A Race Against Time

CHAPTER 4

16:50 pm
Las Cruces, NM
(somewhere along Valley Drive)

The shrill, ear-piercing pitch of an Ambulance's siren is designed to slice through any other noise on the road. Cars move to the side to let the emergency vehicle pass while inside people are wondering what has happened; an accident? a heart attack? a stabbing? The sound of that blaring siren is not only deafening but it is a haunting reminder of the tenuous nature of life.

Inside the AMR (American Medical Response) ambulance, I was only vaguely aware of the deafening noise of the siren. More critical to me was the earnest, concerned voices of the attendant riding in the business end of the vehicle with me. In constant communication with the hospital, he gave updated readings on vital signs, estimated time of arrival and intermittant questions for me to answer: "How was the pain? Can you move your hand? What about your leg? Are you still with me?" The siren was a seemingly distant, disattached noise from another world. In the microcosm of that rolling emergency room, it seemed unreal.

I found my mind was occupied with thoughts about my wife and kids. I tried to imagine where we were along the familiar route down Valley Drive and up University Blvd. I think I must have faded in and out of consciousness because I remember being gently shaken and spoken to. Once in a while a bright light would shine in each of my eyes, checking to see if pupils were dilated, or reactive.

There was no doubt this was serious stuff. It was no casual drive. It was a race against time in the minds of the driver and attendant. Later, one of them would tell me he had not expected me to make it to the hospital alive. My life was hanging by a fragile thread.

I had always heard it said that when a person is in a terrible accident or a dangerous situation that their life flashes before their eyes. At that moment one’s mind is flooded with explicit events, important relationships and major milestones from their life. In an instant, just a few fleeting seconds the highlights and, possibly the lowlights, of life pass through the mind as though they were being replayed on a DVD player and being projected so vividly a person can almost see and feel them as though they were real.

I can only remember one such time in my life when I experienced that phenomenon prior to this day.

Judy and I were students at Wheaton College in the western suburbs of Chicago. We had been home with our families in Denver over our Christmas break. Returning back to Wheaton with a close friend and her two children, ages 6 and 9, we were trying to out race a large snow storm headed across the plains. We didn’t quite make it. Late in the afternoon black ice had begun to form when we lost control of the car and skidded out of control. The car fishtailed for about 500 yards before swinging completely around and then flew through the median, spraying snow and dirt in all directions. The skid continued and the car careened across the lanes of oncoming traffic on Interstate 80 just east of Kearney, Nebraska. It only took ten or fifteen seconds from the first moment when Judy cried out “I’m sorry” until we were sitting at the bottom of the embankment, facing the opposite direction from our original course.

The garish green Plymouth Duster was covered with a freakish combination of snow, dirt and cornstalks. Thankfully the car had remained upright and after a brief check, everyone reported to being okay. A motorist traveling in the opposite direction from our original course stopped to check on us. When he first saw us pass in front of him, he thought it was some crazed snowmobiler or four wheeler out having fun in the snow. When he realized it was a car full of passengers, his irritation turned to genuine concern. He was relieved to find us shaken but all right. To say we were frightened is an understatement. In reality, we could barely breathe. Our hearts were racing at the rate of an Olympic Marathoner at mile 26.
Amazingly, I was able to drive the car out of the ditch and up the embankment. After a quick check of tires, lights and other important features, we very carefully, and silently, drove a few short miles back into the nearest town and downed several cups of hot coffee and cocoa while our nerves settled down.

During the split seconds of that close call, since Judy happened to be driving at the time, I remember the sensation of seeing my life flash before my eyes. I didn’t have to worry about holding the wheel or threading through oncoming cars. All I could do was grab the dashboard and peer out the front windshield with dread at what I thought was certain death. That was in 1971, 26 years prior to my encounter with a bus. It was one isolated experience. I had not been in a similar predicament since.

I am by no means a daredevil or extreme risk taker. I have never shied away from certain physical challenges. At the same time I have never tempted fate’s hand by bungee jumping, sky diving or free climbing sheer rock faces. However, I did own and ride a motorcycle for several years. I have enjoyed skiing the black diamond slopes in Colorado, New Mexico and Washington. I have led teenagers on High Adventure outings like cave exploring, hiking and even a little rock climbing. I have pedaled a bicycle around Lake Michigan, through the Colorado Rockies, down the Oregon Coast and traversed the state of New Mexico from its southernmost border to the Colorado state line. All these activities have carried some risk but none of them were what I would consider overtly dangerous. I always prepared for them and calculated the best and safest way to tackle them so that the possibility of real danger was minimized

So here I was in the back of an ambulance, the focus of great medical attention and concern. This time though, my life wasn't passing through my semi-conscious fog. Instead, some innate, self-will to live - to see my daughers get married; to sit on the viewing porch with Judy and watch a glorious New Mexico sunset; to smell the damp pungent aroma of desert creosote and watch Brandon, my golden retreiver running companion bound effortlessly and joyfully through the hilly desert terrain. Those were the consuming images and thoughts dancing in and out of my mind.

One other thought grabbed my attention. "How could this have happened?" It seemed impossible. Was this a dream from which I would wake up only to realize this hadn't happened - I had only imagined it in my subconsciousness? The answers to those questions would have to wait. For now, it was enough to get to the hospital alive and begin the grueling, fearful steps of whatever lay ahead.