Ok, so I've been doing a lot of clean-up around the Hall of Justice, and recovering from a week of TECHFAIL. While we're clearing the decks, this post needs some explanation. The accident actually happened four years ago last month; the text that ended up here was taken from my original blog post the night it happened - yes, I blogged after getting in a wreck - and the full story surrounding it has become one of my favorites. So let's start over, with the original text in italics.
It was just after 5 p.m. Tuesday and I was leaving work, turning east onto Rancho Bernardo Rd. just after the light had turned green. I was making my turn when I vaguely remember a shape coming in from the driver's side, toward the rear of the car. Then everything shook.
My next memory is of laying in the driver's seat while a guy -- I think he had a goatee -- asked me how I was and said he was calling 911. I have another vague recollection of talking to medical personnel. And that's about all I remember from the street.
I presume that's all I remember because I either blacked out completely or was sedated by EMTs after being loaded into the ambulance. Either way, while I was taken to the hospital, the emergency call went out to the SLB House, where Brothers J-Mac and Kev-Fu were watching tv as usual. They were all set to head up to the hospital to check on me - only they had literally just ordered a pizza before the hospital called them. So they waited for the pizza guy.
"The guy probably thought we were crazy," Kev-Fu later told me. "When he got to the house, we grabbed the pizza, put it in the refrigerator, and practically threw the money at him before we took off."
Next thing I know, it's past 8 in the evening and I'm in a hospital. My roomies Jim & Kev-Fu are already there, having apparently been alerted by the authorities. (Did I give them the house number? I wonder.) My spirits were pretty high, all things considered. I didn't notice the pain until later. I apparently asked the boys four times how their days went, confirming my concussion. But otherwise, things were okay: we joked around and I tried, vainly, to get one of the cuter nurses to come over and re-examine me. I also asked if we could import a particular female cast member in a nurse's outfit. I'm blaming that on shell-shock.
In the years since, the boys have never failed to remind me that I didn't repeat the same question four times. In fact, one exchange apparently went like this:
Dazed Me: So, what time did you get the call?
J-Mac: 7:30, just like the other seven times you asked.
We apparently ended up going round and round in this discussion for a few minutes while my brain adjusted itself back to consciousness. I do, however, remember the moment it all clicked back into place: a nurse asked me, "What do you take for pain?"
"Captain & Coke," I answered. Kev-Fu immediately looked at her and said, "He's gonna be fine." I imagine the hospital was only too happy to see us leave.
The drive home was pretty uneventful; Kev, who's sustained three concussions of his own, assured me this first one was easy. We arrived to find our Brother LBJ and cast leader Amy watching Cannibal: The Musical. I came in with both my shirt and undershirt torn, having been cut open by the authorities, exposing the long, slim mark from my seat belt on my left shoulder. They looked at me and probably thought, naturally, "WTF?"
"Mild concussion. Got in a car wreck," I said (or at least think I did.) "Not necessarily in that order."
After that, I relaxed on Amy's lap while pitching into callbacks for the movie, ate some chieken soup and drank Gatorade. I tried to get to bed a couple of hours ago, but I'm too tired to rest, if that makes any sense. I haven't had any nightmares yet about this, so maybe they won't come. Tomorrow, Kevin assured me, would be the most painful day: "It'll be like a really big hangover," he said.
And that's where the original entry ends. To write it, I clambered upstairs to my computer like Gollum to the Ring, just to get it all down on the screen. My roommates didn't get my glasses back from the hospital, so I used an old outdated prescription pair. A week later, I had to drive Kev-Fu's old junkster car to recover my stuff from the hospital lost-and-found; apparently I'd badgered the poor EMTs into packing everything from my car. And, yeah, I drove to get the items. The day after the accident, I decided I had to get back on the road ASAP to get over any fears of driving. But I'd be lying if I told you I don't still flinch sometimes at 4-way stops or stop lights.
The worst part, though, is this: I didn't even hear about the pizza until a year later. They never even saved me a piece.
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