Impact Statement
The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.
Mary Schmich, Chicago Tribune; June 1, 1997
YOU CANNOT REMEMBER THE MOMENT OF IMPACT, only the seconds before the crash. But, you can recall with great detail the minutes afterward. In an instant, adjectives to describe the pain, like “immense” and “excruciating” have measure beyond a dictionary’s definition.
A voice inside your head screams “Someone call 9-1-1!” and just as quickly your thoughts turn a sharp, stabbing pain that you are certain is a punctured lung. You are vaguely aware of the shattered window beside you, vehicles stopped at the intersection waiting for police clearance, and the sound of your mother’s in the passenger seat beside you; she’s asking you a question. You stare at her. What’s she saying, you ask yourself. She asking the location, but you can’t recall and when you grab the cell phone from her to speak to a 911 operator, you turn to your mother and ask her to read the names on the street signs.
When the operator asks, you momentarily forget your age, your telephone number. Later, when a nurse asks, you won’t be able to recall your doctor’s name.
A police constable happens upon the scene, EMS workers respond, firefighters arrive.
You answer their questions about the accident, about your physical condition, you provide personal information. Things are coming together now. You’ve been in a car accident. A driver ran a red light and smacked into your vehicle with such force that it spun the car around several times. At least that’s what the driver testifies to during a trial; he has exercised his right to a trial after being charged with an offense under the Highway Traffic Act.
An hour from now, in the darkness and sterility of an x-ray room, something in you breaks and tears trail from the corners of your eyes.
The tears rolls across your cheeks, find their way down your neck. You are strapped on a backboard. The EMS worker and firefighters put you there. They strapped you in and heaved you into the back of an ambulance. Now, back in the hallway, staring at the brownish-yellow water stains on the ceiling above you, and you wonder why no one has thought of mural ceiling tiles as a business endeavour. You try to come up with ways to keep you mind occupied with thoughts other than those you are thinking.
Those are the last tears of the day. Your muscles are starting to stiffen; it hurts to walk, to move.
Eight Canadians die in road crashes every day.
One week from now you’ll break down in frustration. You become overwhelmed by the loss, by the burden of new debt; you’ll be distracted by chronic pain, by an inability to get a good night’s sleep, and you will sob at the intensity of something you file under the heading “general distress.”
Two weeks from today, you’ll understand the toll this motor vehicle accident has taken on your body and you’ll learn to admire its ability to recover from injury. You will understand that recovery is testament to a person’s tenacity and inner strength and dedication to exercises and stretches in physiotherapy program. But that comes later.
In this moment, right now, you stare at ceiling tiles. Laying on a stretcher in the hallway of a hospital that you’ve never been to before, the nurse who wraps the blood pressure cuff around your arm stands beside the EMS attendant she’s dating and to your left. You are tightly belted onto a back board and cannot see them, but you hear her ask him about the cervical collar you’re wearing; there’s a murmured response. It’s one of the few conversations you do not overhear.
Unwilling eavesdropper of the other EMS attendant’s frustration with the other driver who refused treatment on-scene, further claiming that he didn’t “have the time” to come here to the ER for examination.
You will learn that Canada rates 10th in the world in traffic safety
No one speaks of collision statistics, or of Transport Canada’s targets for road safety in 2010 and when the same EMS attendants set another accident victim on the stretcher across from you, the ambulance driver mentions that they are busier on sunny summer days like today, but you’ll learn on your own that Canada currently rates 10th in the world in traffic safety behind the UK, Sweden, and the leader the Netherlands.
They’ll not tell you that you soon be grateful for the consideration of the physiotherapist who assign you therapeutic exercises and perform calming, electrical modalities in your sessions. And for the massage therapist who methodically kneads your muscles to relief and tells you stories about other accident victims—clients, family, friends. MVA recovery seems to be a booming business.
One day, you’ll look for support and read an online newspaper article and learn that an amber light “lasts for seconds, followed by an all-way red light lasting two seconds.” You’ll come to realize that there was about six to seven seconds from the time the traffic light turned from red to green before you were in the middle of the intersection. You’ll also learn that text messaging takes a driver’s attention away from the road for five to six seconds.
You wonder about that bit of information because your crash occurred approximately six seconds into the intersection. You don’t recall screeching, or glass breaking, or the sound of the metal crushing in the door beside you. You wonder why he didn’t try to avoid the accident. It seems as if he didn’t see you. In court, his testimony confirms this supposition as fact.
The article doesn’t mention physical restrictions such as having to sleep on the couch for three weeks because you can recline only to a 45 degree angle ; statistics fail to include statistics of personal costs—the emotional and psychological toll.
Statistics tell you that there were 48,154 collisions at signalized intersections in Ontario in 1997, account for 22% of all MVAs with “a total of 15% of these are direct result of drivers disobeying a red light.”
The word “disobey” takes on new meaning. It is more forgiving than the words you use.
You will learn than 20-30% of collisions are caused by driver distraction
With the passing days and nightly residence on the couch, there’s improvement. You are able to walk without jarring pain in your thighs, pelvis, and hips. Your lower back shows marked improvement. Your knees are no longer swollen. The row of bruises on your hip turns deep purple then fade. Eventually, despondency turns to anger, fury to resentment, and bitterness to acceptance. Forgiveness comes when you least expect it.
By then more than twelve months have passed.
As you gain strength, you intermittently noodle around the house between long stretches of couch time. The kind of pain and fatigue that comes when you resume daily living and return to work arrives weeks from now and remains for in one form or another for some time.
You’ll experience crying jags and find yourself locked in a washroom stall at work because it’s the only place of privacy. You record minute details of aches and pains into a Mead Composition book. These scribbles give you comfort, the act of writing is therapeutic. You provide the information to your physiotherapist, your insurance company. As your upper body recovers with therapy, your lower body learns its aches and tells you about it–loud and clear. You build up a tolerance in short bursts for your occupation, for sitting at a desk by spending your time online searching for MVA statistics. Here you learn than 20-30% of collisions are caused by driver distraction. You again wonder what the driver was looking just before his vehicle slammed into yours.
In time, you will stop wondering. In time, you will let it go
In time, you’ll stop wondering what it was like for him to glance up from reading a text message on his cell phone, or looking for directions on a navigation system, to see you moving through the intersection at what must have seemed like slow motion compared to his speed. You will learn that the other driver never saw you; that’s what he’ll say in court. He’ll become confused and confounded by the Crown Attorney’s questions, but he will admit that he was driving 55 km/hour, which is likely the speed at the point of impact.
In time, you’ll stop trying to figure out why someone might choose court over pleading guilty and putting it behind him. Every time you reach for medication to soften the physical pain, you are reminded of the reason. With continued and prolonged pain, you re-live the accident. Then you don’t. With every aggressive driver, the trauma returns. With every ache, every physiotherapy session, details of the accident emerge. Then it goes away.
In time, you let go.
Your physical ailments continue and aches and pains return, but you will no longer hold tight statistical information trying to add meaning. Your outlook becomes decidedly philosophical: What was to be learned from this event? Was there a message from the universe? Was the 130 degree-spin a metaphor for your life heading in the wrong direction? What life lesson does it hold? What spiritual lesson is at the heart of the journey to recovery?
At some point, you may find an answer that suits, or you just may stop asking. Unable to transcribe meaning, if meaning is to be found, you will simply let go.