Tuesday, February 5, 2013

My Accident and Miracle Part 2

My Accident and Miracle

Part 2

 The sidewalk I was walking on and the bridge.  I made it about halfway.

I landed right about where that smallest dry spot is, only in the water to the right.

The cement was very hard.

I felt like I was asleep.

"Ma'm!  Ma'm, can you hear me?"  I could feel someone shaking me, but I was so sleepy.  Why couldn't they just let me sleep?

I opened my eyes.  Immediately confused, I searched my surroundings for any familiar information.  I felt a sense of urgency.  I could hear someone crying.  I was supposed to be somewhere . . . but where?  Something was horribly wrong.

A large black man stood near me.  In a worried voice he said, "You've been hit by a van!  Are you okay?"

The urgency surged through my entire body.  I said the first thing that came to my mind, "I'm pregnant!" and I tried to get up.

The man groaned, but remained calm.  "Don't get up!  We're going to get you some help."  He pulled out his cell phone and called 911.

"Oh." That was literally all I could say. What he just told me was hard to process, especially since I had just been awakened from my unconsciousness. I wondered why I didn't know anything about this getting-hit-by-a-van thing. I had a thousand questions, but couldn't verbalize them. 

And that was when my never-ending silent prayer began.  Over and over and over again in my mind I asked God to save my baby girl.  Please let me keep her.  I don't know what's happened, but please let her live.  Please let her be okay.

 I looked around me.  I was laying in 1 or 2 inches of cold water.  The cement was hard beneath me.  I was uncomfortable.  So many parts of my body hurt and I couldn't tell which ones hurt the most.

I looked up above me at the bridge that I should have crossed already.  I saw the source of the distant crying--Little Son!  Looking over the railing of the bridge was my son.  He was crying and watching me.  I wanted to tell him that his mommy was okay.  My heart hurt.  How did this happen? I thought.  I began to shiver uncontrollably.

The big, nice man finished calling 911 and as if reading my thoughts, he began telling me what happened.  "Do you know what happened?"  I shook my head.  He continued, "You were walking on that sidewalk that crosses over this ditch and that van came up from behind and hit you.  I saw you go up in the air and come straight down into this ditch.  Me and two other guys were working right there by the school.  One of them is up there with your boy.  Somehow he didn't get hurt." 

Thankfulness entered my heart for a moment.  I added that to my continued prayer.  Heavenly Father, thank you for keeping my son safe.  Thank you, thank you, thank you . . . 

The man asked me if he should call someone else.  "My husband," I replied and blurted out his cell phone number.   

Seconds later he said, "I can't get through.  Is there anyone else?"  My Man and I had cheap pay-as-you-go cell phones.  Since My Man was in his 2nd year of medical school, he was mostly likely studying in the basement at the university and his phone didn't work well down there.  I then miraculously remembered our med-school friend Carl's cell number.  It was similar to his wife Griselda's number who was a good friend of mine.  Carl would know how to find My Man.  The call went through just fine--the unreal explanation was given.  Carl would find him.

I placed my hands on my protruding stomach and waited for any movement from the tiny life inside of me.  But instead of noticing sweet baby movements, I only noticed the pain all over my body.  My knees were burning, especially my right knee!  My head throbbing in the front and the back.  My hands hurt, my back hurt, my neck hurt, even my jaw and my tongue hurt (I bit it pretty hard).  My feet even hurt.  Strangely my shoes were missing.  I could see my shoes scattered many feet away from me in the ditch.  My socks were soaked, aggravating my scraped feet.  

I began to hear sirens--many sirens.  Police.  Firefighters.  Paramedics.  It felt like a bad dream . . . 

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