Story- but I'm stuck
The pain finally ceased. Almost every part of my body was numb, and I half wished it would just end. I could feel my face beginning to burn, and that was the only thing that hurt. I knew my wife and two children were in the back, but I had no idea if they were even alive. I didn't hear any crying, screaming, anything. All I could do was replay those moments back in my mind.
We had been coming back home from visiting my wife's family for New Year's. We had been on the road since Christmas, traveling from grandparents, to aunt's and uncle's, cousins, and friends. The small, black car came speeding down the highway behind us, and there was a young woman in the front seat. As the car approached the rear end of our car, I could see her face in my rearview mirror. She was obviously drunk. I began to get nervous. I continued watching her and tuned out the rest of the noise in the car. She began to move over to pass, but I knew she hadn't moved far enough. I tried to get out of the way, but it was too late. She hit the back, left end of our car, hitting it at such a high speed that we flipped. We were partly in the ditch now, car on fire, and no way to call the ambulance. I didn't even know what happened to the young woman. Our only possible hope was that someone stopped from the highway o see what was going on. Apparently there were.
Finally, several sirens became audible as police, firefighters, and paramedics came screeching to the side of Highway 4. Minutes seemed like hours as the paramedics attempted to pull my family and I out of the rolled burning car. After much slow action, they were finally able to untangle me and life me into the ambulance. They sped me away to the hospital, without so much as a time for goodbye to my family.
Every thought bounced around my head a million times, and seemed as though I could touch them. Where was my family? Were they in another ambulance? Were they okay? More importantly, were they alive? How badly was I hurt? Was the beginning of my latest innovation, the time machine, still intact in the trunk of my car? Where were they taking me? What was going to happen to me? I silently tried to get the attention of the paramedics, but no one would give me the slightest acknowledgment or reassurance that everything was going to be okay.
From there, when we arrived at the hospital, I was taken through the emergency room to immediate surgery to have skin grafts over 70% of my body. I was in surgery for nine hours.
After surgery, no one was there to see me. I supposed they were in their own rooms receiving treatment. I knew that as soon as I got out of ICU, I would go find them. I began to wonder, between bouts of unconsciousness, what had happened to the young woman? Would I, or should I, find her later as I looked for my family?
After being in ICU for almost two weeks, the doctor moved me to a room of my own. I began to learn, by listening to the nurses' talk, where the children's floor was; the floor where I could possible find my children. I made little floor plans and drew up some diagrams to occupy my time. I had no idea where my wife would be, but I hoped to find out by listening into the hall through the nurses' chitter-chatter. One day, probably about three or four weeks after moving from the ICU, my doctor came in.
"Well Dan, how's it going? Rough little journey here isn't it?" He began wandering around my room as he continued to make small talk over my vital signs, the outcomes of surgery, possible outcomes, and other unimportant things like that. Suddenly, he stopped.
"What's this? A diagram of the hospital it looks like. You are talented Dan." He glanced up at me.
"Why do you have this?" I knew I could speak, they had removed the bandages from my face, but I remained silent. I stared right back at him, now knowing what to say, as he looked me in the eye.
"Dan, do the stars indidcate where someone might be?" I slowly nodded my head, choking back the tears that welled up within me. They weren't here; I was only kidding myself. I knew, deep in my heart, that they had not survived. I had known it when Joseph and David didn't cry, when the entire car was silent excet for the crackling of the fire. I had known, even then, that I would never see them alive again.
Dr. Smith sadly shook his head as he watched the many tears roll down my scarred, burned cheeks onto the clean, white hospital sheets.
"I'm sorry Dan. You were the only one," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "Not even the young woman survived. You were lucky Dan." Yeah, real lucky, I thought to myself. None of my family is alive anymore, and the driver of the car doesn't even know the suffering that she put me through, and that I would still have to go through. No one could understand, it just hurt too much.
Dr. Smith left the room, left me with my thoughts, left me in the loneliness and silence of my heart. This sorrow, this grief, stayed with me for many weeks to come. I refused to talk to anyone, and I refused to come out of my shell. Weeks passed ino months, and I even began to deny my own existence.
"Dan, I just can't think of anything else to do, and I think it'll really help." I'd been arguing with Dr. Smith for almost an hour now. I guess I should give credit to the man, he had tried to come up with other options, but none of them showed as experimentally helpful. I suppose at this point, he had resigned me to dreadful afternoon sessions with some happy-go-lucky therapist that played music. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not against music or anything, but classical? How much more boring could we get here? I didn't need some music therapist to "bring me out of my sadness and grief." I was doing just fine. I fonly Em were here to hear this ludicrous idea. Oh, Em, she's gone, and so are David and Joseph. Everything somehow relates to them. I just can't get my mind to move away from them. I suppose Dr. Smith was right, maybe something to get my mind off thins, move on. Do I really want to move on though? Or maybe, deep down, I just wanted to continue denying my own existence.
Dr. Smith had scheduled my sessions to begin the next day, so I sat up in bed and waited for my therapist to come introduce herself, or maybe himself. Several people walked by the door, but none came in. I tensed up every time they did that, some of them scared me; they sure did. I was starting to doze off, dream of old times.
"Hey Dan! I'm Chelsea, your therapist! How are you feeling today?" I felt like I was in a movie. You know, open one eye slowly and everything begins to come slightly into focus. I groaned and opened both eyes to squint at her. Oh course, just as I had imagined; frilly white apron over a purple with pink polka-dot dress, little-girl white dress shoes, funky little hat, red frizzy hair, and of course, not a small woman. She's one of those bouncy people too, always on the move. She was just standing at the end of the bed, yet she was making me tired! My eyes were slowly adjusting to the light, and to her outfit, while she chattered on and on about the hospital, the food, the patients, her problems, her ideas, and anything else that really doesn't need to be talked about.
I rolled my eyes, and started to drift off again. I tried not to think about her constant voice buzzing in my ear, as I try to drift off to sleep so she can't do anything with me today.
"Okay! Let's get started! I mean, we don't have all day now do we?" Good heavens! She was a little preppy girl?! I couldn't believe I had to put up with her for.....however long this goes. Oh, that's a question I need to poise to Dr. Smith. How long did this dumb "class" last?
I looked up from my houghts and musings and saw chelsea setting up many things that looked like musical instruments. I couldn't believe it! I thought I would be listening to classical music, which I would have been oday with since I could have tuned it out, but to play instruments?! Hey, maybe she would be the one playing! That'd be cool. I'd have to make sure to tell her if she wanted me to play that I couldn't since I'd been burned so badly.
"All right. Are you ready? I figured we'd start with just some introductions to the instruments, maybe we'd get around to starting to play them either end of session today or tomorrow. I mean, we don't need to jump right in, but then again, we do need to get a move on, do you know what I mean?" My head was buzzing in thousands of directions from her constant chatter. All I did in reply to her questions was nod my head. Apparently she took that as a good sign to start, because she began to pick up some of the instruments to show me. I knew one of them as a harp; it's one of the instruments I've always pictured as there being thousands of in heaven and everyone knows how to play one. She must have noticed me looking at it. She picked it up and began telling me the history of the harp, which is quite boring. Her voice became monotone, and I thought to myself that she must have gone through extensive training to memorize such boring information.
About 40 minutes later, after receiving the run through of all the instruments she carried on her cart, we finally got down to business.
We had been coming back home from visiting my wife's family for New Year's. We had been on the road since Christmas, traveling from grandparents, to aunt's and uncle's, cousins, and friends. The small, black car came speeding down the highway behind us, and there was a young woman in the front seat. As the car approached the rear end of our car, I could see her face in my rearview mirror. She was obviously drunk. I began to get nervous. I continued watching her and tuned out the rest of the noise in the car. She began to move over to pass, but I knew she hadn't moved far enough. I tried to get out of the way, but it was too late. She hit the back, left end of our car, hitting it at such a high speed that we flipped. We were partly in the ditch now, car on fire, and no way to call the ambulance. I didn't even know what happened to the young woman. Our only possible hope was that someone stopped from the highway o see what was going on. Apparently there were.
Finally, several sirens became audible as police, firefighters, and paramedics came screeching to the side of Highway 4. Minutes seemed like hours as the paramedics attempted to pull my family and I out of the rolled burning car. After much slow action, they were finally able to untangle me and life me into the ambulance. They sped me away to the hospital, without so much as a time for goodbye to my family.
Every thought bounced around my head a million times, and seemed as though I could touch them. Where was my family? Were they in another ambulance? Were they okay? More importantly, were they alive? How badly was I hurt? Was the beginning of my latest innovation, the time machine, still intact in the trunk of my car? Where were they taking me? What was going to happen to me? I silently tried to get the attention of the paramedics, but no one would give me the slightest acknowledgment or reassurance that everything was going to be okay.
From there, when we arrived at the hospital, I was taken through the emergency room to immediate surgery to have skin grafts over 70% of my body. I was in surgery for nine hours.
After surgery, no one was there to see me. I supposed they were in their own rooms receiving treatment. I knew that as soon as I got out of ICU, I would go find them. I began to wonder, between bouts of unconsciousness, what had happened to the young woman? Would I, or should I, find her later as I looked for my family?
After being in ICU for almost two weeks, the doctor moved me to a room of my own. I began to learn, by listening to the nurses' talk, where the children's floor was; the floor where I could possible find my children. I made little floor plans and drew up some diagrams to occupy my time. I had no idea where my wife would be, but I hoped to find out by listening into the hall through the nurses' chitter-chatter. One day, probably about three or four weeks after moving from the ICU, my doctor came in.
"Well Dan, how's it going? Rough little journey here isn't it?" He began wandering around my room as he continued to make small talk over my vital signs, the outcomes of surgery, possible outcomes, and other unimportant things like that. Suddenly, he stopped.
"What's this? A diagram of the hospital it looks like. You are talented Dan." He glanced up at me.
"Why do you have this?" I knew I could speak, they had removed the bandages from my face, but I remained silent. I stared right back at him, now knowing what to say, as he looked me in the eye.
"Dan, do the stars indidcate where someone might be?" I slowly nodded my head, choking back the tears that welled up within me. They weren't here; I was only kidding myself. I knew, deep in my heart, that they had not survived. I had known it when Joseph and David didn't cry, when the entire car was silent excet for the crackling of the fire. I had known, even then, that I would never see them alive again.
Dr. Smith sadly shook his head as he watched the many tears roll down my scarred, burned cheeks onto the clean, white hospital sheets.
"I'm sorry Dan. You were the only one," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "Not even the young woman survived. You were lucky Dan." Yeah, real lucky, I thought to myself. None of my family is alive anymore, and the driver of the car doesn't even know the suffering that she put me through, and that I would still have to go through. No one could understand, it just hurt too much.
Dr. Smith left the room, left me with my thoughts, left me in the loneliness and silence of my heart. This sorrow, this grief, stayed with me for many weeks to come. I refused to talk to anyone, and I refused to come out of my shell. Weeks passed ino months, and I even began to deny my own existence.
"Dan, I just can't think of anything else to do, and I think it'll really help." I'd been arguing with Dr. Smith for almost an hour now. I guess I should give credit to the man, he had tried to come up with other options, but none of them showed as experimentally helpful. I suppose at this point, he had resigned me to dreadful afternoon sessions with some happy-go-lucky therapist that played music. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not against music or anything, but classical? How much more boring could we get here? I didn't need some music therapist to "bring me out of my sadness and grief." I was doing just fine. I fonly Em were here to hear this ludicrous idea. Oh, Em, she's gone, and so are David and Joseph. Everything somehow relates to them. I just can't get my mind to move away from them. I suppose Dr. Smith was right, maybe something to get my mind off thins, move on. Do I really want to move on though? Or maybe, deep down, I just wanted to continue denying my own existence.
Dr. Smith had scheduled my sessions to begin the next day, so I sat up in bed and waited for my therapist to come introduce herself, or maybe himself. Several people walked by the door, but none came in. I tensed up every time they did that, some of them scared me; they sure did. I was starting to doze off, dream of old times.
"Hey Dan! I'm Chelsea, your therapist! How are you feeling today?" I felt like I was in a movie. You know, open one eye slowly and everything begins to come slightly into focus. I groaned and opened both eyes to squint at her. Oh course, just as I had imagined; frilly white apron over a purple with pink polka-dot dress, little-girl white dress shoes, funky little hat, red frizzy hair, and of course, not a small woman. She's one of those bouncy people too, always on the move. She was just standing at the end of the bed, yet she was making me tired! My eyes were slowly adjusting to the light, and to her outfit, while she chattered on and on about the hospital, the food, the patients, her problems, her ideas, and anything else that really doesn't need to be talked about.
I rolled my eyes, and started to drift off again. I tried not to think about her constant voice buzzing in my ear, as I try to drift off to sleep so she can't do anything with me today.
"Okay! Let's get started! I mean, we don't have all day now do we?" Good heavens! She was a little preppy girl?! I couldn't believe I had to put up with her for.....however long this goes. Oh, that's a question I need to poise to Dr. Smith. How long did this dumb "class" last?
I looked up from my houghts and musings and saw chelsea setting up many things that looked like musical instruments. I couldn't believe it! I thought I would be listening to classical music, which I would have been oday with since I could have tuned it out, but to play instruments?! Hey, maybe she would be the one playing! That'd be cool. I'd have to make sure to tell her if she wanted me to play that I couldn't since I'd been burned so badly.
"All right. Are you ready? I figured we'd start with just some introductions to the instruments, maybe we'd get around to starting to play them either end of session today or tomorrow. I mean, we don't need to jump right in, but then again, we do need to get a move on, do you know what I mean?" My head was buzzing in thousands of directions from her constant chatter. All I did in reply to her questions was nod my head. Apparently she took that as a good sign to start, because she began to pick up some of the instruments to show me. I knew one of them as a harp; it's one of the instruments I've always pictured as there being thousands of in heaven and everyone knows how to play one. She must have noticed me looking at it. She picked it up and began telling me the history of the harp, which is quite boring. Her voice became monotone, and I thought to myself that she must have gone through extensive training to memorize such boring information.
About 40 minutes later, after receiving the run through of all the instruments she carried on her cart, we finally got down to business.