Everyone has what I call 'a dark day'. It's that day that something happened. Something has been left embedded in your mind. Maybe it was traumatic and albeit physical, mental, temporary, petty, it happened. Something happened that sticks with you. It could be the reaction to an event. It could be the loss of a loved one. It could have been life altering. Something happened. You can't take it back. You can't change it. It happened, it's a part of your life. You may not dwell, but you remember. You relive. It may define you. You may eventually evolve beyond it.
My dark day occurred on Wednesday, October 17, 2001. I even know the time; 8:51am.
I even know what I was wearing that day. Grey New Balance gym shoes with superman blue and yellow N's on the side with woven laces of the same color. Knee high rainbow stripped toe socks. Jeans from Old Navy with pockets on the front. Black thermal long sleeved shirt with five buttons on the top. Superman blue tshirt with a metallic Superman emblem on it that the top was the night sky with stars that faded into fire at the bottom. I had an olive green fleece lined Carhartt hoodie on and zipped up. I had my forest green backpack with game board key chains that clanked as I walked and travel tickets attached from my adventures. My hair was short and in two small buns on the top of my head while the rest of my hair was spiked out in the back. I had 7 earrings in my left ear and 6 in my right.
I even know what I had for breakfast that day as I read the Daily Egyptain. One glass of 7-up. One glass of skim milk. A bowl of Lucky Charms with skim milk. Two pieces of white toast with butter.
I even know what I did that morning before getting dressed for my day and having breakfast. I got up, ran the 2.2 mile loop around Campus Lake.
I even know that I had a great day planned. My afternoon college classes were cancelled. I was going to go out adventuring to shoot rolls of film and develop them for my photography class. My camera and film were in my backpack. I was set for the day.
I know a lot for a day that happened 5,133 days ago.
I should know a lot about that day: It changed my life.
I was in the crosswalk, crossing Lincoln Drive to go to my 9am Race in Media course at Lawson Hall. The sun was in his eyes. I was hit by a car that was speeding. What I don't remember about Wednesday, October 17, 2001 ... I don't remember the accident. My accident. I only know what witnesses said and what was in the Police Report. The Police Report that took me more than a decade to finally even look at.
I was struck on the left side, I flew up onto the hood, into the windshield, back onto the hood, through the windshield head first, back out of the windshield. I flew 30 feet, hit the ground, rolled. I remember waking up in the street surrounded by people and being asked my name. I could only answer my ID was in my bag which someone had turned into a pillow to support my head. I was asked which residence hall and room number I lived in. I whispered, "Felts, 118."
I heard the sirens, I knew they were for me.
I was strategically placed in a neck brace and on a backboard, gently placed in the ambulance. The ride seemed to take forever. I felt sick. I told the EMT with me that I was going to be sick, he had to roll the backboard so I could throw up. That was the last time I ever ate Lucky Charms. I recall telling the EMT "Well, that was attractive." He said "I still love you." I cried.
I don't remember arriving at Carbondale Memorial Hospital. I don't remember being removed from the ambulance or being wheeled through the ER. I don't remember being transferred from the ambulance gurney to a hospital bed. I remember I was in a single room. I remember being given something for pain. I remember throwing up on myself. I remember being told that they had to cut my hoodie and shirts off of me. I cried. I remember saying I was going to throw up. I remember being rolled just in time.
I was put in a hospital gown as best as professionals could, but I was still in a neck brace and instead of being strapped to a backboard I was in place on a hospital bed. I remember the doctors trying to get my knee high toe socks off of me and asking me what they were.
I remember being asked my parents phone numbers since I was 6 hours away and my parents had to be alerted. I remember trying to rattle off their home and work numbers and at that time my dad had a cell phone for work. I remember not getting them right. I remember a nurse coming in with a phone eventually and my mom was on the other end of the phone. She was crying. I was crying. I couldn't talk.
I remember being asked what hurt. My head hurt. I had a headache. My face hurt. My shoulder hurt the most. My hips and butt hurt. My knees hurt. I was shivering. My voice trembled. I remember a flurry of doctors and nurses in and out. I vaguely remember their sympathetic looks and fake smiles. I remember nurses trying to remove my total of 13 earrings without moving my head.
I remember being told that I was going to be wheeled off for some tests and that they wouldn't take long. I remember having to be physically carried and moved from tables and put in place. I remember fighting the staff when they'd get me in place. I remember the pain and that being stuck in certain positions hurt. I remember crying.
I don't remember being wheeled back to my room in the ER. I do remember my friends Amy, Tiffany, and Paul showing up in my room. They came. They should have been in class. They were with me. I remember complaining that they took my socks off and my feet were cold. I remember Tiffany and Paul trying to get them back on and having issues with my knee high toe socks. I remember they said they had to leave. I remember Paul kissed my forehead before he left, and Tiffany said "Bye, Lori-choo". I was alone.
I remember a doctor coming in and telling me he knew why my shoulder hurt. My clavicle was broken in two places, and they weren't standard breaks, they were reversed. I remember not even knowing what my clavicle was. I remember being told that my head hurt because I fractured my left temporal and they were concerned because I had a blood clot on the second layer of my brain. I remember being told that meant I had sustained a Traumatic Brain Injury and that the next few days were critical and that I would suffer from short term memory loss. I remember them saying there was a chip in my tailbone, my knees had some damage, and it would later be found out that my hips were cracked too. I remember being taken out of the neck brace and loosened and able to slightly move on my bed. I remember a group of staff coming in, lifting me up and putting me in a crazy contraption that they said would help my clavicle. It was at that time I learned it was my collarbone they kept talking about. I remember the contraption being pulled tight and it was even more difficult to breath than it had been prior. I remember my left arm being placed in a sling to hold my arm in place. I didn't know at the time but all of my diagnosis' would lead to another diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. In fact, the doctor's probably knew at that time it would happen as long as I beat the Traumatic Brain Injury; I can't fault them for sparing me the details.
I remember spending more time in the ER as they waited for a room, the room that would be my room in the ICU. I remember a nurse, I don't remember her name. She kept coming in and staying with me. I remember her coming in and cleaning up my face. I thought she was cooling me off, wiping away my tears. I remember after she did something and then she wiped my face again and it stung. It hurt.
I remember being told my room was ready and staff from the ICU floor came to get me. The nurse who was with me in the ER begged them to let her help escort me up. She came with, she said she didn't have to, but she wanted to. I remember crying and thanking her.
I remember less once I got settled into the ICU for observation and care. I remember the RA of my floor in Felts Hall, Ryan J. Smith and the second floor RA, Betsy, coming to see me and bringing me a giant flower balloon. I remember being most concerned that I was going to be in the Daily Egyptian and I asked Ryan to keep them for me. Shortly after they left I remember Amy, Tiffany, Paul, and this time Jamie coming to see me. They brought me a monkey that they had wrapped gauze around its head and put it in a sling and flowers. I still have the monkey wrapped to this day. They stayed for a while and I remember they decided to start calling me "Crack head." I remember it made me laugh. I remember after they left my parents and sister made it to me. They hadn't seen me in a few weeks, and they were seeing me in the ICU after being a pedestrian hit by a speeding car.
I remember that night I laid in the ICU. I remember no amount of medication kept me from crying. I remember having to get help to get in or out of my bed. I remember not sleeping. I remember not being comfortable. I remember it being impossible to get comfortable. I remember the beep, the continuous beep of my monitors chirping. I remember armed police standing outside my room ocassionally looking in because apparently there was an inmate in the room next to me.
I remember early the next morning asking for a mirror to put my contacts in for the day. I remember being convinced it would help me feel better. I remember crying. I remember realizing the day prior that the nurse in the ER wasn't cooling my face, but pulling glass from my face. I remember realizing why it stung. I remember what I looked like. Pale. Dried blood. Cuts. Hair everywhere. Crazy clavicle brace and sling. Bumps. Bruises.
I remember when I was released from the ICU I was voted Miss Congeniality. I remember nothing that I did that would have awarded me this title.
It's been fourteen years since I never made it to my 9am class. It's been 14 years of wondering. It's been 14 years of confusion. It's the anniversary of my dark day. The day that changed me both physically and mentally. The day that changed my family mentally. The day that changed my circle of friends literally.
It's taken me 14 years to recall and share that day from my point of view. I remember the flurry of the ER and and tests, or at least think I do. I haven't entirely evolved. I may never entirely evolve. It's a process. It will always be a process. I have good days and bad days. I'm starting to have far more good days than bad days.
I've had ten surgeries. I have a 6" scar on right knee and nerve damage that has removed feeling in part of my leg. I have headaches on one side of my head that although I've never had my head hit with a baseball bat, it's how I imagine my head would feel if it were hit with a baseball bat. My clavicle sticks out. I still pull pieces of glass out of my face with tweezers. I still have to have pieces of glass cut out of me if they are too large for me to pull out. My body will forever more continue to push the foreign particles of glass out.
My memory and the function of it that I have now is freakish. It's crisp. I can recall details from years ago. The minor details no one else may have noticed in the first place, I can recall years later. I obsess over details to a fault. I'm afraid I'll forget. I'm afraid I won't remember. I strive for perfection to a fault, I feel inadequate if I do even the slightest thing wrong. I'm extremely critical on myself. I set higher expectations for myself that others do. I struggle to prove something to others. To myself.
I react differently in situations than others, sometimes I'm extremely blunt, non-sugar coated. Try as I might to work on it, I can't change my reactions, it's as if I am numb to sympathy in some cases and overly sympathetic in others. There is no balance.
When I meet new people it may never come up in conversation of my accident. I keep quiet about it. I don't want to see 'the look'. I know as much as it sounds crazy to tell my tale that hearing it is also crazy and no one knows how to react. When I tell my story I've seen the looks of sadness, bewilderment, sympathy. They all make sense to me. I've heard the phrase "I would have never known." In part that's how I want it. I continue to defy odds and prove to others and myself that my accident did not define me. When people do find out of my story and say that they are sorry, I look at them with bewilderment and very bluntly say "Why, it's not your fault." When I respond like that I know it takes the party on the other side aback, but for me it's so much progress. A statement so small which confuses those hearing it, is so progressive for me to state.
Despite this being my dark day, something of a tradition does exist. I do recall the day vividly with question. For a few days prior, during, and after I become a bit quiet, a little unmotivated. What also exists is flowers. Every year on the anniversary of my accident (or day before if it's on a weekend), my parents send me flowers. It sounds selfish, but I anticipate them and look forward to them. My accident did not just affect me, but them too. My flowers came yesterday to me at work while I was out on lunch. I came into them and I smiled while my eyes welled up. I knew without even opening the card that it would simply say "Smile! Love, Mom and Dad"; it does every year. As well, every year, no matter the florist they spell my last name wrong. It's become a bit of a game to me to see how badly botched it gets. The best that remains is still Ghobton.
If evolution from something like this exists this past year has been my most evolutionary. After my 9 knee surgeries I was told I would never run again. I believed the professionals. They may still be right, who knows what ACTUAL damage I'm doing to my body. But for a girl who had last run comfortably 5,133 days ago today ... this same girl who has done three half marathons this year alone, in addition to two sprint distance triathlons, numerous 5k's, and the training that goes along with each. I'd like to be advantageous and predict that I'm going to be ok. Then again with my Traumatic Brain Injury I didn't get psychic abilities, so I'll just have to continue to evolve as best as I can and see what year 15 post-accident brings me.
My dark day occurred on Wednesday, October 17, 2001. I even know the time; 8:51am.
I even know what I was wearing that day. Grey New Balance gym shoes with superman blue and yellow N's on the side with woven laces of the same color. Knee high rainbow stripped toe socks. Jeans from Old Navy with pockets on the front. Black thermal long sleeved shirt with five buttons on the top. Superman blue tshirt with a metallic Superman emblem on it that the top was the night sky with stars that faded into fire at the bottom. I had an olive green fleece lined Carhartt hoodie on and zipped up. I had my forest green backpack with game board key chains that clanked as I walked and travel tickets attached from my adventures. My hair was short and in two small buns on the top of my head while the rest of my hair was spiked out in the back. I had 7 earrings in my left ear and 6 in my right.
I even know what I had for breakfast that day as I read the Daily Egyptain. One glass of 7-up. One glass of skim milk. A bowl of Lucky Charms with skim milk. Two pieces of white toast with butter.
I even know what I did that morning before getting dressed for my day and having breakfast. I got up, ran the 2.2 mile loop around Campus Lake.
I even know that I had a great day planned. My afternoon college classes were cancelled. I was going to go out adventuring to shoot rolls of film and develop them for my photography class. My camera and film were in my backpack. I was set for the day.
I know a lot for a day that happened 5,133 days ago.
I should know a lot about that day: It changed my life.
I was in the crosswalk, crossing Lincoln Drive to go to my 9am Race in Media course at Lawson Hall. The sun was in his eyes. I was hit by a car that was speeding. What I don't remember about Wednesday, October 17, 2001 ... I don't remember the accident. My accident. I only know what witnesses said and what was in the Police Report. The Police Report that took me more than a decade to finally even look at.
I was struck on the left side, I flew up onto the hood, into the windshield, back onto the hood, through the windshield head first, back out of the windshield. I flew 30 feet, hit the ground, rolled. I remember waking up in the street surrounded by people and being asked my name. I could only answer my ID was in my bag which someone had turned into a pillow to support my head. I was asked which residence hall and room number I lived in. I whispered, "Felts, 118."
I heard the sirens, I knew they were for me.
I was strategically placed in a neck brace and on a backboard, gently placed in the ambulance. The ride seemed to take forever. I felt sick. I told the EMT with me that I was going to be sick, he had to roll the backboard so I could throw up. That was the last time I ever ate Lucky Charms. I recall telling the EMT "Well, that was attractive." He said "I still love you." I cried.
I don't remember arriving at Carbondale Memorial Hospital. I don't remember being removed from the ambulance or being wheeled through the ER. I don't remember being transferred from the ambulance gurney to a hospital bed. I remember I was in a single room. I remember being given something for pain. I remember throwing up on myself. I remember being told that they had to cut my hoodie and shirts off of me. I cried. I remember saying I was going to throw up. I remember being rolled just in time.
I was put in a hospital gown as best as professionals could, but I was still in a neck brace and instead of being strapped to a backboard I was in place on a hospital bed. I remember the doctors trying to get my knee high toe socks off of me and asking me what they were.
I remember being asked my parents phone numbers since I was 6 hours away and my parents had to be alerted. I remember trying to rattle off their home and work numbers and at that time my dad had a cell phone for work. I remember not getting them right. I remember a nurse coming in with a phone eventually and my mom was on the other end of the phone. She was crying. I was crying. I couldn't talk.
I remember being asked what hurt. My head hurt. I had a headache. My face hurt. My shoulder hurt the most. My hips and butt hurt. My knees hurt. I was shivering. My voice trembled. I remember a flurry of doctors and nurses in and out. I vaguely remember their sympathetic looks and fake smiles. I remember nurses trying to remove my total of 13 earrings without moving my head.
I remember being told that I was going to be wheeled off for some tests and that they wouldn't take long. I remember having to be physically carried and moved from tables and put in place. I remember fighting the staff when they'd get me in place. I remember the pain and that being stuck in certain positions hurt. I remember crying.
I don't remember being wheeled back to my room in the ER. I do remember my friends Amy, Tiffany, and Paul showing up in my room. They came. They should have been in class. They were with me. I remember complaining that they took my socks off and my feet were cold. I remember Tiffany and Paul trying to get them back on and having issues with my knee high toe socks. I remember they said they had to leave. I remember Paul kissed my forehead before he left, and Tiffany said "Bye, Lori-choo". I was alone.
I remember a doctor coming in and telling me he knew why my shoulder hurt. My clavicle was broken in two places, and they weren't standard breaks, they were reversed. I remember not even knowing what my clavicle was. I remember being told that my head hurt because I fractured my left temporal and they were concerned because I had a blood clot on the second layer of my brain. I remember being told that meant I had sustained a Traumatic Brain Injury and that the next few days were critical and that I would suffer from short term memory loss. I remember them saying there was a chip in my tailbone, my knees had some damage, and it would later be found out that my hips were cracked too. I remember being taken out of the neck brace and loosened and able to slightly move on my bed. I remember a group of staff coming in, lifting me up and putting me in a crazy contraption that they said would help my clavicle. It was at that time I learned it was my collarbone they kept talking about. I remember the contraption being pulled tight and it was even more difficult to breath than it had been prior. I remember my left arm being placed in a sling to hold my arm in place. I didn't know at the time but all of my diagnosis' would lead to another diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. In fact, the doctor's probably knew at that time it would happen as long as I beat the Traumatic Brain Injury; I can't fault them for sparing me the details.
I remember spending more time in the ER as they waited for a room, the room that would be my room in the ICU. I remember a nurse, I don't remember her name. She kept coming in and staying with me. I remember her coming in and cleaning up my face. I thought she was cooling me off, wiping away my tears. I remember after she did something and then she wiped my face again and it stung. It hurt.
I remember being told my room was ready and staff from the ICU floor came to get me. The nurse who was with me in the ER begged them to let her help escort me up. She came with, she said she didn't have to, but she wanted to. I remember crying and thanking her.
I remember less once I got settled into the ICU for observation and care. I remember the RA of my floor in Felts Hall, Ryan J. Smith and the second floor RA, Betsy, coming to see me and bringing me a giant flower balloon. I remember being most concerned that I was going to be in the Daily Egyptian and I asked Ryan to keep them for me. Shortly after they left I remember Amy, Tiffany, Paul, and this time Jamie coming to see me. They brought me a monkey that they had wrapped gauze around its head and put it in a sling and flowers. I still have the monkey wrapped to this day. They stayed for a while and I remember they decided to start calling me "Crack head." I remember it made me laugh. I remember after they left my parents and sister made it to me. They hadn't seen me in a few weeks, and they were seeing me in the ICU after being a pedestrian hit by a speeding car.
I remember that night I laid in the ICU. I remember no amount of medication kept me from crying. I remember having to get help to get in or out of my bed. I remember not sleeping. I remember not being comfortable. I remember it being impossible to get comfortable. I remember the beep, the continuous beep of my monitors chirping. I remember armed police standing outside my room ocassionally looking in because apparently there was an inmate in the room next to me.
I remember early the next morning asking for a mirror to put my contacts in for the day. I remember being convinced it would help me feel better. I remember crying. I remember realizing the day prior that the nurse in the ER wasn't cooling my face, but pulling glass from my face. I remember realizing why it stung. I remember what I looked like. Pale. Dried blood. Cuts. Hair everywhere. Crazy clavicle brace and sling. Bumps. Bruises.
I remember when I was released from the ICU I was voted Miss Congeniality. I remember nothing that I did that would have awarded me this title.
It's been fourteen years since I never made it to my 9am class. It's been 14 years of wondering. It's been 14 years of confusion. It's the anniversary of my dark day. The day that changed me both physically and mentally. The day that changed my family mentally. The day that changed my circle of friends literally.
It's taken me 14 years to recall and share that day from my point of view. I remember the flurry of the ER and and tests, or at least think I do. I haven't entirely evolved. I may never entirely evolve. It's a process. It will always be a process. I have good days and bad days. I'm starting to have far more good days than bad days.
I've had ten surgeries. I have a 6" scar on right knee and nerve damage that has removed feeling in part of my leg. I have headaches on one side of my head that although I've never had my head hit with a baseball bat, it's how I imagine my head would feel if it were hit with a baseball bat. My clavicle sticks out. I still pull pieces of glass out of my face with tweezers. I still have to have pieces of glass cut out of me if they are too large for me to pull out. My body will forever more continue to push the foreign particles of glass out.
My memory and the function of it that I have now is freakish. It's crisp. I can recall details from years ago. The minor details no one else may have noticed in the first place, I can recall years later. I obsess over details to a fault. I'm afraid I'll forget. I'm afraid I won't remember. I strive for perfection to a fault, I feel inadequate if I do even the slightest thing wrong. I'm extremely critical on myself. I set higher expectations for myself that others do. I struggle to prove something to others. To myself.
I react differently in situations than others, sometimes I'm extremely blunt, non-sugar coated. Try as I might to work on it, I can't change my reactions, it's as if I am numb to sympathy in some cases and overly sympathetic in others. There is no balance.
When I meet new people it may never come up in conversation of my accident. I keep quiet about it. I don't want to see 'the look'. I know as much as it sounds crazy to tell my tale that hearing it is also crazy and no one knows how to react. When I tell my story I've seen the looks of sadness, bewilderment, sympathy. They all make sense to me. I've heard the phrase "I would have never known." In part that's how I want it. I continue to defy odds and prove to others and myself that my accident did not define me. When people do find out of my story and say that they are sorry, I look at them with bewilderment and very bluntly say "Why, it's not your fault." When I respond like that I know it takes the party on the other side aback, but for me it's so much progress. A statement so small which confuses those hearing it, is so progressive for me to state.
Despite this being my dark day, something of a tradition does exist. I do recall the day vividly with question. For a few days prior, during, and after I become a bit quiet, a little unmotivated. What also exists is flowers. Every year on the anniversary of my accident (or day before if it's on a weekend), my parents send me flowers. It sounds selfish, but I anticipate them and look forward to them. My accident did not just affect me, but them too. My flowers came yesterday to me at work while I was out on lunch. I came into them and I smiled while my eyes welled up. I knew without even opening the card that it would simply say "Smile! Love, Mom and Dad"; it does every year. As well, every year, no matter the florist they spell my last name wrong. It's become a bit of a game to me to see how badly botched it gets. The best that remains is still Ghobton.
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| My 2015 bouquet of flowers |
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