Ten Years Later...

Ten years ago today, I was hit head-on by a drunk driver.

I'd just had a great weekend in Atlanta at Kimme's house and was not looking forward to being back to reality. I'd turned down an offer for a ride to Nashville Christian School because I was going to be late getting back into town. The Lipscomb University Acappella Singers, in which I was singing alto in college, was about to give a Sunday evening concert at NCS and I was a little grouchy about cutting my weekend a bit short to sing there.

I changed into my black dress, grabbed my music folder, keys, and driver's license and jumped in the car -- my mom's hand-me-down Volvo. (Side note: Over Christmas break, I'd contemplated bringing my old purple Camaro back to school instead of the Volvo. That probably changed the course of my history.) Since I didn't have any pockets in my dress, I'd been balancing my license on top of my folder, but it slid off on the way out the door.

I wasn't incredibly familiar with the route to NCS, but I knew where I was going. I was on Charlotte Pike in Nashville, where it's two lanes. It was straight, wide, and flat. The weather was perfect and it was still daylight. I was going slower than I cared to because of the traffic.

All of a sudden, the Jeep Wagoneer in front of me swerved and took the ditch and that's when I saw him. His Ford Econoline van clipped the back of her and hit me head on. I don't remember the impact.

The next thing I can recall is a rescue worker outside my shattered window reassuring me that I was okay, but that he'd have to cut my door off to get me out. I remember telling him (screaming at him) that I was fine and that he just needed to get me out. There was blood everywhere, but I had no idea where it was coming from and I couldn't move my arm.

Then I remember the lights inside the ambulance and the light above my bed in the trauma unit at Vanderbilt. Doctors were coming in and out and asking me the same stuff over and over, but I don't think I was giving them good information. Since my driver's license wasn't in the car, I was unidentified. (They named me "El Paso, El Paso" because I was the fifth unidentified person admitted that day and they were using cities in Texas to name them.) I'd give them parts of names and parts of phone numbers and they finally pieced together enough information to get in touch with my family.

Whomever called my mom should win an award. They called her at home. My brother answered and they started giving him information until he said something like "Whoa. You need to talk to my mom." Very calmly they told her that her daughter Laura had asked them to call her and tell her that she's okay, but that she'd been in an accident and wanted her to come." I had no idea they'd called anyone. She was 6 hours away, so she called Grandma and told her to hit the road since she was only 2 hours away.

My uncle (Russ, I think) took Grandma to Nashville to be with me and as soon as she saw me in the trauma unit, she passed out and had to be admitted. Evidently, I looked pretty bad.

I was still covered in blood. The driver side window had shattered and was in my face and arms. The airbags had burned my hands and left forearm. My right humerus was completely snapped in two places. (It had been set and put in a gravity cast.) My legs were deeply bruised from the engine impact and I was swollen all over. I had a reaction to the pain medicine they'd given and had thrown up all over my hair, so they wrapped it back in gauze. (What?!?) My clothes (every stitch of them) had been cut off and I was only covered by a sheet -- at least that's what I think, because I was freezing. However, even just that sheet was killing my right foot. That was the only body part I was worried about because it was hurting so bad. Yes, I had my arm dangling beside me in pieces, but I was concerned about the foot. (Another side note: The trauma team didn't even check my foot. A week later at my first ortho follow-up x-rays, I forced them to x-ray the foot and they determined that it was broken in at least 4 places!)

My family finally all arrived. Dad had been out of town on business, so he hopped on a plane as soon as mom called him and dashed to my bedside. I was only in the hospital 2 days. Mom and Dad took me to Steve and Susan's house (mom's college roommate) to rest and recover. They bathed me and scooped the rest of the glass out of my ears, nursed my wounds, and put me in bed.

That afternoon, my dad went to the lot where they hauled my wrecked car to retrieve my belongings and assess the damage. When he returned, he sat down in front of me, held my hands, and cried. I had no idea what he'd seen. (Mom and I can't find the pictures, but once we do, I'll be sure to post some.)

What they explained to me that day is that I shouldn't have walked away from that accident. If I'd been in any other car, I'd have been killed. Upon impact, the airbag deployed, the steering wheel popped off (probably what broke my arm), the engine dropped down and when the van went over the top of me, the windshield cracked without shattering and the roof buckled on the "B" pillar, creating a safety cage.

I don't know all the facts of the guy who hit me. I know his name, but I'll keep it to myself. He was 49 years old. I'm told he wasn't wearing his seat belt, but survived anyway. His face was shattered on the windshield and he was in the hospital for 3 months. Instead of a simple misdemeanor of DUI, he was charged with the felony of vehicular assault, which was violation of his parole -- for murder. Yep. He'd evidently killed someone more than a decade before over drugs.

He went to prison. My source told me he'd be eligible for parole in 2008. So at the end of 2007, I wrote the parole board and received an unfortunate response. They told me he'd been released a few months before. I'd been told wrong about his parole. They assured me that I would be added to the list of people they contacted if he were to be arrested again. I sincerely hope he does not get arrested because that would mean that he'd done the same thing to someone else.

I'm pretty passionate about alcohol awareness. And I'm definitely a serious seatbelt advocate. I think Volvos are great, but I don't drive one now. I give credit for my survival to God. For He alone can give life or take it away.

It's hard to believe that I didn't even know my husband ten years ago. I can barely imagine that he is such a huge part of my life yet he has no idea what that season of my life was like. I stayed in school that semester, only having to drop one class. I learned to write with my left hand (not very well, but it did the job) because my right arm was immobile for two months. I pledged a social club (for all you non-Lipscombites, that's like a sorority in Christian schools). I wore overalls a lot so I didn't have to constantly ask my fellow dorm dwellers to fasten my pants for me. I learned how to tie my hair back with one hand. I moved on. But at the end of that semester, I had to be at his hearing. I had to look at him. I had two of my best friends beside me in the court room that day and I was strong.

I remember my accident every day. I still have scars on my hands. I feel the weather change in my shoulder, knees, and right foot. It doesn't go away. But I don't want it to. That terrible event is part of who I am today.

I know I shared a bunch of information with this post and I don't expect my writing to win any style points, but I thank you for reading it and for letting me get it out. Today was a big day.