It’s funny how many thoughts your brain can process in just a couple of seconds. I’ve thought about this for seven months now, and even though it sounds crazy, I really was able to process so much in just the couple of seconds I remember before I crashed. I remember the road curving to the left and for some reason, I wasn’t able to make the sharp curve. I saw the guardrail and knew I was going to hit it. I knew to expect pain, but the thought of serious injury or death never crossed my mind- I wasn’t even going that fast, but then again, 35 mph on a motorcycle is much different than 35 mph in a car! Every thought I had was just so methodical and emotionless- I wasn’t scared or sad or any of that… maybe it was because I ONLY had just a couple of seconds to process what was about to happen, but I mostly just remember thinking that this was going to hurt. After the impact, there was just… nothing. Darkness like being asleep or under anesthesia. I knew nothing and felt nothing. Little did I know that there would be plenty of times ahead where I would’ve given almost anything to know and feel nothing again.
“She’s hurt. She’s hurt bad.” I could hear my dad on the phone with 911. “37-year-old female, motorcycle accident. It’s bad.” Then to me: “Stay with me! Come on. Stay with me!”
What is that noise!? I could hear this awful screeching sound- it sounded like a little squealing piglet and I could see the sky and some grass. I knew that I was hurt, but I don’t remember feeling anything. What’s that awful noise I’m hearing? Jesus, someone make it stop! And why can’t I open my mouth? I feel something in the back of my throat- I’m gurgling and I can’t say anything. I can’t move. My mouth still won’t open! WHAT’S THAT NOISE!? Then…. Nothing again.
My dad was in front of me and he was going a little faster than I wanted to go, so I had slowed down. He said he saw my headlight in his mirror make the curve and then he saw the bike fall over. No one actually saw my wreck, but I would love to see an animation of exactly what happened because my injuries were so bizarre. When my dad found me, I was unconscious and not breathing, folded over the guardrail. He said he picked me up off of the guardrail and held me and I started coughing up a lot of blood, so he rolled me on my side and waited for help. I was told that I was conscious, but incoherent. However, I did manage to say one thing: “I need a helicopter.”
A couple points of interest: my accident was in the same county in which I worked as a paramedic so it was my coworkers that responded. These are people that I live with every third day, swap war stories with, and rely on to have my back in dangerous situations. I later found out that my friend, Steven, that ran me had quite a hard time dealing with this call after it was all said and done. No one expected me to live; and I had my dad, my boss, several co-workers, and a couple of friends there that all thought that would be the last time they saw me alive.
Secondly, and I cannot stress enough HOW grateful I am that this did not happen, but my husband should have run this call. Luckily, he was out of town on a camping trip, but this happened on his shift and it was his day to run the first call of the shift. The job is stressful enough, but I can’t imagine running my spouse or child in something so traumatic. I wish I could help him let it go, but this thought still haunts him.
Oh. And that squealing sound I talked about earlier? That was me screaming. That’s the sound I hear at night.