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One Less Inch
Hit by a truck.
- Title: onelessinch
- Address: onelessinch.com
- Author: smartsypantsy
- From: La Jolla
- Blogging since: 2002
- Post Title: One Less Inch. Final Draft.
- Post Date: March 13, 2012
[Chapter] 16. hit by a truck
so this one time i was hit by a truck and my whole life changed. you are one minute jogging thinking about making art and what it would be like to kiss a stranger that you just met and thinking about the massage you have scheduled for that evening and thinking about buying dog food and being grateful that the sun is shining and you don’t really have a care in the world and the next you are being hurled through the air. landing in shorts and skidding across the road. feeling the gravel clawing underneath your skin. feeling the road burn. feeling your back break because your head was the last thing to hit the ground causing you to remain conscious for the entire thing.
the hammer falls…i hear the ambulance. time has stretched into what seems to be decades. i start to feel like i am going to vomit. i am sure of it. i wonder how i look. if the firemen will be cute. what the fuck is going on.
they get out of the truck and the questions come. thousands of incessant questions. can i feel this. what happened. the police officer gathering info for his report as they strap me to a board.
“you aren’t going to be allowed to move” them
“i’m claustrophobic” me
“we will tell you everything we are doing” them
“am i going to be ok” me
the board hurts under my butt. the road rash is serious. i can tell. no one notices. they are preoccupied with my back and leg.
“it’s broken” i hear them say.
“it may be.”
“it can’t be” i think. they put a hard cased neck brace on.
“you aren’t going to be allowed to move” them. again
“this sucks” me. then “you guys are cute. my sister has a thing for firemen.” and. “i’m sober. i think you need to know that.”
“how long” them
“since 2002” my old sobriety date is all i can remember still
“good for you” them
i feel ashamed.
i get into the trauma unit. my clothes are being cut off. it is cold. i look around to see who is looking. wondering what they think of my tattoos.
“do you want something for the pain”
“no. i’m sober. not till i talk to My sponsor. i need a phone”
“your sister is on her way. we need to check for internal bleeding. this is going to be cold”
in the cat scan i am alone for the first time. my mind races. i look to the iv bag on my chest. the brand is baxter. i feel safe. i know that my little baxter puppy is sending me thoughts. he will get me through. i hold on to that logo for life.
out of the cat scan and it dawns on me. i want to sit up. i want to sit up I WANT TO SIT UP. they tell me i can’t move and there are spinal fractures and fissures and that i could become paralyzed at any time. that shit is heavy. i just want my phone. i want to text. i want to be connected. i know i am fucked. i am alone. i just want someone to talk to. the pain is too much. My sponsor tells me to take the morphine.
i do.
they push the plunger down. all is bliss. all is smiles. i am home. i take the pass. the warm washes over. i am free. i am high as a freaking kite for the first time in like 10 years. it feels amazing.
i call ptk.
i tell him i am all right. he asks me what i need. “someone to talk to me” i say.
“what do you want to know” he says
“tell me everything” i say
“ok.” he says “you aren’t going to remember any of this anyway” he says referencing the morphine. and he begins to tell me everything from the beginning for him. what it was like. how he felt. the secrets i wasn’t supposed to know this soon. and like he said. i should not remember any of this and he thinks i am not going to remember any of this.
but i do.
[Post has been edited for length.]
Here's something you might be interested in.
One Less Inch
One Less Inch
Hit by a truck.
- Title: onelessinch
- Address: onelessinch.com
- Author: smartsypantsy
- From: La Jolla
- Blogging since: 2002
- Post Title: One Less Inch. Final Draft.
- Post Date: March 13, 2012
[Chapter] 16. hit by a truck
so this one time i was hit by a truck and my whole life changed. you are one minute jogging thinking about making art and what it would be like to kiss a stranger that you just met and thinking about the massage you have scheduled for that evening and thinking about buying dog food and being grateful that the sun is shining and you don’t really have a care in the world and the next you are being hurled through the air. landing in shorts and skidding across the road. feeling the gravel clawing underneath your skin. feeling the road burn. feeling your back break because your head was the last thing to hit the ground causing you to remain conscious for the entire thing.
the hammer falls…i hear the ambulance. time has stretched into what seems to be decades. i start to feel like i am going to vomit. i am sure of it. i wonder how i look. if the firemen will be cute. what the fuck is going on.
they get out of the truck and the questions come. thousands of incessant questions. can i feel this. what happened. the police officer gathering info for his report as they strap me to a board.
“you aren’t going to be allowed to move” them
“i’m claustrophobic” me
“we will tell you everything we are doing” them
“am i going to be ok” me
the board hurts under my butt. the road rash is serious. i can tell. no one notices. they are preoccupied with my back and leg.
“it’s broken” i hear them say.
“it may be.”
“it can’t be” i think. they put a hard cased neck brace on.
“you aren’t going to be allowed to move” them. again
“this sucks” me. then “you guys are cute. my sister has a thing for firemen.” and. “i’m sober. i think you need to know that.”
“how long” them
“since 2002” my old sobriety date is all i can remember still
“good for you” them
i feel ashamed.
i get into the trauma unit. my clothes are being cut off. it is cold. i look around to see who is looking. wondering what they think of my tattoos.
“do you want something for the pain”
“no. i’m sober. not till i talk to My sponsor. i need a phone”
“your sister is on her way. we need to check for internal bleeding. this is going to be cold”
in the cat scan i am alone for the first time. my mind races. i look to the iv bag on my chest. the brand is baxter. i feel safe. i know that my little baxter puppy is sending me thoughts. he will get me through. i hold on to that logo for life.
out of the cat scan and it dawns on me. i want to sit up. i want to sit up I WANT TO SIT UP. they tell me i can’t move and there are spinal fractures and fissures and that i could become paralyzed at any time. that shit is heavy. i just want my phone. i want to text. i want to be connected. i know i am fucked. i am alone. i just want someone to talk to. the pain is too much. My sponsor tells me to take the morphine.
i do.
they push the plunger down. all is bliss. all is smiles. i am home. i take the pass. the warm washes over. i am free. i am high as a freaking kite for the first time in like 10 years. it feels amazing.
i call ptk.
i tell him i am all right. he asks me what i need. “someone to talk to me” i say.
“what do you want to know” he says
“tell me everything” i say
“ok.” he says “you aren’t going to remember any of this anyway” he says referencing the morphine. and he begins to tell me everything from the beginning for him. what it was like. how he felt. the secrets i wasn’t supposed to know this soon. and like he said. i should not remember any of this and he thinks i am not going to remember any of this.
but i do.
[Post has been edited for length.]
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