Playful Mutterings of the Shock Victim: 

Amy Gets Hit By A Car: Take 1

Upon asking for suggestions today, my dear friend, Kelly, mentioned the story of when I was hit by a car.  Not funny?  Just about anything is funny when you put the right spin on it.  

So, here it is, the events that follow are factual--I couldn't make this shit up...

Just before Christmas 2006, I'd been suspended from my job for a week.  I was waitressing at the good old Coconut Creek Grille & Tap House then.  It was a little place that had good food, cheap beer and interesting clientele.  Anyway, after an extended Christmas in Pennsylvania with my family, I came back to Florida with a few days off to spare.  At that time, my trusty 2000 Pontiac Grand Prix was out of commission--some dispute I had with the state of Florida regarding her registration.  In loo of having a vehicle, I rode my bike everywhere--and I mean everywhere.  Want to go to Target? It's only 2 miles--ride.  Want to go to get your nails done?  It's only 5 miles--ride.  Want to go to Barnes & Noble? The Mall?  Only 8 miles--RIDE.  

I dig the feeling of being on a bike.  The breeze, the sheer exertion it takes to get you where you want to go, the odd looks you get from people when you didn't realize you were singing along out loud to whatever you're listening to on your headphones.  All and all, it's fun. Don't get me wrong, I don't go all Meg Ryan in City of Angels or anything.  Naturally, has it's downside too.  Rain isn't so much fun, if the winds are against you, you feel like you're not getting anywhere, and of course--people are assholes who don't look for cyclists.  Now, I'm no expert, but I'd like to think that if there is a bike lane or a sidewalk, you should be looking to see if someone is in there.  Not in Florida.  To quote Norm Peterson, "It's a dog eat dog world out there and I'm wearing milkbone underwear."  or at least that's how it feels.  I'm not a weaver through traffic, nor do I take crazy chances when I get to red lights.  I have lights mounted on the front and back of my bike to make myself as visible as possible and let's face it, I'm not tiny. Oh, and my bike was bright yellow.  Still, with all these precautions, I've gotten clipped by sideview mirrors at least a dozen times, I've had people slam their brakes on to avoid hitting me when I have the right of way and I'll admit that I've kicked at a headlight or two out of exasperation with people.  Bottom line--it's dangerous out there.  

So, on with the story at hand...

On January 3rd, I woke up to realize that my cell phone was not working.  Needing to have to looked at, I knew that there was an AT&T store in the Coral Square Mall (Coral Springs, Florida).  It was only 8 miles away and it was a beautiful day, so I got ready in my favorite white tennis skirt and blue t-shirt (yeah, I had shorts underneath.  What do you think I am? Dumb or something?).  The ride to the mall was great!  The wind was with me, the sun was shining and I had a disc player with fresh batteries (Wow, that really dates this story, huh? I didn't have an iPod then...Odd, how Apple has defined my tech history.).  Looking back, I realize that this was the calm before the shit storm that was approaching.

Trying to be safe, I was riding north on the sidewalks (since there was no bike lane) and was happily approaching my local book store.  As I rode toward the shops, I was to pass in front of a parking lot entrance.  No worries, I thought.  There is a stop sign on the way out of that lot.  So, I continued to ride on and as I passed the stop sign (into the crosswalk), only then did I see a rather large van coming at me. 

Ground Zero

 

The actual moment I got hit is fuzzy.  I don't remember what it felt like when the bumper hit me, but I remember that sound it made--even over my music.  I remember that free fall feeling of sailing over the handlebars of my bike and I remember the way my cheek seemed to explode with pain upon impact on the road.  It was then that I looked up.  I was in the middle of the right hand lane of traffic on one of South Florida's busiest roadways and sure enough, there was a champagne colored Jeep Grand Cherokee coming straight at me.  I knew I couldn't move out of the way.  This is it--Well, it's been fun.  So--I just put my head back down.  

Thankfully--In that Jeep was an off duty cop and his wife, who is a nurse.  They stopped, called 911 and apparently made the d-bag who hit me stay since he was going to leave.  Two more nurses pulled over and got me out of my book bag and onto my back.  I tried to force myself to sit up since at this point, I was about ready to freak out.  They wouldn't let me for fear of neck injury.  They asked over and over--"Are you okay? Do you have pain?  Where does it hurt?"

My only response, "I don't know." Over and over I repeated myself and each time I was getting more upset.  

After I don't know how many minutes, the first coherent thing popped out of my mouth. "Where the F*&^ is my bike?"

"It's right over there." Someone told me.

"Don't let anyone take it!" I was way more concerned over my $100 Walmart bike than I was about my injuries, I guess.

Within the time that the EMTs arrived, someone used their phone to call the only number I could think of--The Tap House.  Not my parents--Nope, my job.  Sad, isn't it?  In a way I was calling a parent, I guess.  When the bartender answered, I announced, "I need Vikki" who is not only a former boss, but a dear friend and one of the people I consider family here in Florida.  The bartender said that Vikki was there and asked if I was okay. All I got to say was, "There was a car," and that's when all the screaming started.  Not about to listen to that given my condition, I handed the phone to one of the nice nurses and told her, "You talk to her. She'll yell at me."

I was right too.  Once I was loaded onto a backboard, complete with a C-collar (sexy, right?) I was slid into an ambulance like a loaf of bread into an over and again--The screaming started.  I could hear Vikki asking, or rather demanding to know where I was, telling people she was my mother so they'd let her by.  That ambulance door opened and she let me have it.  "I swear to GOD, young lady! It's like you're one of my own F*&^ing kids! You pull a stunt like this again and you won't need to worry about the car! I'll kill you myself!"  So, here I am--strapped down, unmedicated as yet, and now in tears because my Florida Mother is mad at me.  The female EMT promptly scolded Vikki, saying she was supposed to be there to calm me down; not upset me further.  True to form, she turned on a dime and cooed over me, "It's okay mami, Vikki's here. You're okay."  And I cried even harder--until the ambulance door opened again. 

She looks sweet, but don't make her mad.

"Amy! Doctor Bob, here!" Sidenote--  Dr. Bob was one of our daily regulars.  He's a character that I could probably write an entire book about, but for now all you need to know is that he's got a dirty mind and the ability to fix almost anything! 

Dr Bob

"Oh, shit." I mumbled.

"You a doctor?" The female EMT asked.

"Proctologist." He smiled and offered her an exam.  Yeah, that's Dr. Bob.  He told me he'd take my bike and see about fixing it and Vikki followed us to the hospital.  The female EMT stayed in the back with me and tried her best to make me feel better--

"You're doing good! You didn't even break a nail!"  I politely did not tell her that that was because my face had broken my fall. 

They ran the normal battery of tests and when the doctor finally came to see me, I'd already had Vikki call my parents and calm them down.  I was shocked when the doctor's first words were, "Well, this is your lucky day, Amy."  The shock must've shown on my face because he went on to explain--"You've got great defensive instincts. Your cheek hit the ground first.  I want you to realize that if you'd turned your head two inches to the right, you would've broken your nose and knocked out your teeth.  Two inches to the left and you would've probably broken your neck.  So, this is your lucky day."

"Well," I conceded, "when you put it like that, I guess you're right."

I went home with pain meds and more bruises and the next day--I went back to work (I only had 2 more days to make my rent payment).  I looked like I'd been beaten up.  Two black eyes, my cheek eaten up by roadrash along with my legs.  Good for tips--bad for my ego.  

I was a mess, but I do have to admit that yes, I got lucky.  I got back on my bike and am still riding.  I'm careful as always, perhaps even more now. 

Regardless of everything, how many people can say they've gotten hit by two cars and can tell the tales behind them with a smile.  Don't get me wrong, I'm convinced that if I'm hit again--it won't be pretty, but it's not going to stop me from going out there to do something I love.  So, put that in your juicebox and suck it!