Friday The Thirteenth
Friday, August 13. For me, it will always be the day I almost died.
It was 1993 and I was 12 years old, having one of those summers spent almost entirely in the water. I had biked to the town pool only to find it was closed for maintenance. Remembering that my mother was leaving the house, I biked home fast before I was shut out for the afternoon. I remembered looking both ways before crossing the street but clearly I didn’t. I saw red and then it was dark. (Years later, I found out it was a red pickup that hit me when I was telling my mom I had felt uncomfortable sitting in someone’s truck and I didn’t know why. Yup it was a red truck!)
I don’t remember any pain but it was dark and I couldn’t move or open my eyes. I remember hearing people talk all around me and not being able to say anything. I was trapped in my body.
I spent three days in the hospital. I don’t remember much but I remember my family being around and that I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I remember trying repeatedly to make it through a half hour long television show or a chapter in a book but getting a headache before I could finish. I had a concussion. I had an MRI or maybe a CAT scan which I slept through. Overall, I was sleepy and a bit sick to my stomach.
The day I was supposed to go home, I had a seizure. It felt like some big invisible hands were holding me down and pushing my head backward. I tried to mentally overpower it, or at least say something to calm people around me down, but I was trapped in my body again.