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Dispatches From Camp Lobo: I'm Alive
14 years ago
Question: if cats get nine lives, how many do wolves get?
I ask this because two days ago I had a brush with death. Some background first. As you may know there has been some rather nasty flooding going on in the Midwest. The point we were supposed to survey on Sunday was close enough to the Missouri River that it ended up under water. Because of this we planned to leave on Monday rather than Sunday. Unfortunately, I hadn't prepared for this so I was a bit short on food. With supplies running low on Sunday afternoon I hoped in my vehicle and headed for Chilicothe. Me being the curious idiot that I am decided to take the back roads.
As I crested a rise, all hell broke loose.
Perhaps I hit a patch of loose gravel. Perhaps not. I don't know. What I do know is that the back end of the vehicle slid to one side. I over corrected and the back end of the vehicle slid father and father before connecting with the berm on the side of the road and rolling several times.
You know those shows where they bring on someone who survived some horrific accident and they say that when things are at there worst everything slows down? They lie. It speeds up. All I saw were my feet as the world disintegrated around me.
Finally, the noise stops. First thought: "Get out! Get out!" Seat belt off, drop to the side. The engine's running! Pull the key! It won't come out! Why? It's still in gear. Get it out of gear, into park. Pull the key. Get out the door. The door won't open! Why won't it open? It's caved in. Crawl to the back. Pull the handle. It won't open. Am I going to die here? It's locked! Unlock it. Pull the handle. Push up, out, escape.
The first thing I saw were two guys running towards me. They were shouting the vehicle was on fire. Before I knew it they were on top of me, pulling me out. I staggered away, shaken. I spent the next several minutes pacing, disbelieving, wondering why the world won't come into focus. My glasses were missing. They were later found, soaked in oil, but amazingly unbroken.
The next two hours were spent answering questions from people I didn't know, would never know. They asked me if I was okay, if it hurt when they squeezed me here or there, where my license and insurance were, what I wanted to take with me. Why I smelled of gasoline. I answered as best I could, all the time lying there quietly in the ditch.
Apparently, I was quite lucky. If I had made it over the next hill I would surely have ended up going through a metal gate and into a field. I also heard something about a concrete pylon out there and somebody who had hit it...
As far as physical injuries are concerned, I got off lightly. I've got scratches here and there, one from where a piece of plastic embedded itself in my knee, as well as some bruising and whiplash.
The worse injury, though, was to my conscience. You see, that wasn't my vehicle I was driving. That wasn't a state vehicle either. It was my father's vehicle. It hit me as soon as it stopped rolling. I've written off my father's car. I've written off my father's car. He's going to kill me. It all settled on my shoulders, every bit of it. All the trust he'd put in me driving that thing, dead.
Dead.
All the plans from winter involving that vehicle.
Dead.
Because of me.
Because of one careless act.
One careless decision.
My decision.
The feeling of guilt is indescribable. I haven't been getting enough sleep the last two days because of it. I try to nod off and my brain defaults to it, triggering a stab of guilt, thrusting me awake. So I toss. And turn. And think. About what I've done.
Ironic side note: before I left on my ill fated journey I had been watching an episode of the Funday Pawpet Show. When I eventually got back to the field house and resumed watching it, the first thing they did was sing The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
I ask this because two days ago I had a brush with death. Some background first. As you may know there has been some rather nasty flooding going on in the Midwest. The point we were supposed to survey on Sunday was close enough to the Missouri River that it ended up under water. Because of this we planned to leave on Monday rather than Sunday. Unfortunately, I hadn't prepared for this so I was a bit short on food. With supplies running low on Sunday afternoon I hoped in my vehicle and headed for Chilicothe. Me being the curious idiot that I am decided to take the back roads.
As I crested a rise, all hell broke loose.
Perhaps I hit a patch of loose gravel. Perhaps not. I don't know. What I do know is that the back end of the vehicle slid to one side. I over corrected and the back end of the vehicle slid father and father before connecting with the berm on the side of the road and rolling several times.
You know those shows where they bring on someone who survived some horrific accident and they say that when things are at there worst everything slows down? They lie. It speeds up. All I saw were my feet as the world disintegrated around me.
Finally, the noise stops. First thought: "Get out! Get out!" Seat belt off, drop to the side. The engine's running! Pull the key! It won't come out! Why? It's still in gear. Get it out of gear, into park. Pull the key. Get out the door. The door won't open! Why won't it open? It's caved in. Crawl to the back. Pull the handle. It won't open. Am I going to die here? It's locked! Unlock it. Pull the handle. Push up, out, escape.
The first thing I saw were two guys running towards me. They were shouting the vehicle was on fire. Before I knew it they were on top of me, pulling me out. I staggered away, shaken. I spent the next several minutes pacing, disbelieving, wondering why the world won't come into focus. My glasses were missing. They were later found, soaked in oil, but amazingly unbroken.
The next two hours were spent answering questions from people I didn't know, would never know. They asked me if I was okay, if it hurt when they squeezed me here or there, where my license and insurance were, what I wanted to take with me. Why I smelled of gasoline. I answered as best I could, all the time lying there quietly in the ditch.
Apparently, I was quite lucky. If I had made it over the next hill I would surely have ended up going through a metal gate and into a field. I also heard something about a concrete pylon out there and somebody who had hit it...
As far as physical injuries are concerned, I got off lightly. I've got scratches here and there, one from where a piece of plastic embedded itself in my knee, as well as some bruising and whiplash.
The worse injury, though, was to my conscience. You see, that wasn't my vehicle I was driving. That wasn't a state vehicle either. It was my father's vehicle. It hit me as soon as it stopped rolling. I've written off my father's car. I've written off my father's car. He's going to kill me. It all settled on my shoulders, every bit of it. All the trust he'd put in me driving that thing, dead.
Dead.
All the plans from winter involving that vehicle.
Dead.
Because of me.
Because of one careless act.
One careless decision.
My decision.
The feeling of guilt is indescribable. I haven't been getting enough sleep the last two days because of it. I try to nod off and my brain defaults to it, triggering a stab of guilt, thrusting me awake. So I toss. And turn. And think. About what I've done.
Ironic side note: before I left on my ill fated journey I had been watching an episode of the Funday Pawpet Show. When I eventually got back to the field house and resumed watching it, the first thing they did was sing The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
I'm sure your dad is going to be pissed about the car, but he will more relieved to know that you weren't seriously injured or killed. He had insurance on it right? Hopefully things will work out so that he will get enough money for another vehicle.
I'm just glad you're ok.
Something that really worries me is that I got a court summons and I have no idea what they're going to throw at me.
Great to hear that you're alright though. Hang in there! :C
words?)
First thought: find a way to hold the guilt to
one side. Make it seperate from you, in some
way. It's stiil there, but it'll ease over time.
And won't consume you.
No idea how to do this, of course.
But when my brother nearly killed himself
and my Dad in our old Comet, that's what
he said about it. Or he'd still be dripping
with the stuff from every pore.
Remember, your decisions would have been
perfectly good under nearly any other
circumstances.
Physics just tried to kill you, is all. Real
bastard, that Physics; I've never liked him.
PS: Tfthtrkuyteehhrrryyfejmkkl. That's Welsh, isn't it?
You're right, my dog doesn't get it. :- )
The important thing to remember, though, is that shit like this is inevitable. you will get into accidents, and you will hit some small fuzzy creature in the middle of the road, regardless of the precautions you take, so don't beat yourself up too bad, eh?