Just like any other tragedy... Part one

This is something I wrote about a year ago. I witnessed a terrible accident and was unable to 'get over it', like people told me I needed to do. Writing about it was very theraputic. I know it's not well written, but I wrote it in about 10 minutes.... just spilling words until I felt better.

2008

Just like any other tragedy, Friday started off like a perfectly normal day. I didn’t do anything special, just took my time getting ready for work. I had a little bit of over-time, so I was letting myself be ‘late’ to work. I showered, dressed, and grabbed my keys and purse before I began my 40 minute journey to work. I had that funny feeling in my chest that warned me I may be forgetting something. Not sure what that something was, I locked the door to the condo and drove away.

I cranked up my Sirius Satellite and sang along to each song, whether or not I knew the words. If I didn’t, I just made some up- I’m easily entertained and doing so certainly makes the drive go by more quickly. As I drive, I notice a truck driving rather erratically in the other lane- it’s swerving, slowing and suddenly pulling over. I slow, and as the truck fully passes my, I see a cloud of debris, dust and parts flying in every direction. I slam on my brakes to avoid hitting whatever it was that was so unexpectedly floating, flipping and skidding across the pavement. Suddenly, everything about the situation made my adrenaline rush through my chest, barely able to breathe, I realize there is a motorcycle next to a car that had hit, head on, the embankment to the side of the road. I pull up closer to the scene and realize there is a man, struggling to move and lift his head in the center of the road. I reach into my glove box and yank out the one latex glove I have, along with a CPR mask that was left over from a training we had at work a few months ago. I run towards the man, as I assess the situation- There is a woman and a girl, standing wide-eyed a short distance from the motorcyclist. There were a couple of by-standers who were pacing, in circles, while I kneeled down to the man. There was a pool of blood beneath his head. I spoke softly to him, told him I was going to help, but I needed him to lay very still for me. Weak, he tried to roll his body as he moaned in agony. I attempt to hold his head still and gently push his shoulders down, so he doesn’t cause more damage to his already battered body. As I do so, I hear him gagging and sputtering. Just as I lean down to see his face, a woman arrives. “I’m a nurse, can I help?” she asked. “Yes!” I say, grateful to see someone who really knows what to do in a situation like this. Like a seasoned pro, she immediately asks the bystanders to retrieve towels or blankets, or sweaters- anything absorbent. “He’s drowning in his blood. We have to remove his helmet” she tells me. Frightened, I pull the helmet away from his face to let him breathe. I notice his helmet is terribly scratched and the visor is no longer attached. Being the only one with a glove, I reached up and cleared his nose and face, as the nurse asked. We decided that taking the helmet off was the lesser or two evils- either he drowns in his own blood, or his injuries are more extensive because we moved his broken body. I support one side of his neck, as the nurse supports his other side and we remove the helmet together. He lets out a deep breath and begins to plead with us, “Please let me roll over!! Please!” Almost as if someone had designated me the spokesperson, or translator, I became the one who communicated with him. I told him I was reaching into his pocket to retrieve his wallet, I needed to know his name, and he was too disoriented at the time to inform me. After I learn his name is George White, of Chittenden, we attempt to get an emergency contact, so we can call his wife (he had a gold band on his left ring finger). He continuously asks us “what happened” and “where am I?” followed with “what time is it?” and “what day is it?”. By this time, another nurse has joined us and a man with an ‘Orkin’ suit on has arrived and is giving us all fresh latex gloves. The Orkin man informs us that he is an off duty firefighter from Ferrisburg. He asks when and if we called for help, but I was unsure- One of the important lessons in our First aid and CPR course is to specifically designate someone to call 911. I never did that. I answer “I’m not sure,” as he radios for help. I’m not sure what information he shared with the dispatcher, but I recall the dispatcher asking if the man was unconscious. “No,” the Firefighter responded. “Disoriented?” the Dispatcher asks? “Yes, times two!” the Firefighter informs. I try to ask George if he knows how to get ahold of his wife, and he replies “Rochester School”. Immediately, a young lady calls 411 in an attempt to locate Cindy White. Finally able to get through to the Rochester school, the secretary informs us that Cindy White has not worked at the school in years….I begin to inquire, “does she work with the big kids or the little kids? What’s her number at home? Do you have any family we can contact?

“Why isn’t she at the school?” I wonder, partly panicking