Page 2 of The Trauma Response
His breaths fill the line, then he says, “I know. I care about you, Tulip. I really do, but I know you’ll find a guy who is better suited for you. I’m gonna let you go. You said there are bad storms that way, and I want you to focus on driving. Be safe, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay. Bye, Jay.”
He doesn’t even say anything before he hangs up. It’s over, just like that. He made a decision for us both, a short discussion ensued, then he hung up without further fight. That’s it. Again.
I cram my phone in my pocket and head to the door. With any luck, I’ll at least miss the dinner traffic.
Half an hour later, I’m still not home. A multi-car pile up on the interstate slowed everything, so I took a few back roads, got stuck in a bridge washout and had to turn around. Now, I’m basically lost in my hometown. I can’t see anything between the rain and my tears, though I have tried to no avail tostopcrying about my horrible love life and pay attention to the road.
The wipers slosh back and forth, but the downpour is too much for them to manage. Arcs of water are replaced by floods moving over the windshield, leaving me with very little choice but to pull over when I find a safe place. I blink a few times, trying to clear my vision enough to see the side of the road. I can’t see where the embankment is, so I keep going with the hope that it clears soon. A flash of white from the left startles me, as a deer runs into the road. I swerve right to try to miss it.
The back end of my car gets loose and swerves in the opposite direction, and before I know it, I’m hydroplaning across the road. The deer slams into the hood of my car, rolls up the windshield, and disappears over the top. Airbags smash into myface and my head whips back while my left arm flies backward and slams into something unforgiving. My car spins, and no amount of controlled braking or counter steering with one hand helps. It’s out of control, and my heart pounds. Flashes of light cross my now broken windshield—probably oncoming vehicles—but I can’t get out of their way. I’m not even sure which way is up, where the road ends, or if there are more deer headed my way.
I’m going to die.
Panic brings a surge of adrenaline over my body. My skin goes clammy and the wheel slips in my right hand until it jerks the opposite direction. I slam forward and the seatbelt crushes my chest a moment before the front end seems to dip, then everything turns upside down. Crashing and crunching sounds echo through my skull as my entire body is jerked this way and that. My breaths come in gasps. And then everything stops.
No more crunching and shrieking. No more moving. Only the steady pounding of rain, washing away everything else. And then, screaming.
“Someone call 9-1-1!” A man yells.
My left hand is numb and I’m not sure I can move it. I suck in a breath of blood-scented air and blink, but the pounding in my head is almost too much to bear. I wiggle my fingers, but feel nothing. I blink again and try to raise them in front of my face, but it requires pulling against something. The pain is too much, so I stop trying. Blood dribbles everywhere. Down my hand to my wrist, soaking my sweatshirt. I manage to glance up and find my hand has punched through the glass of my driver’s side window. Before more panic can wash over me, someone yells.
“I saw everything. It was a deer!”
“The car flipped twice! Is the driver alive?”
“I don’t know. Help me remove this windshield!”
Over the rain, the crunching of boots distracts me for a moment. My brain swirls. “He…help.” I try to speak, but my voice wavers and croaks. Sharp pain radiates up my arm from my left elbow. My face stings. I can’t focus on anything but the pain and dizziness.
The front windshield is almost entirely busted out. Several gloved hands reach inside of the car and yank it toward them working to release it entirely. Even if they get it off, there is every reason to believe that getting meoutof the car will be almost impossible. It’s probably not recommended either. I can’t assess the amount of trauma my body has experienced, especially not while my head pounds and my hands ache.
“Careful of her hand there,” someone says. “Can we wrap that?” The faintest touch on my left hand tells me someone is inspecting the damage. They slowly pull shattered parts of the window from around it and lay it on the road. Merely extending my arm is immense relief.
It no longer aches at the joints. Instead, it burns as if I’m holding molten lava.
“Help me,” I manage to squeak.
“I’m trying. Anyone else in the car?” a man asks.
“No…no one.”
Finally, the windshield bursts all the way free and the man wiggles in beside me, pushing the air bags aside. “All right, ma’am, judging by your injuries, I think it’s best if we wait for assistance to try to remove you from the car. I’m gonna sit right here with you until they get here, okay?” His deep southern accent tells me he’s not from around here, but it’s soothing and helps calm my nerves.
I try to nod, but searing hot pain slices my mind in two. “Ah,” I groan.
“Here, can I try to support your neck? Hanging upside down is probably not helping.”
I nod as best I can. He slides his large hands behind my neck and relieves a little of the pressure. This helps my headache, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The familiar scent of blood fills the air while the rain slows around us. Everything slows. And fades.
“No, no. Don’t do that. Stay with me. Don’t close those pretty eyes of yours, darlin’,” he says and squeezes my shoulder.
My eyes snap open, and I try to refocus. “I hit a deer.”
“I know, darlin’. I saw the whole thing. An ambulance is on its way any minute now, just need you to keep talking to me until they get here.”
“My fingers are numb,” I whisper and try to wiggle them.
