Posted in 2000s

The day the Angel of Death passed me over

19 August 2003 began like any other day. I woke up at the cruel and unusual hour of 6:30, which ought to be illegal, to catch the bus on time for my awesome temp job at a bank. There was a permanent position coming up, which I planned to apply for and probably could’ve gotten.

Though I could’ve taken two buses to work, I liked the 15-minute walk. Part of it went through a kind of sketchy area, but I never had any run-ins with the wrong kind of people.

At about 8:00, while I was crossing the street after getting off my bus, the light changed and a black 2004 Chrysler immediately began driving. My elderly assailant didn’t brake after I was bumped up onto the hood of her car. She didn’t brake when I tumbled into the road. She continued driving as though I weren’t underneath her car.

I truly believed I was about to die at the age of 23, and all these thoughts began rattling around in my brain like crazed pinballs. It was terrifying.

And then the Angel of Death passed me over.

My right leg’s final act as my dominant leg was stopping that vehicle of doom from going any farther. Had my legs not become pinned underneath the back driver’s side wheel, Mrs. V. would’ve kept on driving. It’s a miracle only my right leg broke. The right rolled on top of the left and protected it.

As soon as I realised I wasn’t dead, the most intense physical pain of my life hit me, and I began screaming over and over again, at the top of my lungs, “Help me, God!” I couldn’t feel my legs, and was terrified I’d been paralysed. My shoes had flown off, and my stomach and abdomen were being burnt.

A group of people ran across the street to help me. Some of them, including a fireman, tried to lift the car off me, but didn’t succeed. A bespectacled African-American woman in green scrubs, whose name I never got, held my hand, prayed with me, and kept talking to me to try to calm me down. I wish I could find her and thank her.

I was pinned underneath that Chrysler for 15-20 minutes, fully conscious. When the ambulance finally arrived, I remembered a story my summer school chemistry teacher told about a guy who was stuck between a subway and a wall. Her colleagues got into a big debate over whether he’d explode or implode when he was freed. In terror, I asked, “I’m not gonna explode or implode, am I?” before the car was lifted off.

It was such a relief to wiggle my toes. That meant I wasn’t paralysed. Then I began to sit up to check if my back were broken, only to be pushed down. As I was loaded onto the stretcher, I said, “I have to be at work by 8:30.”

I couldn’t walk for eleven months, and had seven surgeries between August 2003–September 2009, four leg and three plastic (to remove the burn scars). I also needed two root canals. Some of the chickenpox scars on my lower left arm were torn clear off.

I believe down to the very core of my soul my uncle was watching over me. There’s no rational explanation for why I wasn’t killed and got off with “only” a shattered tibia and fibula, second- and first-degree burns, and a bunch of gashes, scrapes, and bruises.

Had this happened 50-60 years ago, I would’ve been an amputee.

Had I died on 19 August, I would’ve shared my Jahrzeit (death anniversary) with Groucho Marx and Blaise Pascal.

A taller, thinner person might’ve been crushed or thrown. My (mostly) Southern Italian body type saved my life. I had less distance to fall (at slightly over 5’1.5″ in bare feet), and more flesh to cushion the impact.

My mission in this incarnation wasn’t over yet. It wasn’t time for Archangel Michael to carry me off to the other world. To quote the famous prayer in The Phantom Carriage:

“Gud, låt min själ få komma till mognad innan den skall skördas!”
(“God, let my soul come to maturity before being harvested!”)

Author:

I started reading at three (my first book was Grimm's Fairy Tales, the uncensored adult version), started writing at four, started writing book-length things at eleven, and have been a writer ever since. I predominantly write historical fiction family sagas/series. I primarily write about young people, since I was a young person myself when I became a serious writer and didn't know how to write about adults as main characters. I only write in a contemporary setting if the books naturally go into the modern era over the course of the decades-long stories being told over many books. I've always been drawn to books, films, music, fashions, et al, from bygone eras, and have never really been too much into modern things. If something or someone has appeal for all time, it'll still be there to be discovered after the initial to-do has died down. For example, my second-favorite writer enjoyed a huge burst of popularity in the Sixties and Seventies, but he wrote his books from 1904-43, and his books still resonate today, even after he's no longer such a fad. Quality lasts for all time.

6 thoughts on “The day the Angel of Death passed me over

    1. The 86-year-old driver had to give me her entire insurance policy in a settlement, which was quite large (though not nearly enough to make me rich). Her lawyer didn’t bother taking it to trial, since she’d so obviously and repeatedly contradicted herself and generally not behaved very appropriately at the deposition. E.g., she claimed she stopped in the crosswalk, then later IDed her car as stopped WAY past the crosswalk in a photo, insisted on testifying first and then left immediately, and went on and on about how that was such a terrible day for HER. She’s deceased now.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. What a prayer that is!

    I like the idea of our bodies being harvested and going back into the land/earth/soil.

    How is your right leg going now? I’m not sure it liked being dominant…

    Like

    1. I still have a limp in my right leg, and I feel cold weather and storms more intensely because of the metal hardware in my ankle. I also can’t comfortably stand with my feet together, or even with my right foot pointing straight, for very long. Eventually I figured out it feels best to stand in third and fifth positions (from ballet).

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Always good to know how and where you stand.

        Argh!

        And, yes, the metal hardware would vibrate [on a bigger scale than most piercings].

        Like

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