The Worst Night of My Life
I've been meaning to post about this for days, but between finals and recuperating from the traumatic experience I haven't had the heart. Okay, here I go...
So Chris and I got into a fairly serious car accident on the way home from Sticky last weekend. Yes, I was completely sober and no, I wasn't doing anything foolish, save for driving perhaps a little too quickly given the weather conditions. We're both okay - now - but Chris spent a day and a half in the hospital. It was 3:30 in the morning, raining something fierce, and we were nearly home when my Miata spun out. I'm not entirely sure what happened; one moment I was cruising along at a moderate pace on the freeway and the next I was 180 degrees facing oncoming traffic. I did my damndest to get control of the vehicle, but it was absolutely impossible. I remember thinking that everything might be okay, that maybe we'd luck out and I'd regain control - but I didn't.
The car eventually hit the guard rail and came to an abrupt stop in the slow lane. Smoke from the air bag filled my nostrils and panic set in. I didn't know what to do; it all happened so fast! I tried to move my car, but I couldn't so Chris and I bolted from the car out into the pouring rain. Cars began passing us at high speeds and Chris kept telling me that we had to get my car off the freeway. Suddenly, we saw a semi coming right towards us and Chris screamed that we had to get ourselves off the freeway, that we had to climb over the guard rail. So he did, and I followed - mostly. I swung one leg over the guard rail while I watched the approaching big-rig. Like a deer caught in headlights, I froze and it's a damn good thing I hesitated.
As I watched the truck veer around us, I heard Chris screaming, "Oh my God! Oh shit! Jamie, DON'T JUMP!" I peered in the direction of Chris' voice, but I couldn't see anything. And so things had gone from bad to worse. I did the only thing I could do: I screamed my fucking head off. I have never felt so afraid or helpless in my entire life.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, a woman had pulled to the side of the road to help us. I heard a soothing voice behind me, trying to calm me down, and I saw Chris running towards me. Motivated by adrenalin and my cries, he'd managed to find his way back to me. His head was covered in blood and he looked badly shaken. He kept telling me he was all right, but I knew differently. The nice lady helped us get my car off the road, but not before someone had managed to hit it. We waited for the CHP in the woman's pickup truck. She had a dog with her and strangely I remember thinking that I'd finally found the dog for me, but it was an inappropriate time to inquire about the breed. It's funny what a person thinks about in times like these.
After we'd explained what happened to the police and the paramedics checked Chris out, we went home. I had my car towed to my apartment and the tow-truck driver, who seemed high on methamphetamines, gave us a ride in his cab. By the time Chris and I got home and peeled off our water-logged clothes it was nearly 6. I brushed my teeth and washed my face while Chris, bruised and battered, soaked in the tub.
But it wasn't over yet; in fact, it was only the beginning.
Chris was feeling light-headed and he'd begun spitting up blood so we went to the ER. I was an absolute wreck. I was trying very, very hard to be strong for Chris - he looked so small and scared in that hospital bed - but I was frightened for him. And I felt utterly useless and defeated. I was overcome with sympathy and guilt and I had to fight the temptation to blame myself for everything. When Chris was getting a CT scan, I called my friend Lara and finally broke down sobbing. Dear, sweet Lara! She drove all the way back from Berkeley to come to our aid - and I didn't even ask her to. She was a tremendous means of comfort and support for Chris and me. It's times like these that one is reminded of who her friends are.
The doctors were incredulous when we told our story, "We got into a car accident and Chris fell 20 feet off the causeway." Nobody could understand why in the hell he'd jumped off the causeway and we had to explain over and over that he didn't jump, that he'd thought there was solid ground on the other side and merely fallen off. I can't tell you how many times I heard people tell Chris how lucky he was; I can't tell you how many times I thought it myself. He really was lucky - and so was I. I don't know what I would've done if I'd lost him. I don't know what I would've done if he didn't answer me when I'd called out to him. I don't want to think about it anymore, but it's there lurking in the recesses of my mind.
I've been searching for the silver lining in all of this. It's difficult because I have the battered Miata as a reminder of what could've been. I suppose that, like so many things in life, it's a matter of perspective. I have to make a concerted effort not to be reminded of what I could've lost that night, but what I've gained. I'm grateful that he's alive and well and I think the love between us is even stronger now - more radiant. I'm certain I have a future with this man; I've never been more sure of anything. And so the glass remains half full, after all.
So Chris and I got into a fairly serious car accident on the way home from Sticky last weekend. Yes, I was completely sober and no, I wasn't doing anything foolish, save for driving perhaps a little too quickly given the weather conditions. We're both okay - now - but Chris spent a day and a half in the hospital. It was 3:30 in the morning, raining something fierce, and we were nearly home when my Miata spun out. I'm not entirely sure what happened; one moment I was cruising along at a moderate pace on the freeway and the next I was 180 degrees facing oncoming traffic. I did my damndest to get control of the vehicle, but it was absolutely impossible. I remember thinking that everything might be okay, that maybe we'd luck out and I'd regain control - but I didn't.
The car eventually hit the guard rail and came to an abrupt stop in the slow lane. Smoke from the air bag filled my nostrils and panic set in. I didn't know what to do; it all happened so fast! I tried to move my car, but I couldn't so Chris and I bolted from the car out into the pouring rain. Cars began passing us at high speeds and Chris kept telling me that we had to get my car off the freeway. Suddenly, we saw a semi coming right towards us and Chris screamed that we had to get ourselves off the freeway, that we had to climb over the guard rail. So he did, and I followed - mostly. I swung one leg over the guard rail while I watched the approaching big-rig. Like a deer caught in headlights, I froze and it's a damn good thing I hesitated.
As I watched the truck veer around us, I heard Chris screaming, "Oh my God! Oh shit! Jamie, DON'T JUMP!" I peered in the direction of Chris' voice, but I couldn't see anything. And so things had gone from bad to worse. I did the only thing I could do: I screamed my fucking head off. I have never felt so afraid or helpless in my entire life.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, a woman had pulled to the side of the road to help us. I heard a soothing voice behind me, trying to calm me down, and I saw Chris running towards me. Motivated by adrenalin and my cries, he'd managed to find his way back to me. His head was covered in blood and he looked badly shaken. He kept telling me he was all right, but I knew differently. The nice lady helped us get my car off the road, but not before someone had managed to hit it. We waited for the CHP in the woman's pickup truck. She had a dog with her and strangely I remember thinking that I'd finally found the dog for me, but it was an inappropriate time to inquire about the breed. It's funny what a person thinks about in times like these.
After we'd explained what happened to the police and the paramedics checked Chris out, we went home. I had my car towed to my apartment and the tow-truck driver, who seemed high on methamphetamines, gave us a ride in his cab. By the time Chris and I got home and peeled off our water-logged clothes it was nearly 6. I brushed my teeth and washed my face while Chris, bruised and battered, soaked in the tub.
But it wasn't over yet; in fact, it was only the beginning.
Chris was feeling light-headed and he'd begun spitting up blood so we went to the ER. I was an absolute wreck. I was trying very, very hard to be strong for Chris - he looked so small and scared in that hospital bed - but I was frightened for him. And I felt utterly useless and defeated. I was overcome with sympathy and guilt and I had to fight the temptation to blame myself for everything. When Chris was getting a CT scan, I called my friend Lara and finally broke down sobbing. Dear, sweet Lara! She drove all the way back from Berkeley to come to our aid - and I didn't even ask her to. She was a tremendous means of comfort and support for Chris and me. It's times like these that one is reminded of who her friends are.
The doctors were incredulous when we told our story, "We got into a car accident and Chris fell 20 feet off the causeway." Nobody could understand why in the hell he'd jumped off the causeway and we had to explain over and over that he didn't jump, that he'd thought there was solid ground on the other side and merely fallen off. I can't tell you how many times I heard people tell Chris how lucky he was; I can't tell you how many times I thought it myself. He really was lucky - and so was I. I don't know what I would've done if I'd lost him. I don't know what I would've done if he didn't answer me when I'd called out to him. I don't want to think about it anymore, but it's there lurking in the recesses of my mind.
I've been searching for the silver lining in all of this. It's difficult because I have the battered Miata as a reminder of what could've been. I suppose that, like so many things in life, it's a matter of perspective. I have to make a concerted effort not to be reminded of what I could've lost that night, but what I've gained. I'm grateful that he's alive and well and I think the love between us is even stronger now - more radiant. I'm certain I have a future with this man; I've never been more sure of anything. And so the glass remains half full, after all.