Teenager Driver
I was furious with him. I discovered he had been cheating on me so I went to his place to confront him about it. This was foolish. I should have taken my licks and let him go. Was I subconsciously hoping he’d refute the allegations so successfully I’d believe him and end up in his bed. Who knows what goes on in a teenage girls thinking process. I won’t understand myself for years, I’m sure.
Well the face off went poorly. We yelled and screamed at each other. Name calling was involved. The scene was colored imature ugly. Teenage hormones on both sides aerosoled the atmosphere. Normally imobile objects became flying missiles. I finished my tirade and left not giving him equal time. My version of getting in the last word. I even got to slam the door shut, vibrating the apartment walls and awakening other tenents. We fought like kids. We were kids. This was practice for growing up. When real love came our way we would hopefully learn from our mistakes.
I pulled my car out and burned rubber. Tires screeching, I sped away as swiftly as possible sending the message I would never be back. Tears were spilling everywhere. I was still rewinding the fight over and over in my mind. What else could I have said? The light up ahead was green, yellow and red before I noticed. In fact I never noticed. There was a loud squealing sound and metal upon metal. I was crushed inside a tin can. The passenger and driver’s side doors were separated by 24 inches. I had become very compact, then I became unconscious.
Sirens, helicopters, flashing lights. Gawkers. Accident scene imagines. I had become a statistic. A poster child proving teenage drivers and anger shouldn’t be put in the same vehicle. It took hours to untangle me from the wreakage. It was a laborous task. The paramedics applied all their expertise on me. They got me stablized, intubated and resusitated after some down time without a heart beat. The helicopter from the local trauma center airlifted me out. I was alive!
Once in the hospital I was rushed to surgery. My abdomen opened and internal bleeding staunched. They removed my spleen. Someone sewed lacerations on my face up. They didn’t close up my incision, I would swell and ooze so it was best not to. They packed me with absorbent material covered my belly with a plastic sheet that adhered to me and sent me to the intensive care unit. I slept well in the unit. Thank heavens for mercy and medicinally strong drugs.
My parents arrived, cried and prayed. Cried and prayed. Cried and prayed. I lay there for two days, their tears falling on my face, hands, arms, heart. They assured me everything would be a-okay. They weren’t concerned about the automobile. “Wake up and talk to us. Please, wake up and talk to us”, They begged repeatedly.
Doctor’s came and spoke with my parent’s frequently, keeping them updated, measuring my progress. My parent’s had no doubt I would survive. My “boyfriend” had the gall to visit me. He didn’t appear upset about my condition. How does a nineteen year old carry his emotions. Especially since he had someone else in a side pocket. He probably went to see her when he left me. Hell, she could have driven with him to the hospital.
A few days later I was sent back to surgery. My parents stayed with me till I left my room. They had whispered in my ears about how they loved me. I loved them too but I couldn’t confess that to them with a tube in my throat. We parted ways at the elevators.
In surgery two nurses and two orderlies helped me over to the operating bed, identified me, covered me with warm blankets, tucked my arms at my side and spoke gently in my ears about what they were doing. They touched me often making me feel important. One of the nurses, a cute young thing, informed me she had a daughter my age. I could sense she was worried the same thing could repeat itself in her own family. She cared for me like I was her own. A team of doctors arrived and the room got busy. Every one was careful to observe sterile tecnique. Anesthesia was monitoring my vital signs and ventilating me. A nurse was prepping my abdomen, washing over the plastic covering. Doctor’s were gowning and gloving. Conversation in the room was reverent. They removed the packing sponges, accounting for all that had been placed in me previously. They located my liver and kidneys and examined them carefully. They passed inspection. They finished up and called it a day. I was cleaned up and covered with another warm blanket. The anesthesia team turned off the inhalation agents they used on me. As I lay waiting to be transferred to another room I watched them package things up. My liver, and kidneys went into a ice chest airborne to three different states. Three people were going to benefit from my reckless driving behaviour. My parent’s didn’t want to remove my heart and lungs. They wanted my chest to remain intact for cosmetic reasons. I’m not sure why. Surely they didn’t plan on an open casket with me naked? Hopefully no one would see my chest, but my heart and lungs could have improved the existence of one, two or three more souls. Right now these organs were just dead weight. The Life Gift representatives didn’t push the issue however because they feared my parents would rescend their initial offerings. Asking next of kin for donations is a sensitive and respectful task. I think I should have had some say. Wished I’d thought of it sooner. It’s kinda late now. The joke is on my parents anyway because an autopsy was to be performed on me and there goes my scarless sternum. They were right though, I will survive….in three individuals that I’ll meet latter. Right now I’m at the manufacture’s office getting brand new replacement parts. See he can make all things new!
Print Date: Jul 22 9:10pm Copyright �© 2006 Yahoo! Inc. All Rights Reserved.
