I remember the time exactly, because I had an appointment with my psychotherapist in another minute. It was a standing appointment - I've been seeing "Dr C" every Wednesday for more than a year and a half to discuss all types of issues one talks about in therapy, but primarily focusing on coping with living with my mental illness - manic depression - which I've written quite a bit about, not only in Electroboy, my chronicle of my battle with manic depression, but here on the pages of Bipolar.About.com.
That day, I pressed the pedestrian button at the crosswalk and was making my way across the street when I felt like a huge shark took a bite out of my hip (and my butt, to be even more specific). There was a horrible stinging sensation for a brief few seconds and the next memory I have was of being thrown up high, like I was on a rollercoaster ride. I felt the back of my head smashing through a windshield and the reverberations of the car horn honking. This was definitely not a shark bite ... but seriously, I was confused as to what had happened. And then I must have lost consciousness. I ended up about ten feet from the car, lying flat on my back. I was also barefoot - my shoes had gone in two different directions. I kept my eyes shut tight. I remember hearing a man's voice screaming, "He's dead, he's dead! Cover his corpse." And then I felt somebody covering me with a blanket. "I'm not dead yet," I mumbled. But still, I was confused about whether I was alive or if I had "moved on" to the other side.
My initial concern was that I was going to die before the emergency medical technicians arrived. I saw two Chassidic Jews standing together on the side looking at my "corpse." Somebody came to my side and asked me if I needed anything. "Yes, bring those two religious men over," I said. The two young men approached me. "What can we do?" one of them asked. "Pray for me. Pray that I don't die in the next few minutes," I begged. I remember tears were streaming down my face. Clearly, this was the end.
When the emergency medical technicians arrived - thankfully only four or five minutes after the accident - my fear increased. I could tell that my head was gushing blood because it felt so warm and wet. "Is my head connected to the rest of my body?" I asked. "Yes, you wouldn't be talking to us if it wasn't," the young emergency medical technician replied.
But then, of course, when I was sure I was going to make it through this accident and live, my mind started wandering - and panicking. How many bones had I broken? Were my organs damaged? Was there internal bleeding too? And then my worst fear - was I paralyzed? Would I ever walk again? I had a horrible flash of the American actor Christopher Reeve. And I couldn't stop crying.
The medics were very gentle with me and took great care in securing me to a stretcher, as they didn't yet know the extent of my injuries. I knew that my right hip and leg were in horrible pain, that my back was aching and that my neck had been twisted like a pretzel. And I was convinced that I had no toes on my feet (although they assured me that they were all there).
I was quickly taken to a nearby emergency room, where I waited for what seemed like hours to be examined. What would my life in a wheelchair be like? Would my new wife and I be able to have children? Would I still be able to type? (After all, that's how I make my living). These were all frightening questions for somebody whose greatest fear in life before was just keeping his mental condition balanced, and who had never previously experienced any type of physical trauma.
