Not a typical day

May 9, 1992, like any other day began with the typical routine. The alarm went off at 6 AM; I reluctantly drug myself out of bed knowing full well that I had another busy day ahead of me at work. My morning routine consisted of running down stairs to pour a glass of orange juice for me and my husband, Jack. Once we finished our juice, he was off to the master bathroom and I was off to the guest bathroom for a shower and preparation for work. That particular morning I chose to wear a burgundy and black hound’s tooth print skirt set with a matching double breasted jacket, black panty hose, and black high heels. Yes, back then panty hose and high heels were still very much in style. Isn’t it amazing how you can remember such details on a day that impacts you the rest of your life?

Just before I left for work I remembered to pack my gym bag in hopes to make it to Jazzercise right after work. I made it a point to attend jazzercise at least 4 to 5 times a week. At that time I weighed 109 pounds, wore a size 5, and was very determined to keep my shape. And the good part about it was I really enjoyed the jazzercise…it was like dancing…and I love to dance.

I drove a 1988 Triple White Volkswagen Cabriolet Convertible, also known as a Fahrvergnugen, which was the name on the side of the car. I always got a kick out of telling everyone I drove a Fahrvergnugen convertible. They would look at me as if I had one eyeball in the middle of my forehead. Then I would laugh and tell them it was German for Volkswagen. Actually the Volkswagen commercial used the term Fahrvergnugen in their advertisement with the tag line, “it’s what makes a car a Volkswagen!”  The definition of the word is “driving enjoyment.” The description ‘Triple White’ meant it had a white body, white convertible top, and white leather seats with a 5 speed stick shift. That little car was so much fun, it would haul butt, especially when I was in the driver’s seat. I remember when I first bought the car my mother told me it was the most impractical thing I had ever done in my life. My response, “Well mom I’m tired of being practical. The kids are gone and it’s my turn to have a little fun.”

So, off to work I went with the top down on my car, hair blowing in the wind, radio blaring over the wind noise, and I was singing to the top of my lungs to my favorite oldies music. That was the perfect way to start out a daily drive to work. As soon as I arrived at work I put the top up on the car and headed straight for the coffee pot; after spending a couple minutes getting my tousled hair back into place. With coffee in hand, I made my rounds to say good morning to everyone I worked with in the department.

I can’t really tell you much about the remainder of my day except to say it was typical; well, almost typical. I remember getting back into my car after work, this time leaving the top up, and heading to my jazzercise class; only I never arrived at class that day. They tell me I was in a car accident which I have never remembered up to this very day. What I do remember is getting into my car and then all of a sudden something feeling terribly wrong. I saw two men standing on the street corner and then I went down; I passed out. The next thing I hear are people all around me and someone is putting a neck brace on me and telling me to relax. But being claustrophobic, relaxing is not something you do when someone appears to be shutting off the airway to your lungs; the only connection to life you feel you have at the moment. I begged the lady not to put the neck brace on me, crying, reaching out and grasping with every fiber of my body to keep the air flowing into my lungs. At some point I realized the lady was a paramedic and I was in terrible pain. I believe she realized the trauma I was experiencing from the neck brace was far worse than the pain from the accident, so she let me hold on to the brace; giving me a glimpse of hope that I could keep it from cutting off my air flow. And believe me I held on to that brace with every ounce of strength I had; trying desperately to keep it from touching my throat. My next conscious realization was in the ambulance when someone, a female voice, was hollering at me saying, “This is all your fault!” She continued to repeat it over and over. Then another voice appeared saying, “Shut up! This was not her fault!” I continued to lie there, passing in and out, trying frantically to figure out what was happening to me. As I reached the hospital a crowd of doctors and nurses gathered all around me, the voices were muffled, faces were blurred as if I were having a dream, and panic was in the air. I tried so desperately to make connection with the faces and voices but it seemed hopeless. Then the questions started. “What is your name?” I don’t know. “Who can we call for you?” Funny thing is I could remember Jack’s name and our phone number, so I gave it to them. “Do you have any children?” Yes, two. “What are their names?” I don’t know, but I know I have a boy and a girl. “How old are they?” The questions kept darting out at me, yet I hardly knew any of the answers. “What was happening to me?” “How could I forget my own children’s names?” “How could I forget my own name?” Really, what was happening to me?

Finally, after what seemed like hours, it all began to make sense. Jack came into the room and I was so happy to see a face I recognized. Somehow I knew I was safe and in safe hands. He began to explain that I had been in a bad car accident. A woman had made a left hand turn into me as I crossed the intersection at the corner of Kings Avenue and Oakfield Dr in Brandon. My car had been totaled but somehow I was going to be fine; even though every fiber of my body throbbed with pain and blood was all over me.

I stayed in the hospital overnight for a series of cat scans, x-rays and observation to insure there were no internal injuries. I even passed out and fell in the floor after warning an x-ray technician that I was unable to stand. Strange thing was he was going to x-ray my back for any damage. Well, when I arrived home the first thing I did was go straight to a mirror. I could not believe my eyes; I had no idea who was looking back at me. I did not recognize the swollen face, black and blue from the impact. One side of the head was shaved with about 30 staples running from the crown of the head to just outside the hairline over the left side of the forehead. What a sight I was and the pain in my body was excruciating.

As time went on I began to heal. But I soon realized my sense of reasoning had been compromised; I could not add 1 + 1. There I was a business analyst and I couldn’t do simple math. About four weeks after the accident I went to the doctor for a weekly visit, children were still starring at me because of the shaved head and bruises. What a sight I must have been to them. I’m sure I looked like something out of a horror show. When I saw the doctor I was so happy to share with him that I was doing so much better. So much better that I had started back to jazzercise doing the ‘low impact’ classes but I was experiencing problems with my reasoning skills. He immediately became angry with me and began to scold me. He said, “Who told you it was OK to exercise? I don’t want you as much as walking fast for a minimum of one year!” Then he explained that the main artery in my head had been severed and was stitched back together and any extra movement could cause it to tear back open. He explained if that happened I would be dead at the snap of a finger. He said if it hadn’t been for the two men on the street corner, which had just left the gym across the street, holding their towels tightly on my head, I would have died at the scene of the accident. So needless to say, the doctor got every bit of my attention. I never went back to jazzercise and wouldn’t you know it, I gained 30 pounds within the year. But the alternative would have been far worse than any weight gain.

As for the Fahrvergnugen, it was completely demolished. I finally went to remove my personal belongings and I was devastated when I saw it. The engine was pushed up against the firewall like an accordion. The triple white was no longer so, as the interior was completely covered with blood, my blood. Not to mention the stench escaping from the car as I opened the door and saw the towels used to save my life. When I looked at it I wondered how anyone could have possibly survived such an accident. When I walked away from the heap of metal, I was speechless. I still had a hard time adding simple numbers, but I had my life.

As I drove from the junk yard that morning, all of a sudden I had no idea where I was. I was lost and I began to panic! Where was I? How could I get so lost? Again, I remembered Jack’s phone number and called him immediately. Luckily, as a result of the accident, he had bought me a cell phone just in case of emergencies. As he answered the phone, he immediately heard the panic in my voice. Once he finally understood what I was saying and what was happening with me, he began to speak softly to me. As I heard his words, I began to calm down and gain composure, but I still had no idea where I was.

Earlier that morning he had told me he didn’t think I was emotionally ready to see my car. He had seen it just a few days before when he removed, what he thought were, all my personal items. Yet I assured him that I would be fine. So reluctantly he agreed to let me go. I dropped him off at work and drove his car. However, during those moments of my panic, I knew in my spirit he had been right all along.

Jack told me to describe the area around me and to get back on the road and start driving, while continuing to describe my surrounding areas every minute of the way. Finally he was able to determine where I was and he directed my every turn until I reached his office. I was so happy to see the familiar building and then to see his face; something that I finally recognized. I then knew for certain, I was safe once again.

When I arrived home that afternoon I went and looked at the blood stained garment hanging in my closet that I had kept as a reminder, then in the mirror I saw my badly bruised face, the shaved head, the horrible scar and tracks from the removed staples on my head….I knew then…. “I may not be able to add 1 + 1…and I may not be able to remember where I am at times, but one thing I know for certain, God has given me a second chance at life.” For certain, that day I knew I was one lucky lady.

Eventually the memory returned, the bruises faded away, and the scar was covered as my hair grew back in place. But today if I run my fingers through my hair I can still feel the deep scar and instantly I am reminded of that day in 1992 and I realize how blessed I have been.  Although I have never remembered the accident, people always tell me that’s a blessing as well. As for the car, I never saw it  again…but it truly spoiled me on convertibles and I have had one every since. To this day, I still love putting the top down, cranking up my tunes, and singing to the top of my lungs as my hair blows in the wind.

I offer my services to write memoirs and life stories of you and your loved ones. It’s as simple as sitting on a front porch sharing story after story about your life and your loved ones as you relax in a rocking chair, chattering away about what you know best….your loved ones.

Please continue to read my blog  http://rockingchairchatter.com and be sure to keep a watch for my new website  http://www.myfrontporchfriends.com/ as we continue to write our stories.

Enjoyed the chat,

Lorraine

Lorraine McFarland lives in Plant City, Florida. She is a professional writer specializing in memoirs, life story writing, and capturing memories of your loved ones.

Copyright March 2011 by Lorraine McFarland. The author retains sole copyright to her contributions to this article.

Life Stories