That's the Way We Roll: the unabriged tale.

(Get ready...it's really long--we're talking Reader's Digest long.)

July 5th 2008 the kids and I woke up in New Lisbon, Wisconsin. It had been a fun night and we were ready to continue the last 2 1/2 hours to MN for a nice, week long visit with my sister and her family. We threw our Pjs and swimsuits into the suitcase and buckled up into the Accord. About 20 minutes into our drive it was time to switch the DVD. Henry wanted "The Incredibles" while Evy preferred an audio book. No problem. Super mom can handle all feats with a single bound (or hand). One hand on the wheel, I slipped my arm under the shoulder strap of my seat belt and began to fumble with the chord to Henry's headphones.
Before I knew it, the wheels caught the crumbling non-shoulder and sent us careening towards the median (a large one: the first of many Thanks to God!). I tried to correct. Looking back I don't know if I ever touched the brakes (although a friend told me later brakes don't work upside-down anyway :). I have also developed a new appreciation for the previously thought annoying rumble strips. We swerved one way, then another. Then we rolled.
It's crazy what you think of in that super-fast slow motion moment. I remember knowing we were going to roll. The car was quiet. The kids weren't making a sound.
The wheels squealed.
The car started to make that awful twisting, crunching sound.
Then we were upside down and I was thinking, "so this is what it's like to roll in a car."--totally calming thinking about it. crazy.
We landed with a thud and the present caught up with the slow motion. I turned around and looked at the kids. They were whole. They weren't bleeding. Their terrified eyes met mine. I took in the deployed side curtain airbags (I'm SO a believer!!) and all the broken glass. Evy was clutching her arm rest and Henry's car seat was askew a bit to the left. His head was a little tilted and he looked shocked and confused. He didn't cry. He didn't speak.
Evy said "what happened, Mommy? What happened? I'm scared!"
I can't forget the echo of her voice even now as I type. I realized I was bleeding from my face (I thought a bloody nose) and I didn't want to scare the kids so I flung open the glove box and grabbed a wad of napkins. I opened my door and stumbled (though I thought it was just dizzy) to Evy's side of the car.
I know it was only seconds, but it seemed like we'd been on the roadside for an eternity. I scanned for my phone and saw our belongings strewn across all lanes of the freeway as I was making my way to Evy's side. I couldn't open her door. I remember feeling so helpless and I couldn't understand why no one was stopping (though looking back it was probably just a matter of seconds) I called out to the passersby, "Someone HELP US!!" I made eye contact with a man who nodded and began to slow.
I raced back to Henry's door and flung it open. I assessed my kids again. Yes, they really were all in one piece. Evy asked me again "what happened, Mommy?"
"We've been in an accident honey, it's OK. You're OK. We're going to be OK. Help is coming." I remember hearing how calm my voice sounded.
Then a woman was beside me.
I'm not one of those religious nuts that dances with snakes or anything, but I swear she must've been an angel. She had a medical kit as big as any ambulance and she hoisted it beside the car's bumper (what was left of it). She had been an EMT for 17 years. Before that she was an army medic. (I know, seriously!) She took my arm and told me I needed to sit down. I told her she needed to help my kids.
I looked over and there were people everywhere. A wonderful woman was holding Henry (who doesn't go to strangers, ever). He was holding this cheepy little monkey toy of his and resting his head calmly on her shoulder. They brought Evy over to sit on our suitcase so I could see her. I tried to comfort her by putting my hand on her arm, but I left a huge smear of blood. Someone distracted her by asking her name, her age, where we were going...She was answering all their questions. She was OK.
I kept the wad of napkins over my lips, which I realized now must be cut because I couldn't' talk right and they were really bleeding. I asked for my cell phone to call Jayson. I had to call Jayson. In between every thought and question I kept bouncing between praying that God would let us be OK, and thanking Him knowing He'd protected us--and especially that He'd protected Henry and Evy. I felt so much gratitude.
Finally I sat down. While they were helping me to the ground I saw a gaping would on the back of my left arm. I though wonderingly "I must really be hurt badly because that's not at all painful." I told the woman about it and remarked about how amazing the human body is. Someone said Henry was sleepy...I remember pleading they not let him fall asleep. Inside my head I told the crouching fear that it wasn't a concussion, simply that we'd been up early and he was tired. I was too.

Almost a year ago I watched as my grandmother, who I cared for at the time, fell and hit her head on the cement drive. She ended up experiencing a severe brain aneurysm that incapacitated her completely, eventually leading to her death 3 months later. In those first moments with her I remember her nausea, her drowsiness and how slowly the edges seemed to blur and she couldn't remember the answers to simple questions...like a settling fog on her brain.

All of those things were fresh in my head. I was a fierce mixture of prayers and quiz questions. What was the date? My name? My Birthday? Jayson's cell phone number?
I knew the answers. Good sign. I knew I couldn't sleep. For me, but more for my kids.
They took the napkin from my lip and replaced it with gauze. I asked if it was cut badly. The woman looked at it, then at me. She said that it was cut and looked quickly away with a look I've come to know well as the "It's-really-bad-but-we-can't-possibly-say-that" look.
Finally someone got through to jayson on their cell and handed it to me. I remember how funny my voice sounded as I talked.
"Jayson, it's me. We've been in an accident. The kids are OK. I'm hurt. The car's wrecked. I'm so sorry."
"OK. To whom am I speaking?" Jayson asked going into Agent Schoeb mode.(I'd called from a random cell phone and because of my lips he couldn't make out my voice.)
"Honey, it's me."
"Oh.....Oooohhh NO! OH NO! Mindy!"

I told him not to worry as panic laced the line. I'd call him when we got to the hospital. I handed the phone to a man to fill him in.

First Response got there, and they started to assess me. I told them to look at the kids. They said the kids were good, they needed to look at me. I showed them the gash on my hand, my arm and my face. Again they gave the IRBBWCPST look.) One guy must've been new on the job. I remember him asking questions of the other guy. He did a great job. Everyone did.
They told me I needed a collar, and to be boarded, and to be safe, Evy would need the same. They would start bandaging me up until the ambulance arrived. I asked if my kids could stay with me. What would happen to them? They assured me they would stay right with me. Evy and I would ride in one ambulance, Henry in another.
They laid me down and I felt the blood start to drain into my throat. I felt nauseous. I knew that was bad and told the medic. He started asking the quiz questions. I could still answer them. That was good. But I knew the nausea was bad. And it was getting worse. I tried to rationalize that it was the draining of the blood. That made perfect sense. We waited for the ambulance. I have no idea how much time lapsed. A lot? Not much? 10 minutes? A half hour? More? I don't know.
They got there and put me in the collar. They went to get the board and I started sweating. My whole body. I remember the breeze feeling good on my skin.
I told the medic I was sweating and he said it was OK, the collar was hot. I told him, "No, my whole body." He felt my legs and looked uncertainly at his partner. His partner started the quiz questions.
I still knew the answers.
I was fairly certain I was going to throw up, which was registering "very bad" on my scary scale. I kept on praying. I kept up the quiz questions and willed myself to stay awake and alert. The kids needed me. Jayson needed me. God was with me.
I looked again at the medic and told him the nausea was worse.
I think he told me to hang in there or something like that.
Then, the weirdest thing happened. (Again I'll refer you back to the "I'm not a religious nut" comment.)
Suddenly, from the center of me outward I felt a wash of warmth, then from the tips of my fingers and toes I felt cold, like ice rush inward. It happened a few times.
I was terrified. I looked at the medic and told him, "I don't feel right. I just don't feel right." He looked nervous and worried. I felt nervous and worried. No, it was the only time I was terrified. I thought I really could die.
More praying.
I remember focusing on the verses in Philippians 4:7-9
"...Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things."
I remember choosing to dwell on the positive. We were alive. The kids were safe. It was going to be OK.
And then, after the warm/cold, and that moment of utter fear, the nausea went away and I felt a little better. Calmer. I reminded myself to be brave. My family are fighters; calm in emergencies; Level headed.

I was scared about my face, too. By this time I knew it was bad, and vanity knows no bounds apparently, because there on the side of the road, having no idea of the extent of my injuries, I was worried what I would look like. Immediately, almost conversationally another verse popped into my head, 2 Corinthians 4:18
"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."
Again, I knew it was a choice. I could chose how to respond. I would feel my self on the brink of panic or fear or despair and make the choice not to go there; not to give in.

The ambulance came, and we were loaded in.
The ride was uneventful (comparatively!). I held Evy's hand. I remember my craving--the absolute feeling of need--to touch my children.

We arrived at Tomah Memorial Hospital and I made some crack about how nice it was to not have to wait endlessly in the ER. The kids were in the room right beside me and each assigned their own nurse. Henry's looked a little like Jayson's mom and was a grandmother herself. She even brought in her stroller from her car!
My Physician's Assistant, Jerry, was a wonderful man. I remarked with wonder at the human body and he said, "yeah, the Guy who made it really knew what He was doing." Immediately our faith bonded us and we were able to talk together of God and His mercy and love. He was a tender man with a dry sense of humor. I really liked him. (Plus, he eventually gave me some great pain killers. Thank you, Jerry!)
They asked me right away if I wanted anything for pain, but I told them my sister was on her way (at break-neck speed from the Twin Cities while we were still on the side of the road!) and I wanted to wait so I could be alert and aware for my kids until someone they knew got there for them. They did CT scans and an exam and began stitching the deep gash in my right hand (a few internal stitches, 7 external stitches and a resulting huge hematoma and numbing nerve damage.)
Jerry, who happened to be from the Detroit area, and happened to have done a rotation in plastic surgery in his residency, looked at my face, grinned wryly and said he'd do my left arm next. We guessed this gash was from the seat belt. As they were beginning my arm, my sister arrived.
I can't begin to describe the relief that flooded over me. I only cried twice. Once, when we first arrived. I was alone in the ER room and I knew the kids were finally safe. Relief and gratitude washed over me. The second was when my sister got there and I knew someone calm and loving was there for all of us. (I love you, Lib!)
I tried to convince Jerry that a little fat reduction on my arm wouldn't be any additional trouble. He laughed and joked that if he did that they'd look silly because they'd be uneven. "Hey, you're here. I'm here. I've got time," I told him, "the incision's already done..." (In our banter, we didn't count all the arm stitches...there were 28 external and a slew of internal.)
Finally, he moved on to my face. He tried so hard to numb it with lidacane, but with all the damage, it just leaked right out. That was not fun. facial stitches without numbing medication is not recommended. Ever.
That was the moment I accepted the Delauded. (O heavenly serum!) Still, I felt every stitch. Poke-poke, pullll. Poke-poke, pullll.(I know it's gruesome, but you've read this far, you might as well hear it all!) I forget how many were on the outside of my mouth...14 or 18 I think. They were stretching from two gashes on my upper lip under my nose and one on my lower lip to my chin. There were also a slew inside my mouth stitching my lip back to my gums and down toward my teeth on the top, and then stitching a deep hole at the base of my lower lip and gum line.
I fractured my top jaw, but it's not displaced and doesn't need anything but time to heal. My teeth are loose a bit, but not broken and should tighten up again in time. I chipped my bottom jaw. And I have some spinal issues that may or may not be a result of the accident, but they're not urgent, and we're still looking into those.

After several hours, somewhere around 60 stitches, and a hospital who had been wrapped in the flirty spell that is my son (who was running the halls and collecting stickers from EVERYONE by the end), the kids and I were released to the loving care--and safe driving--of my sister.

So there you have it.

The gratitude and humble over-whelmed gratefulness towards my friends both in Minnesota and back in Michigan is for another post, as is the wonder and reflection on our Father who is merciful and graceful beyond measure.