The Ambulance Ride

The tenuousness of life hit home recently. My boss and I were driving along I-71 in heavy traffic when it slowed down because of an accident. As drivers gawked and then sped up, WHAM, we were hit from behind. The driver of the van that struck us, his daughters, and wife were not hurt. The primary damage was his caved in front hood. Very minimal damage was done to our car even though we had felt the sudden shock of the whiplash effect. Ultimately, five cars were involved, all minimally damaged except for the van. As the highway patrol, fire engines, and emergency squads arrived, we stood outside our cars each glad there were no serious injuries. The driver of the van, who had never been in an accident, stood in disbelief, surveying the whole scene. About thirty minutes later, as the crews tried to clean up the mess and gather information, I realized that I was becoming dizzy. I was especially concerned due to some medications I take. Minutes later, I was being rushed to the hospital, at times in a semi-conscious state. Lying prone on the ambulance gurney, my thoughts turned to mortality, the things accomplished and those that were not. Of course, family was heavy on my mind. There were also thoughts of, "This can't be that serious! We were not hit that hard." Both in the ambulance and later in the emergency room I developed a hyper sense of freedom, of being alive. No one was a stranger as I chatted with the emergency crews; asked the nurses and doctors questions, some rather inane; and sang on the way to my CT-scan. The diagnosis came back that I had slightly bruised the brain because of whiplash and exacerbated by my medication. This injury induced the brain to play tricks on me by removing inhibitions and reserve. Later, as my total consciousness returned, I was released with a warning to return to the hospital should certain symptoms return.

Upon rehashing those hours in the ambulance and ER, I have decided that I really liked the freedom I had felt. True, offering my singing voice to other ill patients was not very kind. But despite that fact, I realize that many of the walls of inhibition that one constructs keep many good things out. I am working on tearing some of those down. Oh yes, I have a renewed appreciation for each day.

Bob Casey is a poet, writer, educator, speaker, and presenter. He has cycled, hiked, sailed, and traveled to many far off destinations. He also spent a year on a teaching Fulbright in New Zealand. His many interests, include yoga, Tai Chi, skiing, cycling, photography, and wine collecting.