Impact

Memory

July 7th, 2018

My mom and sister told me they were going to my friend's new house to pick up an old filing cabinet they didn't need. I didn't get to see this friend often, so I eagerly asked to tag along. I regret that request the most.

Everything went fine the way there and all through touring their new house. As we loaded up the large, black stainless-steel 4-drawer filing cabinet into the back of our old tan Toyota Sienna—a car we had had longer than my sister or I had been alive and a car we'd become quite attached to—we didn't secure the cabinet. We had carried a great deal of stuff in the back of this same van and never needed to, so we just didn't think to. We should have.

After we left, I don't remember much. I faintly remember taking off the cheap Walmart flip flops I was wearing and crossing my legs in the seat as we talked about the next summer's vacation ideas. My sister was a very good driver, so when she started driving on her own, I quickly got comfortable with it. She had her phone on her, but it remained in her pocket since we left our house. I had beaten my mom to shotgun, leaving her in the back passenger seat next to the cabinet on the left side, so she was likely scrolling through Facebook all while we talked.

I remember the feeling of losing control and swerving to the left, the intense burning-stinging feeling in the back of my head, and a glimpse of the shattered windshield. I thought I dreamt screaming over and over "this has to be a dream", but my sister confirmed that I actually did scream it once everything had stopped moving. She mentioned I said that before I had even brought it up to anyone. I remember the feeling of glass covering all of us, most of it not actually hurting me, but the uncomfortable feeling of the possibilities of more cuts in my flesh still crawls through my skin when I recall my memory of that day.

The next thing I remember, I was in the ER, screaming bloody murder as my scalp was being stapled back onto my skull by the poor intern who had only been there 7 days. I wasn't aware of anything that was going on except for the complete agony I was in, and that, unfortunately for my now-doctor and my father, included my own decency. I thrashed about at every attempt to turn me Oberon my right side, and it was very quickly evident that I had the most intense bruise you have ever seen in your life on my upper thigh.

They finally managed to get some pain meds to me, but not after the intern made a mistake with the staples and had to pull four of the fourteen out to retry. After the medication kicked in, though, I began to calm down enough to find out what in the ever-loving holy fucking potato was going on. I was told I was in an accident, and that my mother and sister had worse injuries than I did, but that they were both alive.

As the pain diminished, so did the adrenaline, leaving me with extreme nausea from both a concussion and excessive blood loss, as well as no energy whatsoever. I learned that my dad was there, and—much to his relief and surprise—so were two family friends: my now-doctor and her husband. The latter two would rotate between curtained-off sections where the two other patients were that my father couldn't be with.

The funny thing to me is that I distinctly remember Captain America: Civil War was playing on the TV in the corner, and I think I probably brought that up a lot by the time I was exhausted and high of my ass.

After a final CT scan of my leg to ensure that the bruise was just that: a bruise, I was transported from the emergency room to the nearby children's hospital. I remember that as they wheeled me out, I passed by my sister's area and—though I didn't even have the energy to sit up—I mustered a wave and a small "Hi Katie" as I was moved to make sure she knew I was okay.