The word “trauma” literally means wound, shock, or injury.
So, okay, according to that definition, my “incident” definitely qualifies as trauma. Maybe someday I will believe that it was “traumatic,” but as of now I just don’t think it was that bad. The quality of care and compassion that I experienced far exceeded any long-lasting emotional aspects of the traumatic incident. The wound. The shock. The injury. I am okay, and grateful to be so.
People keep telling me that I’m amazing- that I am crazy strong- that I am doing such a great job. I smile and thank them for the compliments, but the truth is that I don’t deserve the credit. If I had been sent anywhere other than Shock Trauma, I’m pretty sure that I’d be dead, or at the very least, one legged. Jesus Christ allowed this to happen to me but He is using it for good in my life. I can’t walk normally or ride my bike or run around with my grandkids yet, but I am filled with joy. Our God is much bigger than a stupid garbage truck and He loves all of us to an incomprehensible degree.
I know that people want to know how this could have happened- how does someone get smashed by a garbage truck?
I was home in Lewes, DE on the morning of September 7 when my stepson called- he needed me to jump in the car and drive to MD to pick up the kids from the bus stop. It was a gorgeous day, so once I arrived, I walked down to the bus stop and was sitting on the lane reading. It is a private lane owned by the three homeowners and no trucks travel on it. I saw the garbage truck on the main road and made eye contact with both the driver and with the man riding on the back of the truck. I knew it wasn’t going to come down the lane, so I went back to reading. All of a sudden I heard the man on the back screaming “NO NO NO!” I looked up and saw that the truck was roaring towards me, so I also screamed “NO NO NO!” and scooted back as fast and as far as I could, but because he was gunning it to get over the curb, he got to me quick. We found out later that he was lost and making a three-point turn to go the other direction. He had seen me, but thought I was somewhere else. I am sure he is devastated by all of this, and I pray for him.
I remember seeing the black undercarriage of the truck above me and it stopped- the driver got out and looked, saw he was on top of me and freaked out, then jumped back in the truck and turned the wheel the other way and quickly backed up. He had gotten me like a windshield wiper- first the left leg and then the right. The man on the back was out and behind me screaming- I somehow flung him my phone and told him to call Denny, which he ignored and pressed 911. All that I could think about was the bus full of elementary school kids that was soon to arrive, two of whom were my grandchildren, and I started slapping the pavement and screaming that they had to get me out of there before my babies got home.
I just kept pounding on the street and yelling to get me out of there quick- I felt no pain- only worry about Owen and Colin- The ambulance arrived while I was screaming about the kids and suddenly the kindest face appeared- he was lying on the pavement with his face to mine, and he calmly said, “Don’t worry- we will get you out of here before they get home; I give you my word.” With that, my worry went away- I believed that EMT 100%. I don’t know how they did it, but they scooped me up onto a gurney and got me in the ambulance where they started working on me- Someone wanted to call for the helicopter, but another vetoed and we were on our way.
They radioed Shock Trauma and were discussing what they should do with me while en route. I heard someone say, “She’s bleeding out,” and I knew from watching tv that that was not good. A few minutes later someone asked who had my foot; I know that, to some degree, I was in shock, but God had already taken over my mind. I felt a peace that surpassed understanding. I felt no pain. I didn’t worry about my foot. Once we entered Shock Trauma they put me into a coma, and I didn’t fully wake till days later, and after several surgeries- one in which Dr. Slobogean had reattached my foot.
Now came the pain, but with the pain came the absolute kindest of doctors, surgeons, nurses and techs. Everyone who entered the room transferred the love of God to me- I looked at the faces of the people who were trying to help me, so many different colors and accents and dialects, and I thought them all so beautiful. I fell madly in love with all of my surgeons-their caring smiles as they met with me every morning around 4:30. I cannot say that God removed my pain- but God did send the most intelligent and caring people to figure out what to give me to calm it down.
Cards, presents, flowers and balloons started arriving- I was so very touched- I couldn’t even read the cards, but would just feel the envelopes and hold them to my heart. It also helped Denny to read them all to me- it took his mind off things for a while. He had it so much worse than me- he had worry weighing him down.
Before the “incident,” my life had consisted mostly of work. I rode my bike and went to the beach, but mostly I worked. I was in constant need of validation, and knowing I was the “world’s greatest employee” made me feel good about myself.
I truly believe that God had been preparing me for this ordeal. For the first time in more than twenty years, my sisters came to visit me. We had grown up in an abusive home and we were not in alliance with one another. I was kicked out of the house at a young age and had never returned. Once my sisters got to Lewes, we took the ferry and the sunset cruise and we ate at every restaurant I could think of and we spent the entire week talking and laughing and then talking and laughing some more- none of us with a victim mentality.
They flew home a week before my accident. A week! Time with them brought the most healing I’d ever had from that rotten childhood- nothing else had ever made a dent- psychotherapy, counseling, antidepressants, Christian counseling, healing services at churches, alcohol (lots of it at times). Most of the time I felt alone and empty, and, as my mom had put it so often, “Rotten to the core.” Jesus continually left the 99 behind when trying to catch me- but I run pretty fast (well, I used to be a fast runner)!
So now I was in bed- I was immobile- couldn’t read- couldn’t scroll through Facebook- couldn’t talk on the phone- couldn’t work- couldn’t sleep unless totally drugged. Now I was alone with God. I knew He was there and that He was holding me up, and the healing from the visit with my sisters settled inside my heart and filled me with unspeakable love and joy.
I had many people come to my room- some who had come to visit out of curiosity -they had heard about the girl who survived a garbage truck and because they worked at U of Md they had access to the gruesome pictures. Many were surprised that I was alive, even with the very best of surgeons. I was given the opportunity to smile and tell them how thankful I was to God, and to thank them for their services.
Everyone at Shock Trauma would apologize when they had to do something to me that hurt (which was basically touching me or moving me in any way, especially drawing blood) and I would smile and tell them not to apologize- that I knew they were there to help me. That’s love. That’s Jesus. I’m not that nice.
A lot of people thought I wouldn’t live. I did.
A lot of people thought I wouldn’t walk. I am.
So, yeah- I got hit by a truck and spent 50 days in Shock Trauma, 30 days in sub-acute rehab, and 23 days in UMROI, suffered in addition to a sheared off foot fractured hips and pelvis, fractured tibia and fibula, fractured ankle, and there was no skin left on my thigh, but all these things brought me ever closer to God- the One who walks me through the waters and holds my hand- the One who comforts when sleep alludes me, the One who has brought amazing and compassionate people into my life.
Physically, I will never be the same. I (probably) won’t ever play in another tennis tournament. I (probably) won’t ever participate in another 63-mile bike event. I (probably) won’t ever run another half marathon at Disney. Am I sad about these things? Sure. Absolutely. But these aren’t the things on which I dwell- When I receive the email registration forms for events in which I used to participate, I get sad for a minute, but then I say to myself, “Maybe next year.” And I mean it. It could happen. I am working hard for my recovery- I’m in the gym lifting weights at least three times a week- I am following directions. I am not going to sit back and let that garbage truck incident determine who I am for the rest of my life. I get to choose.
Who am I today? The victim of a trauma, or the survivor of a trauma? I get to choose! With each new day comes that choice. And if I wake up and decide to be a victim, I am gonna quick get on the phone and call another survivor so he or she can put me in my rightful place- the place of a warrior-girl- the place of a survivor.
I am so thankful to be in this circle of like-minded people- those who can laugh at one legged jokes and wear “Crash Dummy” t-shirts, and in that same circle I am thankful for the raw honesty- for the remembrance of indescribable pain- for the new friends who will never take another day for granted. And it is seemingly ironic to see that the survivors who surround me are some of the most grateful and compassionate people I have ever met. No bitterness- just sweet gratitude for the opportunity to have a new day set before us.