I wasn't TRYING for Dukes of Hazzard

But it sure looked like it, I'm sure.

Unfortunately, due to the airbag's (untimely?) deployment, I didn't get to see the cool part.

On Monday, July 19th I had a slight altercation with a Dodge truck on the 95. Minding my own business in the slow lane (I hadn't been on the freeway but a minute or two), I heard a fwump fwump fwump to my left, and upon checking to see what it was, I noticed that a collision was imminent. He hit me at about a 45 degree angle just forward of the driver's side door.

That, alas, was not the fun bit.

What transpired after that was some sort of stunt-magic on my part (which must have been all automatic reaction because I didn't have time to think about it.) My car was now headed toward the retaining wall, and when my tire got to it, magic happened--my car flipped onto the driver's side. I could have hoped to just be on the tires, but, oh well--next time?

Unfortunately I remained conscious the whole time. Apparently my sunglasses were not of the 'peril-sensitive' variety in the Hitchhiker's Guide. The airbag deployed and took a lens out of said sunglasses, and all I could do was listen to the rest. It was a noisy affair. It was now brighter than I wanted, and my world was now turned on its side. I braced for a few seconds thinking for sure that some jackass on the 95 wasn't watching the whole affair, and was about to hit me. Turns out, oddly enough, that nobody did. My next thought? I have half a tank of gas. That's enough to go boom. So, I got out of my seatbelt, grabbed my cellphone on the floor (stuck it in my pocket), stood up on the interior of the driver's side door, and tried to figure out how to un-do the roof which comprised of the passenger door. I opened it and pushed, and stuck my head out. No fireballs yet. A gentleman ran up to me to see if I was doing okay, and I answered that I, indeed, was--for some reason. I felt no more need to stay in the car, but my wits told me the I'd better grab my keys, too. They wouldn't budge or turn--the car was still in drive. I tugged and the rest of the ring came right off (apparently my adrenaline turned the ring of the keychain into an 'U' shaped affair). Another feat of the adrenaline was pushing myself out of the car through the roof.

Now for some grossness. The guy asked me if I was alright again, and I again said yes. I noticed my knuckle was bleeding on my left hand, and my right hand looked like I'd been trying to give a cat a bath--lots of cuts. The guy looked at me incredulously and told me to look at the underside of my forearm. Apparently, although I didn't think I'd been cut on anything, I was gushing blood. The soft spot under my arm had broken open due to blunt force trauma (from the dash or airbag), and all I could see was shredded skin and muscle. Oh, blood too. Fortunately it just felt like a slight cut or burn, and the adrenaline wouldn't dare allow me to pass out.

I jumped off the top, on the bottom side of my car. I was told to put pressure on the open wound--which was disgusting, but I did. Some other guy took his outer shirt off so I could wrap it around my arm--I told him I'd buy him a new one. So, there I am, holding my one wound closed, and I can see that my knuckle wound was a nicked artery of some sort, so no matter what I did, I lacked the sufficient number of arms to properly keep from bleeding.

Ambulances arrived and I was strapped down and hauled off. The rest of the story is pretty immaterial (but has been noted for various reasons elsewhere).

Sparkly Blue, my poor Hyundai Elantra, is no longer with us. Click here for pictures from the tow yard.

I was in the hospital for around 7 hours. Two of those hours alone were spent stitching me back together. If you haven't eaten recently, and/or are just curious, click here for the pictures of my sewed up skin--but know you've been warned.

Tomorrow I may get the stitches out, and I am at physical therapy several times per week for my back... but I do realize I am way fortunate to be alive, having suffered only these injuries.

A special thanks to all my friends and family that have helped in all aspects of my recovery. If I haven't been writing, responding, or answering phone calls, I apologize.