Eat Dessert First

In September of 2001 I was hit by a car as a pedestrian. It was an event that sent my life reeling in a different direction and it took me a good 10 years to fully recover from the impact. Today, I AM fully recovered, and I rarely think about the accident, but there are days when the sunlight slants in a certain way, when the temperature is just so, that it triggers the memories. Today is one of those days.

It happened on one of those Midwest September mornings that urge you to breathe deep and take it all in.  The sun was shining brighter than seems possible, and the sky was a deeper blue, and the suburban trees still had leaves hanging on, gold and russet and wine-colored. I was on my way to my newish job, counseling troubled kids at a locked-down city school.  It was the sort of morning that makes you whistle as you get in your car, and makes you think of playing hooky  and taking pictures instead.  But I was determined to turn over a new leaf, no more playing hooky, I was going to be reliable and dedicated.   I shared an office with Michael, a young case worker who wrote plays on the side and dreamed of being onstage, and I decided to stop at the local coffee shop/bakery on my way in to work and pick up some danish for the two of us.  It seemed like a good thing to do.

Jack’s bakery was across the street from the community college and had their slogan painted on a big banner across the top of the door “Eat Dessert First, Life is Uncertain”.  I parked and headed across the street, a few brown leaves crunching between the asphalt and my boots. The sun was brilliant and you had to squint your eyes against it to see at all.  I stood in line and waited to get 2 cinnamon danish and a cup of bad coffee in a styrofoam cup, and then I was off.  I remember swinging out the door, with a feeling of satisfaction, feeling good, stepping off the curb into the street.

The next thing I remember, I was lying in the street, my head cradled in some strange woman’s lap.

“Don’t move, honey,” the stranger whispered, “You’ve been hit by a car.”

This made absolutely no sense.  I could feel my brain, or my thoughts, scurrying around in my head like frightened mice, this way and that, trying to find a clue, to find some answer to this puzzle.  I felt my memory straining, trying to remember where I was, what I was doing.  I could  actually hear my thoughts in my head,

“Hit by a car??  No way, impossible.  I wasn’t hit by a car!!!”  I fought hard to stay conscious, but kept wanting to drift away into blackness.  I was vaguely aware of a little crowd of people hovering around, bending over me.  I struggled in vain to keep my eyes open.  A moment of peace, of quiet, of blackness, a wonderful, sleepy warmth creeping over me, I was actually smiling.  Then, Wham! like an electric shock running through me, I fought to to be awake and heard those thoughts, my own, again:

“Ooohh, if I am on the ground, I am probably a bloody mess!  I better straighten up, try to look like a good orderly patient.”    Somehow through the haze, I managed to be self-conscious, and tried to look presentable.  I remember a police officer bending over, recognized his starched blue shirt and badge.

 I don’t recall hearing sirens approach, and don’t remember anything about an ambulance, until I woke up inside one, with a gentle, attentive male EMT working over me.  Something about his kindness toward me brought tears to my eyes, I hadn’t been touched by a man in years. I had the where-with-all to sneak a peek at his left hand, had time to feel a surge of disappointment to see a wedding ring, before I passed out again.  

The next few hours were a blur of being in and out of consciousness, moments of peace contrasted with moments of panic, especially when I put my hand to my head and brought it down with a fistful of hair.  “Apparently I’m going bald!” I remember sobbing to myself.

Now I remember only a few fractured moments from the whole ordeal.  There had been exams and tests and MRIs, but mostly I checked out fine, lots of bruises and cuts, a bad closed-head injury that would haunt me for ages, but no broken bones.  I ached all over. 

“Hey, who wouldn’t if they bounced off an SUV?” I would joke later. 

 I left the hospital after only a few hours. The nurses came to me with my cell phone in hand.  They said, “Should we call your mother?” 

“No, no, don’t call her, she’ll freak out.” I answered,

“Should we call your daughter?”

“NO, she’ll freak out.”

“Well who should we call to come get you?”

I had to think about that one.  “Call my ex-husband Bob. HE won’t care.” 

So it was Bob who came for me.  

As I got ready to climb off the gurney, one of the nurses handed me a pair of blue paper pants.

“Here, you better put these on.”

 “Why?”

“You have a little problem with your jeans there.”  As it turned out, the whole back-end was ripped clear out of my jeans, my panties ripped clear through too, and I winced thinking of my bare rear flapping in the breeze for all those folks dipping their doughnuts at Jack’s this morning.  

Once home, relaxing in the rocker, I opened my handbag and found the 2 cinnamon danish still fresh in their waxy white bag; some thoughtful bystander must have caught them as they flew through the air and tucked them safely away.  I laughed and promptly ate them both, wishing I would have had dessert first, as life most certainly is UNcertain.

But going through this experience, and all the problems that ensued; 10 years of memory problems, cognitive changes, back and neck pain, financial wrack and ruin, really taught me something.

I learned that what we have is NOW. And if we aren’t living the life we want to live right this moment, we had better get to it. Because everything can change with one danish.