The five year anniversary of my accident is approaching. I still have raw emotions associated with this. I have shared my losses, challenges, and triumphs on this website and the caring bridge website.
I have avoided writing this event down. The acknowledgment of my injury can help release conflicting feelings regurgitating in my soul. I know this but it’s pretty damn hard.
So here it is.
I slipped behind the steering wheel of my Toyota RAV4 after finishing a round at Quail Ridge Golf Course on October 23, 2018. It was late afternoon on a perfectly sunny day in West Michigan. My wife at the time was visiting family in Chicago. This was the last warm day forecasted so I decided to get one last round in for the season.
I veered westward in the parking lot of Quail Ridge golf course. The sun shined through the windshield blinding me.
I never saw the light post. I was going maybe 15 mph. But I hit that bastard straight on. My head struck the steering wheel and I saw stars. It took several seconds to get my mental bearings. I tried reaching for the door latch. My arm would not move. I tried again. No movement.
I tried reaching for the steering wheel horn with my other arm. Nothing. My chest tightened.
Holy shit! I thought. Am I paralyzed?
And there I sat totally helpless. I drifted in and out of consciousness for what felt like forever. It became increasingly difficult to breathe.
I tried speaking but barely a whisper escaped my lips. I’m going to die. And there I sat for at least 15 minutes with my head dangling forward.
The floodgates of my mind opened and a series of horrific thoughts poured in.
Will anyone find me before I die?
Would I rather die?
How is this going to affect my marriage?
Somebody knocked on the driver side window. After a moment, the driver side door opened.
“Sir,” a male voice said. “Do you need help?”
Thank God! Somebody found me.
My lips moved but nothing came out.
“I’m going to call for an ambulance,” he told me.
An ambulance along with the firetruck arrive soon after. Strapped my head an upper upper half a body on a board and onto a gurney.
“Is there somebody we can contact?” An EMT asked. He had my phone.
”My wife,” I said in a barely audible whisper. “Amy Falkinburg.”
My mind raced on the ambulance ride to the hospital.
My life is over.
But it wasn’t. There were a few times I almost died because of infections, medical abnormalities, or by my own means. A lot of rehabilitation and healing has happened these past five years. And I’m only scratching the surface where I want to be.
Gratitude and love goes out to my supports. And blogging these past few years by sharing my experiences has been cathartic.
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