories are all that really matter, all that we truly look back on and there should be no anguish over, "What if" I had done more.

     When I view these images, no matter if they seem insignificant or historic, that these are moments, memories in the making, that we would have lost out on.   

     If my tomorrow never comes, as it almost did, my family will know how much I loved them, they will know I tried in every way, they will know how much they fill my heart. 

   

Don't Cross that Yellow Line

     How long did it take you to drive after your collision?  That is a popular question I have after speaking or in general.  

     A more recent question, one I have never been asked by until recently is, 

" How are you not scared to be in a car or think about it all the time?"  

     A student sent this inquiry to me along with a story of his own.

     I could not drive much until my third year of recovery, so I had been a passenger most of the time I was in a vehicle.  But when it was time that I was allowed to begin making short trips to town, I really had to think about how I was going to handle getting behind the wheel again. 

     We had four children who were involved in all kinds of activities.  Since we live out of town, it's not a small feat to find someone to transport them from our home.   I wanted to drive just so I didn't have to put that strain on others and I desperately wanted my independence back. 

     My ankles had to be strong enough to hit the brakes in an emergency case, my mind had to be able to focus and I had to make sure I had my emotions under control. 

     Beginning just like a teenager again, practicing was necessary.  Initially I just drove up the drive to pick our children up from the bus and graduated to traveling our gravel roads until I made a full circle back to our home with a short stretch of highway. 

     Eventually I decided I was ready to drive them to practices, games, etc.  I was missing out on their lives and that was my most powerful catalyst. 

 

   I subconsciously hug the white line because I want to be as far away from the center line as possible.   I have had flash backs while driving as someone will hit their brakes and BAM!  I'm right back at the scene as it's unfolding.  I've always been able to bring myself back to reality, but it leaves my body full of adrenaline.

     When a vehicle nears that yellow line or crosses it, my heart constricts to the point that I cannot breathe and it is pounding in my throat.  I'm not sure I show a single sign on the outside of my body, but inside I'm screaming, "God, no!" 

     I calm myself immediately as a confrontation is avoided, but I do not believe that knee-jerk reaction will ever stop.  

     As for my response to that particular gentleman who questioned me. 

        "I think about it each time I get behind the wheel

& any time someone gets close to the center line my heart

beats in my throat. I've consciously made a choice not to let it control me, I want to live freely without my situation holding me hostage .  It's not that I will ever forget but I make sure I've learned from it." 

     I don't know anything else to do.     This collision was not my fault.   I have to live with the knowledge that I am not in

control and it could happen just as easily as it did before. 

     But I will not be a prisoner of it.  Having a great many years to live and create enjoyable memories is my priority and I cannot do that if I am constantly afraid.  

     So I choose to saddle up and conquer my fear.  I will not idly stand by as I watch life unfold around me.  I am going to live it.  

     Somewhere along in my life I have stopped reacting and have begun initiating.   That is where I find my control.
     

Nightmare on Route 66

     Nightmares. 

      "Do I have them?", is a typical question from inquisitive minds.

     Truthfully, in the four years of my recovery, dreaming of the collision is not a frequent occurrence.  Recalling only a handful of night visions during this season of turmoil is frequent enough for myself.  Each session of my subconscious was emotionally exhausting, but oddly, only my first illusion was an authentic nightmare.

     Nearing three months of my husband and I slumbering in our living room, I introduced the idea of seeking out our bedroom.  Although we held hands between my hospital bed and the sofa, we had not slept beside each other since the collision.  He was beginning to ambulate in an odd fashion as the support from our old couch gave way.  

     Wheeling myself to his side of the bed, because that is the only place my chariot could fit, we quickly realized the bed was too high for my weakened arms to lift my delicate structure up efficiently.  Every action was slow and calculated because every action caused intense pain.  My body was seized into a chair pose, even in the hospital bed.  Positioning my legs to lie above the level of my heart was crucial and I had no tolerance to lie flat on my back.  Twenty-four hours a day, I pushed the buttons on the remote to position the mattress to conform to my tattered body.  Stacking pillows below my legs and upper body we finally lay beside each other.  I smiled back at my husband even though it felt as if I were laying on a stack of plywood.   He lay so close to me, almost as if he were afraid I would disappear if he did not.  After fidgeting with slipping pillows we fell asleep connected by intertwined fingers.  

     Promptly I was launched into a nightmare that reproduced itself unceasingly.  Never-ending it seemed.  The identical three seconds that is the root of my terror during the impact of our vehicles colliding, replayed incessantly in my imagination.  

       A  truck, popping over a small hill, rounding the corner, careening toward us.   I, watching as it's body leaned around the curve and it's tires tried desperately to grasp the pavement.   Crossing the center line, forcefully blocking our paths.  

 It was flying, literally flying!   Whipping back and forth across the yellow lines.  Back and forth, it was erratic.   Good Lord, it's not going to stop!  Panic was coursing through my entire body, creating violent tremors, my mind was screaming in hysteria !  This was happening so fast!   "No!" my mind roared, "No!"   It's too close, we're going to die.

 Enormous round lights, blinded my vision with complete whiteness.   They are in my face!    I screamed so loud my lungs burned,   "Oh My God!!!"

     Again, again, again, again and AGAIN!  Stop! 

      Fifty? Seventy-five times this horror cascaded itself upon me.  Waking in hysteria, my body had reacted as if I had just lived through the impact again.  Finding myself in my home, I felt droplets of sweat running down my skin as I released the sheets of my grip.  They were wet.  Reaching up to my stomach, my shirt was literally soaked with perspiration.  Beating like a war drum in my throat was my anguished heart.  My body was petrified in panic as I pried each one of my shoulders from the hardness  of the mattress.  Slowing my breath, afraid I was hyperventilating, I clutched at reality.

  I know where I am.  I know I am okay.  I know it was a dream.   Steadying my wild eyes to focus, I inhaled and exhaled deeply until twenty minutes later I felt myself drifting into a slumber.

    

A G A I N!!! 

     Immediately catapulted into another fifty episodes of the insanity of the same three seconds that had just molested me, my subconscious stole my sleep until morning light.  Having done nothing but lie in bed for seven hours, I was absolutely exhausted.  Physically and emotionally.  

     I only wanted for my pain to end.  Emotional pain.  My heart ached from it, my mind was consumed by it and my spirit fought diligently against it.  

     Although those same three seconds enter my mind often, that dream has never invaded my sleep since.  It is a horrible scene to translate, but it has taught me to not be afraid to live.  Now I have chosen to use it for a better purpose.

To intentionally inspire others to live each day 

as if it had just begun.

    

Four Years in the Making

     Never has four years moved so slow and so fast at the same time.  Turning around to look back at my life during those years, it has sped by.  How can four years have passed so quickly?  Breaking the years down into each of eleven surgeries, those days passed at a crawl.

      Reflecting often during my days working on the farm, I ask myself, " Now that you are at the end of your recovery, what would you change regarding your experience?"  This is not a quick answer to be spat out, it requires digging deep within, to a place usually reserved for those few times in our lives when something rocks us to our core.  So I sit and get real with myself.  

     Would I change anything?   Of course I wish the collision would not have happened, but that was not in my control.  I am well educated in pain, but it keeps me humble.  The journey was long and hard, but look at the life lessons I have reaped.   My family has endured this time with me as I healed my broken body, but they have learned how to pull together when times are tough.  This one single event has caused incredible amounts of pain for many, but for myself,  it has given me a better home in life.  

      Physically I am handicapped, but emotionally and spiritually, I am in a area that I have never been before.  God is not one to pass up opportunity.  He has given us freedom to choose so he could not stop the collision, but he took the time to present to me an opportunity to work on myself, my relationship with others and my relationship with Him.  Again, it was my choice to accept this convenience, but I know He tugged at me diligently to walk in His direction.  

     The year has closed and a new year has just begun.  I have no idea how I will write this next segment of my life and for once I am not going to plan it out.  I will live and learn as I go.  I will appreciate the gift of my own life and I will believe in myself.  Not having an outline will be a contrast for me as I am letting Him lead me, but I do feel a bit of excitement at the unknown.  With Him as my escort, I am no longer afraid.  I guess my answer is, no.  Even I shake my head at that conclusion, but this is what I feel.

      Although I have never asked the question, "Why?" this happened to me, while recovering I did not understand why the path had to be so difficult.  Until now.   

We would never listen unless it was.

There were Angels all Around Us

     I can only speak from my perspective when I relay the delicate details of my memories, but in conversing with our children, they feel as strongly as I do about how each one of you who helped in any way has been an Angel sent to us.  

     There are few memories from my extrication and transport, but those few seem like such large remembrances.   There were people surrounding our car, helping keep the girls and I calm while waiting for the emergency crew to come to our aid.   Per my husband's communication, he arrived in record time and he skidded our truck to a halt in front of our scene. There was only a fire truck and a few cars on the highway.  Jumping out of the truck as his vision was tunneled only to see our white car, he regarded that the air bags blocked his vision of us as he hurried towards the passenger side.  Speaking with our girls he calmed and reassured them as the ambulance crew started to assess the situation.   Looking at the passenger side of the car, he thought, "Okay, this might not be too bad", then as he rounded the back of the car toward my side, he was shocked by the devastation staring back at him.

    Kneeling beside my window in the frozen grass, he lifted the airbag and asked, "Carey...... are you doing okay?"   At the sound of my husband's voice I felt my resolve shatter.  I was trying to stay so strong for our girls.   " It hurts so bad" I whimpered softly, but no tears could come with this cry as I was in shock.  I could only see an outline of him, but every part of me felt his presence.  He filled me with words of confidence and affection and moved back to the passenger side as the paramedics began to remove the girls from our demolished car.  I floated in and out of consciousness for the remainder of the extraction. 


     Feeling fairly calm this entire time,  I knew that my husband was able to comfort the girls so I had given into the darkness waiting to claim me.  Firemen and paramedics continuously woke me and I was able to give yes and no answers.  My personality is usually mellow and that seemed to stay true with me during this traumatic occurrence.  I'm sure if I could have formed the thought, I would have surmised that acting like a raving lunatic would have gotten me no where except being told to quiet down so the firemen could get me out more quickly.   
 
     As customary, I sat quietly and answered when spoken to.  I remember very little of this process.  I do remember once looking out my window and my gaze landed on my husband and my Dad, standing by the railroad tracks.  My vision had been only in black and white when I initially awoke, now my vision was again in color.  They both had their hands in their pockets and were staring at me with solemn faces.   Anguish for them consumed me.  I reassured them I was fine and not to worry, but that I was grateful they were both there.   

     They didn't respond, I discerned after a few moments that I hadn't actually spoken the words.  I was speaking novels in my head but the words were not emerging from my mouth.  I tried to show emotion through my eyes but by this point I was incapable of accomplishing much on my own.  I knew because I was in shock that I had that hollow stare and hated that they had to witness this from someone they loved.  I allowed my eyelids to fall shut. 

I believe the 'health care' training I've received helped me

understand the phases I was going through and how I needed to respond.  I also was consoled at the thought that at least one person out of all of the emergency crew would have to know me personally.  I didn't recognize any voices, but they were fantastic in how they handled me.  They were firm and direct when asking me questions or disclosing what action they were taking next, yet extremely consoling and supportive.  Never once do I remember any derogatory words, yelling or anything that would make me panic.  They were professional and compassionate in their work.  I will forever be grateful for their demeanor as a team.

     In the midst of cutting the car apart, one of the firemen advised me that they would have to remove the roof off the car.  "Okay" I acknowledged.  The next thought that entered my mind was sarcastic and I chuckled as I reflected to myself, 
"Well Greg's sure gonna like that!"  Like it really mattered, right?   It is amazingly odd how our minds work. 

      During the extraction, there was always someone to the right of me in the car, soothing me, quieting any fears I had.  Having this person there since my husband was unable to be near me as this transpired was essential.  After the roof was removed my husband leaned over the hood of the car and told me the ambulance was leaving and transporting the girls to the hospital in Rolla.  

     He asked me what I wanted him to do.  The girls couldn't be alone!  I told him to follow and take care of them and I assumed I would be following them shortly in my own ambulance.  I'm sure he had already come to this conclusion.  He translated that my Dad was going to stay with me so I wouldn't be alone and that Dad would give him regular updates of my progress.  I was comforted at the thought that he was still going to be there with me.  My husband's position was appalling .  

     He watched his family being separated from each other.  I did not follow them to Rolla.  We were taken to two hospitals in totally different directions.  He was being forced to make a decision to leave me, not knowing how severe my injuries actually were.  His strength is admirable, but his situation is not envied.

     I remember very little until I was pushed into the ambulance. 

Immediately paramedics cut off my clothes and when the woman had to lift my right leg I couldn't help but to moan out in pain.   I vaguely remember the Emergency Room sign as I was being wheeled into the hospital in Sullivan.  They performed CT's and many xrays and I remember nothing.  Having been conscious at some point when my Dad arrived at my bedside, I relayed in a childlike voice, " Daddy, I broke both of my legs".   Funny how tragedy makes you revert to childhood endearments.   

     As I was being pushed back into the ambulance the woman paramedic was overly apologetic to me.  She delivered the news,stating, " We can't fly you out because it is too foggy.  I'm so sorry, but we have to drive to Barnes Hospital and it's going to be a long, rough ride."   Moaning my disapproval I begged, "I don't care, just give me some medicine so I can go to sleep."  I believe that is just what happened next.  There is not even a vague recollection of that ride to St. Louis.

    By this time Dad has given my husband the news that I miraculously did not have brain damage or organ injuries.   My bone damage was severe, but I would survive.  

     There are angels all around, wrapping their beautiful wings around us in our time of need, disguised as ordinary people, living ordinary lives.  Most of us believe in angels, but have you ever thought of that angel as You?

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Let's Go Home

       During those days after my second surgery there was an instant when my husband and my Mom were in the room with me, I was curious as to what actually happened to us.  Not quite understanding the details or maybe the details were blocked as a safety measure by my own instinct, I asked them for specifics about the crash. 

     I had no recollection that there were four vehicles involved.  I thought it was just him and I.  Four vehicles,that's a big deal.  Inquiring about the other motorist, they broke the news that we were hit by a drunk driver and that he did not survive.  

     Time froze in that moment of realization, complete shock encompassed me.  I could barely obtain a clear thought anyway, but this had me in astonishment.   Their images were obscured as I tried to grasp their words.  I was involved in a fatal car crash, this was hard to fathom.  I asked many questions.  Sometimes asking the same questions over again because I didn't recall asking them the first time.  This stage replays in my head many hours of the day as I try to comprehend.

  I was  involved in my own thoughts when I heard my Mom say something about my face.  Oh my Gosh!  I had been consumed with my ankles and hadn't even considered that I may have lacerations or burns.  In fact, I had not even looked at myself above the waist, at least that I could recall. 

      I asked for a mirror and they explained the left side of my face was burned from the airbag.   When I viewed my image I was a taken aback by the reflection.  I scanned my face and it was red from the burns and starting to peel in some places.  There was a perfect line down the center of my face since I had apparently turned my head to the right when we were struck.  

      I examined the rest of my body to find it was beaten up as well.   My left shoulder had a deep throb in it, like something was torn.  I had minimal movement with it.  Bruising was shown everywhere on my person especially on the left side of my body.  Deep, purple bruising.  My body was riddled with them as well as cuts and scrapes.   How my face and upper body were spared from the glass I can't figure out.  The glass had only penetrated once at my hair line and once above my lip.  Minor scars for such a severe tragedy.  




  

   Daytime softened into night and on my ninth day of being stationed on the orthopedic floor of the hospital, the day before I was released, I was jolted to consciousness by an immeasurable pain afflicting my right lower leg.  It was centered exactly over my fibula that had been crushed.   It stole my breath and ability to speak.  My husband was swiftly by my bedside asking what was causing such drama from me.  In the midst of expressing my thoughts, I could feel the spasms forthcoming.  It began slowly, as to let me know I had better prepare, then it rushed in a wave of convulsions.  I thought my leg was being shattered all over again.  

My husband called for the nurse as I collapsed back to my pillow.  The lines around my eyes grimaced as my eyes slammed shut, gasping.  There was a traction device over my bed and with the next spasm I grasped the handle and  growled as my teeth clenched together furiously.  Involuntary short grunts were coming out between my gritted teeth as I endured the torture.  

     This happened time and time again, never relenting.  This behavior is not an action I am accustomed to.  I have no control over this.  A sob escaped my lips as I was fighting another convulsion,  I can't take anymore.  "Please!" I begged silently.  In desperation, my husband grieved, " Oh Carey" as he laid his head on the bed beside me while grasping my right arm,  my amazing nurse let tears fall as I fought through this. She frantically called for the physician to obtain permission for an additional dose of Dilaudid.  My cries were great as she pushed the brilliant fluid through my IV.   Quickly the spasms subsided as I abandoned awareness.


     The humor of my coming experiences were just beginning.  The next morning all thoughts of the previous day were forgotten as my nurse entered my room explaining that I could be discharged as long as I had a bowel movement.  She was candidly holding a suppository in her hand and asked if I wanted her to insert it or if I preferred to do it myself.  My head whipped over to look at her hand and I was bewildered and appalled.   It was like she was asking me if I wanted cereal or eggs for breakfast.   "Uh, I'll do it" I stammered.
     
  Good grief, the things I have to go through!  I knew anytime you have surgery or an extended hospital stay that this was policy, I just hadn't thought about it for myself.  Later, I was abash when my husband informed me that this wasn't the first time I had encountered the nurse with a suppository.  I'm overjoyed that I don't remember these incidents. 

     A physical therapist taught me how to get out of bed and transfer myself to the wheelchair.  We toured the orthopedic floor as I learned to maneuver my new ride.   I giggled at the thought that they let me operate it while under the influence of such strong pain meds.   We were in good spirits and on the tenth day I was released to go home to live without Dilaudid.  

"When something bad happens to you, 

you have three choices.

You can let it define you, 

let it destroy you, 

or you can let it strengthen you."

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It's Time to Wake Up

   My last two blogs have been some of my most emotional.  Continuing this same path for the rest of this month makes me sigh when I choose what I want to work through next.  Only due to the high emotion is causes, but each week I purge and the part of me that hurts so much from that particular remembrance ebbs. 

  It is working. 

     Natural curiosity is abundant when an event of this magnitude occurs.  Asking ,"What was like when I awoke or what do you remember as you awoke?" was and still is a dominant inquiry.  Here it is as "I" relive it. 

      Six-thirty.  There were no sirens that I could hear.  I started to wake just like the actors do in the movies.  Trying so hard to pry my eyelids open.   Feeling as if they had weights hanging from them.    They blinked dramatically slow.   Fogginess obscured my mind and focusing was minimal.  I had no idea where I was or what had transpired just moments before.  When my eyes could focus, I ascertained I was looking out my drivers side car window, but there was no glass.  I believed I was looking at a hillside of grass.  It was at the level of my window and I could only see in black and white.  When our car finally stopped spinning  after the impact, we circled to a gridlock in a ditch along side of the rail road tracks.  

 I was trying to make sense of what I was seeing when I heard what I thought were people yelling at me.  Where was that coming from?   Did I hear, Mommy?   It had to be the girls, they were both calling my name, begging me, "Please wake up, please!" "Are you okay?" they demanded .   

Words finally penetrated through my lethargic mind.  "Mommy, I think I broke my arm", the oldest said softly.  Broke her arm?  What is she speaking of?  It started coming back to me, creeping ever so slowly into my confusion.  

Dear God, we were in a crash!  I knew it had to be terrible, there's no way we couldn't be hurt after a crash like that.   Her voice was trembling as she stated again, "Mommy, I think I broke my arm."    I thought I knew how strong I was until I heard the pain in my children's voices.  

  I  turned my head towards her voice and my movement seemed unusually delayed.   There was only darkness with a white light in the upper left corner of my vision when rotating my head to the right.  Why couldn't I see them?   I knew my eyes were open, I had just been looking at grass. 

 I was desperately trying to get the words that were in my head to reach my lips.  I needed to give them reassurance.  I spoke softly to them, " Calm down, people will be here to help us soon.  Call 911."  Only partial words were coming out, but they understood enough to take action.  She grabbed her cell phone from her pocket and called for emergency help. 

 Again I tried to move, to help the girls and yet still I couldn't see them.  Something was so close to my chest, it wouldn't let me turn either direction and the lower half of my body wouldn't move.  I was trapped and couldn't understand why my body wasn't feeling any sensations.  The shadows kept trying to envelope me, they were breathing down my neck.  I fought for consciousness every moment.

  I heard the youngest say in a small voice, " Carey, I think I'm cut on my belly pretty bad."  My heart sank as I wondered what injuries they had sustained.  My little angels were suffering.  I tried to ask her if she could see the cut.  She then stated confidently, " No, no I think it's okay" then just mere moments later, the worry is back in her voice as she whimpered, "No, Carey, I think it's pretty bad."  To hear her tone and the way she is dramatic one moment, then nonchalant the next, it is just so her.  I don't know how humor could show it's face in my drowsy mind at that moment, but it did.  Even though my heart was aching for the girls, it let me know her personality was still intact.  Their speech was coherent, this let me assume they did not bear brain trauma.  I did not hold this same confidence with myself. 

    I instructed the girls to call Dad.   A woman took my daughters phone to finish the 911 call. "My  phone is in my purse" I whispered.  Again the youngest asked with all her sassiness " Where the heck is that?"  Again a small smile entered my mind at her.  I told her it was on her floorboard before the accident.  Luckily it lingered at her feet.  

 I was so proud of these two girls.  They really did stay calm in light of what they had just been through.  The oldest took charge of getting us help. She was calm with the 911 operator and in relaying details to my husband about where we were located. 

 What he must have been thinking, I can't imagine.  We had just left the house maybe eight minutes before the collision happened.   

 It's odd that I couldn't get my thoughts to form out of my mouth, but I had so many inside of my head.  I was worried about how badly the girls were injured.  I was frustrated that I couldn't help them.  I wanted to hold each of them tightly and whisper comforting words in their ears.  They were frightened.   I must have hit my head so hard because I just couldn't stay focused on what was happening.  

      As the girls ended their phone call with my husband,  I again tried to turn towards them, then the most God awful, intense pain I had ever felt, hit me in my lower legs.  Never had I felt anything so explosive in my entire life. It was completely overpowering.  Sensation had come back to my body with such severity, rating it on a pain scale was absurd. 

  I reached down and could feel my legs had been pinned by the car.  Debris surrounded them.  Sharpness from the broken car was everywhere.  If I could move them, even a little, maybe it would give me some kind of reprieve from the monstrous agony I was in.   Gently I tugged on my legs and they did move just slightly as my body spasm-ed with pain.  I rested my forehead on whatever piece of the car was against my chest and decided to try a second time.  Pulling just a little harder this time the waves of sickness were too much as the misery escalated me into unconsciousness. 

 Had I been able to think clearly, I would have understood that I should not be attempting this action.  Thank goodness they did not move because I would have caused even more damage to myself as the fractures in my right leg had perforated my skin and were now exposed. 

                         
    There is pain that makes you cry and there is pain high enough to make you vomit.  Then there is the pain that is so severe, your body's natural response is to send you into shock because it cannot tolerate the reactions it's feeling. 

 Your body is in survival mode only. 

   

    I know what drinking and driving is, my story  is how drinking and driving feels.

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