My closest encounter with death happened on this day five years ago. The moment I crossed the double yellow line which was barely visible on the snow covered highway I knew we were in big trouble. We made it all the way across the road and I was skidding on ice attempting to stay in a straight line parallel to the highway but I was completely out of control. The worst possible thing happened next. My Honda drifted back onto the highway in the direct path of oncoming traffic. The passenger side of the vehicle was exposed and the only thing I could do was attempt a last second jerk of the steering wheel to get our daughter out of harms way. This oncoming van moving about 50mph was going to smash into my driver's side door and end my life. The horror in the van driver's eyes just before impact was most certainly going to be my last memory of life on earth.
My brain was processing every moment with some kind of hyper awareness... the sounds of the exploding windows, the shards of glass shooting through the air, the vehicles around me moving in slow motion as we spun backwards twisting like we were on a merry-go-round ride. We landed in a ditch facing the scene of the accident. I was still alive but couldn't breathe and I was in excruciating pain. Nicole grabbed my hand and looked into my eyes. "Dad, please tell me you're okay!" I couldn't answer. All I could do was pant in very quick short breaths to avoid the pain of my seven broken ribs. My body was gurgling like the sounds an empty stomach makes. Nicole called 911 and jumped out of the vehicle running around to the driver's door to see if she could open it but it was smashed in and touching my ribs. I was completely helpless and unable to breathe.
The first person on the scene was Ray, the chief of police. He ran through the stopped cars and peered into my window. This was personal for Ray. He happens to be my wife's first cousin. The ambulance arrived within four minutes. "Seat belt on," the first responder yelled before attempting to open the driver's door. I was still breathing in short pants and not able to speak. The first responders decided the best move was to get me out through the passenger side of the Honda and they hurriedly excavated me, placed me on the stretcher and carted me off leaving Nicole stranded on the side of the icy road. She was supposed to go with me but the paramedics were focused on getting me to the hospital with Godspeed. A stranger drove Nicole home. Her only injury was a laceration on her lower lip from the broken glass.
I requested that all family members stay home. There was already another fatality not far from my accident site and I needed my family to be safe. Our son, Ryan, who lived nearby the hospital at University of Iowa came into my room but I didn't know he was there because I was wearing a neck brace and all I could do was look straight up. He witnessed me crack a couple of jokes with the nurses and called Helen to tell her dad was going to be okay.
The next morning I was sitting on the edge of my bed talking with my doctor when Helen and Nicole walked in expecting the worst. We were chatting about my discharge. Helen's jaw dropped. She knew the extent of my injuries which included a pleural effusion, a hematoma on my spleen, and seven broken ribs. "The spleen is already healing," the doctor told my wife. He explained to my family that if I could walk around the top floor twice I could be released. Then he asked, "How far do you think you can walk?"
"Five miles," I responded still wanting to know how long it would be before I could return to the tennis courts and support my teammates. I learned that you don't ask that question when you're in the trauma unit. The lead doctor didn't answer the question but did request a neck brace for a probable head injury.
I was discharged 24 hours after the accident. My miracle? It was the ice that allowed me to bounce off of the oncoming vehicle and skid away from certain death. It was also my body which was finely tuned from playing indoor tennis with my team. It was also my incessant prayers for healing during my sleepless night in the hospital. It was the great care I received from University of Iowa Hospital. It turns out that the only casualty from the accident was my favorite blue tennis shirt from my days playing competitive tennis in Southern California. The paramedic tending to me in the back of the ambulance asked if my shirt had any sentimental value before he cut it off my body with his scissors. It was the only time I cried. Have a great day.
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