Read carefully. Take it in.
I've also been thinking a lot about drunk driving lately. How far do you go to let a friend know that you don't appreciate their drunk driving? Do express your opinion and leave it at that, or should you tell them exactly what you are feeling and risk hard feelings or compromising a relationship.
I'm not very good at telling people exactly what I'm thinking. When I tell people about the effects of drunk driving, sometimes they blow me off. That is usually when I share Alan's story. I can tell that many people think "well, that is just what happened to one person… I know my limit. I can take care of myself. She's just emotional because of what happened to her brother." If I ever give you a lecture or make a coment, please, take it very personally. If I offend you or am rude to you, take it personally. I am telling you that I am glad we are friends, I care about you, your friends, and your family. So yes, take it personally. Take it personally from other people too. If they comment, even if they're an ass, it means they care about you.
Yes. I am emotional about what happened to Alan. In fact, I'm tearing up as I type. My dad woke me up at four or five in the morning and told me Alan had been hurt. I knew it was bad because he was being driven into Anchorage. I was so scared. I didn't know what to say, but called Devry anyway. I don't remember what I said. I don't think much was said at all, but it helped just to have someone on the end of the line. We got to Regional and my mom was there. We waited in a dark, empty hallway and watched through small windows in 2 swinging doors. There were about a dozen people taking x-rays, making IV's, and doing other stuff. I couldn't see Alan's face, but I could see his feet sticking out of the end of a sheet. One foot was normal and one was rotated too far in one direction. A doctor came out and told us that Alan's blood count was very low and there are lots of complications. He was going to surgery to see if they could save his life. When they stabilize him, they would look at the damage to his body. He was dying. My whole life, my mother was a rock. We've been through terrible things as a family before and she had always been strong and optimistic. I watched my rock turn eerily white, fall back against the wall, and slide to the floor. They brought Alan into the hallway so we could say something. He was conscious but not "with it." My mom, sobbing, said "I love you Alan, I'll see you when you get out." Alan was really groggy, but said, "I'll see you when I get out."
We waited in the dark, empty hallway. And waited. And waited. The doctor came out to tell us Alan was stabilized but his legs were messed up. They were going to work hard, but would probably have to amputate both legs. We waited. They fixed one leg. We waited. They stabilized the other leg. We went to another waiting room to wait for them to put his shattered pelvis together, fix his broken arm, and keep working on his legs. He had several surgeries over the next few days and was in ICU. He had a breathing tube and was asleep the whole time. My parents and I slept in a little room on the top floor of the hospital, which was very nice to be close. The support for Alan and my parents was so awesome! All day long, people came in for them. Sometimes it was overwhelming, but nice. M. came in to see me several times over the month. Dev came a few times and Jannah came once. I was pretty scared and alone most of the time, but very grateful to be close to Alan.
On the third day, the ICU called our little room. Alan was having a Pulmonary Embolism. Basically, it's a clot that goes to your lungs and you either die or you're fine. Alan was not ok. His clot was not passing and we needed to pretty much run if we wanted to see him. We made it two floors down to see them wheel him out of the ICU, into the hallway and wait at the elevator. The nurse told us they were taking him to get a CAT scan to see where the clot was. It didn't look good so we should say our good byes. My mom and dad cried and told Alan how much they loved him and we'll be here when he gets back. I was frozen. It was like a horrible, slow motion movie happening all around me. I couldn't move. I couldn't cry. I couldn't get myself to say anything to Alan, even though I wanted to. I just stared. They got in the elevator and left. My mom flung her arms around my dad and wailed "We lost him. We lost our boy." I was still frozen. I was also so angry at my parents for losing hope. I was not going to lose him until the doctor came and gave the final word. The hospital chaplain came to comfort us. He is usually only called when someone is close to death or dies. The organ donor person came to get my mom to sign Alan's organs away. It was so odd and horrific.
Obviously, Alan made it though. He put up a huge fight for his life though. Another day, his IV was removed and he was on oral pills. The pills weren't working enough one night and he was in a lot of pain. He was so dehydrated and he'd been through so many surgeries that his veins had collapsed. He needed an IV fast. Several people tried to get one in, but couldn't so they had to call a lead phlebotomist out of bed (it was night). I have never heard anyone scream like I heard Alan do that night. They had to put an IV in his Jugular so it would go down to almost touching his heart. If you think about the horror movies… that is a little what it was like, but not really at the same time. He was in so much pain, so exhausted, and so fed up with everything. I can't even begin to describe what those screams sounded like.
When people look at me with the "You're just touchy about drinking and driving because you had something happen in the past," or the "I'll be fine, I know my limit," or the "you're being too dramatic," look, I get so frustrated. The man that hit Alan was a volunteer firefighter. They didn't test his breath until after he was in jail. His breathalyzer tested just above the legal limit. That was hours after the actual accident, but still. It means he was still in the range in which he thought "he knew his limit."
Thinking about what happened to Alan and my family breaks my heart. He will never be in top physical condition. When people drink and drive… even if they aren't that drunk… I think of them hurt or dead. I think of the pain their families will go through. I think of the pain of their friends. I wonder who they would be involving in an accident. I also think of how guilty I'd feel because I didn't try my hardest to stop my friend from drinking and driving.
Even if something super minor happened. Let's say there was a minor fender bender where the cars were fine and the drivers were fine. The cops show up and smell the alcohol on you. You're screwed. Or you have a broken tail light and you get pulled over. Officers are trained to notice when you've been drinking… even if it's just a little. You're in for jail time, court times, and TONS of fines.
It just isn't worth it.
When are drinking and want to drive, I get so angry. When you blow me off, it is a personal slap in my face. You don't care about what happened to me. You have no respect for what happened to Alan. I get so insulted sometimes. If you are willing to take the risk because you don't care yourself, that's fine except you should think about the heartbreak of those you wil hurt. You should think about the frustration of your loved ones who have to bail your ass out of jail. You have to think about how strapped for money you will be because of all the fines. You should think about the devastation of the person in the other car, or the people on the side of the road that could be involved.
You should just think.
Think about what you love about your life right now. Think about your life after you get a DWI. Then think about your life if you cause an accident because you were drinking.
Is it worth it?
This week is the anniversary of Alan being hit as a pedestrian by a suburban with a drunk driver behind the wheel. For me, it is also the anniversary of the week he lived.
I'm not very good at telling people exactly what I'm thinking. When I tell people about the effects of drunk driving, sometimes they blow me off. That is usually when I share Alan's story. I can tell that many people think "well, that is just what happened to one person… I know my limit. I can take care of myself. She's just emotional because of what happened to her brother." If I ever give you a lecture or make a coment, please, take it very personally. If I offend you or am rude to you, take it personally. I am telling you that I am glad we are friends, I care about you, your friends, and your family. So yes, take it personally. Take it personally from other people too. If they comment, even if they're an ass, it means they care about you.
Yes. I am emotional about what happened to Alan. In fact, I'm tearing up as I type. My dad woke me up at four or five in the morning and told me Alan had been hurt. I knew it was bad because he was being driven into Anchorage. I was so scared. I didn't know what to say, but called Devry anyway. I don't remember what I said. I don't think much was said at all, but it helped just to have someone on the end of the line. We got to Regional and my mom was there. We waited in a dark, empty hallway and watched through small windows in 2 swinging doors. There were about a dozen people taking x-rays, making IV's, and doing other stuff. I couldn't see Alan's face, but I could see his feet sticking out of the end of a sheet. One foot was normal and one was rotated too far in one direction. A doctor came out and told us that Alan's blood count was very low and there are lots of complications. He was going to surgery to see if they could save his life. When they stabilize him, they would look at the damage to his body. He was dying. My whole life, my mother was a rock. We've been through terrible things as a family before and she had always been strong and optimistic. I watched my rock turn eerily white, fall back against the wall, and slide to the floor. They brought Alan into the hallway so we could say something. He was conscious but not "with it." My mom, sobbing, said "I love you Alan, I'll see you when you get out." Alan was really groggy, but said, "I'll see you when I get out."
We waited in the dark, empty hallway. And waited. And waited. The doctor came out to tell us Alan was stabilized but his legs were messed up. They were going to work hard, but would probably have to amputate both legs. We waited. They fixed one leg. We waited. They stabilized the other leg. We went to another waiting room to wait for them to put his shattered pelvis together, fix his broken arm, and keep working on his legs. He had several surgeries over the next few days and was in ICU. He had a breathing tube and was asleep the whole time. My parents and I slept in a little room on the top floor of the hospital, which was very nice to be close. The support for Alan and my parents was so awesome! All day long, people came in for them. Sometimes it was overwhelming, but nice. M. came in to see me several times over the month. Dev came a few times and Jannah came once. I was pretty scared and alone most of the time, but very grateful to be close to Alan.
On the third day, the ICU called our little room. Alan was having a Pulmonary Embolism. Basically, it's a clot that goes to your lungs and you either die or you're fine. Alan was not ok. His clot was not passing and we needed to pretty much run if we wanted to see him. We made it two floors down to see them wheel him out of the ICU, into the hallway and wait at the elevator. The nurse told us they were taking him to get a CAT scan to see where the clot was. It didn't look good so we should say our good byes. My mom and dad cried and told Alan how much they loved him and we'll be here when he gets back. I was frozen. It was like a horrible, slow motion movie happening all around me. I couldn't move. I couldn't cry. I couldn't get myself to say anything to Alan, even though I wanted to. I just stared. They got in the elevator and left. My mom flung her arms around my dad and wailed "We lost him. We lost our boy." I was still frozen. I was also so angry at my parents for losing hope. I was not going to lose him until the doctor came and gave the final word. The hospital chaplain came to comfort us. He is usually only called when someone is close to death or dies. The organ donor person came to get my mom to sign Alan's organs away. It was so odd and horrific.
Obviously, Alan made it though. He put up a huge fight for his life though. Another day, his IV was removed and he was on oral pills. The pills weren't working enough one night and he was in a lot of pain. He was so dehydrated and he'd been through so many surgeries that his veins had collapsed. He needed an IV fast. Several people tried to get one in, but couldn't so they had to call a lead phlebotomist out of bed (it was night). I have never heard anyone scream like I heard Alan do that night. They had to put an IV in his Jugular so it would go down to almost touching his heart. If you think about the horror movies… that is a little what it was like, but not really at the same time. He was in so much pain, so exhausted, and so fed up with everything. I can't even begin to describe what those screams sounded like.
When people look at me with the "You're just touchy about drinking and driving because you had something happen in the past," or the "I'll be fine, I know my limit," or the "you're being too dramatic," look, I get so frustrated. The man that hit Alan was a volunteer firefighter. They didn't test his breath until after he was in jail. His breathalyzer tested just above the legal limit. That was hours after the actual accident, but still. It means he was still in the range in which he thought "he knew his limit."
Thinking about what happened to Alan and my family breaks my heart. He will never be in top physical condition. When people drink and drive… even if they aren't that drunk… I think of them hurt or dead. I think of the pain their families will go through. I think of the pain of their friends. I wonder who they would be involving in an accident. I also think of how guilty I'd feel because I didn't try my hardest to stop my friend from drinking and driving.
Even if something super minor happened. Let's say there was a minor fender bender where the cars were fine and the drivers were fine. The cops show up and smell the alcohol on you. You're screwed. Or you have a broken tail light and you get pulled over. Officers are trained to notice when you've been drinking… even if it's just a little. You're in for jail time, court times, and TONS of fines.
It just isn't worth it.
When are drinking and want to drive, I get so angry. When you blow me off, it is a personal slap in my face. You don't care about what happened to me. You have no respect for what happened to Alan. I get so insulted sometimes. If you are willing to take the risk because you don't care yourself, that's fine except you should think about the heartbreak of those you wil hurt. You should think about the frustration of your loved ones who have to bail your ass out of jail. You have to think about how strapped for money you will be because of all the fines. You should think about the devastation of the person in the other car, or the people on the side of the road that could be involved.
You should just think.
Think about what you love about your life right now. Think about your life after you get a DWI. Then think about your life if you cause an accident because you were drinking.
Is it worth it?
This week is the anniversary of Alan being hit as a pedestrian by a suburban with a drunk driver behind the wheel. For me, it is also the anniversary of the week he lived.