Death-Defying Part 3

Seems like things were quiet in my life for a while from elementary school until I was much older in graduate school. One summer while riding my bike to campus to study for preliminary exams, I was hit broad-side by a pick-up truck. I remember watching it happen as if watching a movie in slow motion: "There's a truck; he's turning. Does he see me? He doesn't see me! I can't go anywhere and I can't stop because there are cars behind me and next to me. Whistle; yell; do something to get his attention: HEY! HEY! HEY! HEY!!!! Where's he looking? He's not looking! He's going to hit me. HE'S GOING TO HIT ME! Get ready!"

I literally pushed myself away from the truck bumper with my hand as it hit me, launching me several feet into the air. I panicked because I wasn't wearing a helmet: "Keep your head up; keep your head up; keep your head up!" raced through my mind as I floated through the air. I knew what happened to brain injured folks; I worked with them as part of my training. I hit the pavement hard and rolled a few feet more.

When I came to stillness and regained some awareness, I heard a hissing sound and wondered what it was. I opened my eyes to see my bottle of sparkling water standing straight up in the middle of the street spewing water into the sunlight and air like a beautiful fountain. All the snacks from my basket were scattered about the road along with my books and papers, and people were rushing around here and there collecting things. A few of them came to see if I was OK - other students on their way to campus. One was yelling at the truck driver angrily. There wasn't much I could do but lay there for a minute.

A cop showed up and took charge, getting all the details from the bystanders about what happened. All I could do for a while was sit there and smile, filled with gratitude that my head was intact! It took me a bit of time to speak; nothing else mattered to me in that moment...

 When the data was gathered and the street had cleared, the cop said I could go home. There was just one problem: I couldn't walk. My ankle was so banged up that I couldn't stand on it. Just like in the movie "An Officer and A Gentleman," the cop took it upon himself not only to pick me up, put me in his cop car and drive me to the campus health clinic, but then he picked me up again and carried me into the clinic in his arms like a gentleman, saying that it just wasn't right for me to have to hop my way inside. He sat me in a waiting room chair and told the woman at the counter what had happened and to get me some help. Then he smiled at me, wished me well and left... my hero.

I escaped that time with a badly sprained ankle (yay - crutches for weeks), sore wrist, lots of scrapes, scratches, cuts and big huge colorful bruises all over my body, and most importantly - my head intact. Boy was I happy!

Several years after that, I was involved in a head-on collision that I was lucky to survive... but I'll save that one for another blog. What's important to me right now is noticing that I've already defied death at least five times in my life. I wonder how many more chances I get??