Brush With Death 3

Brush with death-three

This story is appropriately told from the point of view of Rajan, my son, who was 15 at the time.

 Anticipating his license, but not yet able to drive, Raj bought a ’67 Mustang and was busy turning it into the car of his dreams. (His dreams would later turn to a 2001 Acura.  But, at the time this was his dream car). He had paid for a paint job, changing the puce green to a deep blue. At 2500 dollars it was a great investment he assured me, as it came with lots of extras. There were two sets of little M U S T A N G  letters in chrome along with two boxes of really good ‘parts’.  And, it ran well. But, he couldn’t drive it yet.

So, we found ourselves jumping into the car for a late lunch.  I knew it was late because I was getting shaky and my stomach was growling.  “We may have waited too long for lunch”, I said.  And that was the last thing I remember about that drive.

As a recently diagnosed diabetic I was adjusting to new medications.  The insulin was a recent addition to my regimen and I thought I understood how it worked. But I had more to learn.

This is how it happened for Raj.

He got in and I mentioned being hungry. But, mostly he noticed I was mad! And swearing, and not making much sense. And driving poorly! Within one block he knew there was something very wrong. And, he was in a car that was going to crash taking out any number of parked cars.  “Mom, pull over. Stop driving! Or let me out!” And I did pull over another block down after much arguing. Raj stepped out and started to slam the door but decided to try to help his crazy mother some how and sat back in. It was a very frightening decision.

I drove to the end of our quiet sub-division and started out onto Pruneridge Avenue. Pruneridge Avenue is a busy thoroughfare. On one end, ten blocks away, is the mall in Santa Clara.  Seven miles at the other end  is a hotel complex in the next side-by-side town of Cupertino.  In between are major roadways taking Silicon Valley workers to their high-tech jobs, North and South in the Valley. Although most drivers on these roads are in a hurry, my impaired self was not.  I was doing 10 to 15 miles per hour and driving without seeing stop signs or traffic lights. Raj was yelling, banging on the sides of the car, panicked and with no idea of how to stop me as we went through the red warnings. Drivers swerved, stopped, stared, cursed and honked as I plowed through Lawrence Expressway, and De Anza Boulevard, oblivious but quiet now. Sweating, tremoring and unconscious, I was nearing the end of this ride.

Of course, later, Raj thought of some ways he might have helped; turning off the engine, getting the keys, physically fighting me. But, instead he did what he could after I passed out falling forward on the wheel.  He managed to turn the wheel toward the curb next to a bank where he hoped to go for help. Taking the keys he ran to the bank. It was Saturday! Closed! The nearest building was a block away. A hotel!  It would be open surely.  And, it was. The desk clerk got 911 quickly. The emergency operator took the info and asked if his mom was still breathing.  In shock, Raj put the phone down and ran back to the car to see. At that point he was sure I was dying as a seizure was working through my body and sweat was pouring off my skin. In the distance he could hear the fire engines and an ambulance. But he thought it might be too late.

I awoke in the ambulance after being administered a special glucose injection used for diabetic coma.  I actually had cogent brain function right away, remembering my last words about eating.  I also remembered I had been driving and asked if I had hurt anyone. And, where was my son?  No, I had not hurt anyone and my heroic son was enjoying his first ride in an ambulance up in the front seat!

The rectangles of lights on the ceiling sped by in the hallway as I was wheeled into the ER. Recovery begun on the way to the hospital continued with an IV glucose solution and re-hydration.  Within minutes, I felt like myself and listened to this story as my son told it to me. I was lucky to have had him with me. He saved my life.

10/8/2010

Brush With Death 2

Brush with death-two

The horses were two big draft animals I was loaning to a children’s petting park for the summer.  The trailer was rickety and meant for small Mustangs.  But, the old man was doing his friends a favor and loaded the bulky animals into his dilapidated trailer attached to an equally dilapidated truck. My sister and I squeezed into the front seat and we started off on the 30 minute drive from Pescadero to Scott’s Valley on the California Coast.

The cowboy was preoccupied and distracted by having two young ladies share this trip. He laughed and joked and made many flirtatious remarks, thoroughly enjoying the bright Spring day. He was sure he was making a good impression.  He was looking forward to hauling these horses back at the end of the summer.

This drive is one of the most scenic on the Coast.  Fields of Brussels Sprouts and corn grow alongside the cliffs that border the Pacific Ocean to the right and on the left are rows of cabbages and root crops that thrive in the often foggy zone along with grape and berry vines. The undulating road dips down to cross small streams before climbing another hill from where passing whales might be seen. Sand beaches are few along this stretch replaced by steep drop-offs on either side of the road.

Although he had traveled this road many times the Cowboy had not done so with such a weight pushing his truck up and down the rolling hills. At the top of the longest grade just outside of Davenport, he realized he was not paying enough attention to the road, or the weight, or the speed.  He shouted a warning.  He tried to slow the truck by driving in the soft shoulder on the right. But the trailer swung out to the left as they peaked and started down the long grade.  Twice more he tried to slow the trailer by contacting the side of the cliff.  Now, oncoming cars recognized the danger and were pulling off the roadway to avoid a collision with the hurtling truck and heavy trailer.

More out of control than ever before, the trailer was now dragging the small truck back and forth, side to side, using both lanes and barely staying on the roadway at all! Then, the truck, with the ocean forty feet below to the right, and a thirty foot embankment on the left, spun out dragging the trailer around it. Inside, the horses hit the ends of their tethers snapping them loose.  The centrifugal force pulled the horses out the back of the trailer as it became the leader in the spin. Because the horses were dumped out, the trailer was no longer the heaviest of the vehicles and as it started over the cliff one wheel dropped into space while the other stopped in the berm.

Inside the cab, inside the spin, and jolted to a stop, we were completely stunned. My last words to Denise had been, “Relax”, because I knew relaxed people often survived driving off cliffs whereas braced people often did not. But, we had not gone over as expected.  The now empty trailer had not had the weight to pull the truck as it had been doing before with the horses inside.  The horses! How were they?

Scrambling out of the truck we found them in the road struggling. Old Lady had severe hock damage but got up and could walk.  Glory was banged up but reloaded well.. Months later Old Lady was put down, unable to overcome her injuries, and Glory lost a foal due to the accident. All three of the people involved were happy to be alive.

Brush With Death 1

Brush with death-one                                                                             

Christmas when I was twelve brought many nice presents but the BIG ONE was a three speed Schwinn, sleek and shiny, the best present ever! After riding it for a week of vacation, I was more than ready for the first day of school to show it off.  My girlfriend picked me up and we started out on the seven block ride. Her bike was old.  I felt bad for her. She begged to trade bikes just to try it out. After two blocks I switched with her. What a difference!  No smooth ride, no gears to change, it was a rickety ride on a rusty old bike and I said, ‘Let’s switch back at the next corner!’

“Okay”, was the last thing I heard before the chain slipped and I was thrown off balance into the roadway. As the bike and I came to rest on the asphalt I saw the tire of the car pass within four inches of my head. It stopped and I was getting up when the lady got out of the car.  She was very pale, the blood drained from her face in shock. “I thought I’d run over you,” she exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

I managed to stand. “Fine”, I replied. As she left, my friend said, “Oh, yeah, I was going to tell you, the chain is slipping!”

I actually wasn’t fine. As I rode to school on my new bike I noticed drops of blood on the frame.  Then, I realized my knee was bleeding a lot. At school, the nurse bandaged the ground meat that remained on my knee and I went to class.                        

            Around ten o’clock I was surprised to see my mother come to the classroom.  She had come to school to register my brother, Roger, for kindergarten. She wanted to see my knee.  One look at the grayish old hamburger where my knee used to be and off we went.

            At the doctor’s office, after three numbing shots, I spent a half hour behind a drape as the sound of gravel hitting a metal pan rang through the office. I might have been a better patient had they let me see what he was doing.  But, instead, I screamed bloody murder and I still have a bluish dark spot over the location of one rock he didn’t remove.

            The doctor told my mother it was a good thing she brought me then as waiting until the afternoon would have cost me my knee.  So, my little brother saved my knee!