This weekend, we took a trip to Steamboat Springs, CO. It was for our anniversary. Two years is a long time for me. I'll say that again every year, I'm sure. Why Steamboat? You know, we're members of this travel thing (Worldmark, to get specific), and the Steamboat resort was available on short notice. We're pretty much okay with trying out new places. We will travel the world (but not today). Traveling is not what this post is about. Nor is it about my anniversary. And one of these days, I swear I'll write something more upbeat, more positive. Our trip was good, too, but that's also not what this post is about.
If one were to drive to Steamboat Springs, CO, from Provo, UT, he/she would be forced to drive through towns such as Vernal, Elk Springs, Maybell, and Craig. To give you an idea, in Craig, I almost hit a small antelope who was checking out traffic before he crossed the main road. He really looked both ways with his little antelope head. Craig is bigger than it looks, though. It has some one way roads (although I can't fathom why that would be necessary...), some stoplights, and a hospital. It's called The Memorial Hospital. They're opening up a newer version this fall. I saw the big sign while passing through. I said to Ren, "I wish they had a new Memorial five years ago." Because I keep thinking that maybe things would've been just a little different, a little better. For those doing the math, 2004 is five years ago. July 22, 2004, so I guess we've got an underestimate on our hands. That evening, I rolled up to Memorial in an ambulance. I got my very own. That's what happens if you yell at volunteer EMTs who can't handle the disoriented, confused patient. (The discharge sheet said I was disoriented and confused, but I beg to differ.)
On our way to Steamboat, I told my husband the story all over again, but he said that I never told him that I got my own ambulance. Well, that's not how he said it. He said that I never told him they put me in a separate ambulance. Okay, so maybe they put me there, but I still think I'm justified in being put there. Plus, it wasn't just my behavior. I needed some oxygen away from the current situation. Anyway, Ren made a point (which he does quite often). I've never written this down, and sometimes I get funny when people ask about it because it was private or impossible to describe or frustrating or lots of other excuses.
That year was never anything I would offer to an enemy. Earlier in the year, this doctor gave me medication for taking the edge off (aka antidepressants) because my world got stomped on from multiple angles, every angle. Situational, I guess. I hope. Anyway, I didn't ever feel any different after those, so I decided that I needed to make life changes. You know, the kind where you forget yourself and serve others? The kind where you don't have to swallow tabs with unpronounceable names? The kind where "Jesus takes the wheel" because you can't anymore? I hate that song, just for the record. I thought, "For sure, I'm in this s***hole because of my own poor choices." Or maybe I decided on a mission for my church because I wanted to run? I claim it's because I needed to put my frenzied mind on other things, on other people instead of just one. A healthy decision. Oh, but always sort your junk out before you make decisions like that. This post is not about mission decisions for "selfless" reasons, though. But it's a piece. You see, I then got my mission call to go to the Tennessee Knoxville Mission, the greatest mission in the world (as the saying goes). I must admit, I was a little surprised, but I'll go where I'm called. Getting off track again...
I was scheduled to leave August 25, 2004. Before the big day, there was this fantastic Disneyland extravaganza planned by my dad. I adore Disneyland. I want to live there. What a way to send me off, and the whole family (minus my mom, of course) would be in attendance. Just FYI, this was not a trip planned to send me off. It just happened to be taking place before I left. I needed a little "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride." I won't confuse you with the puzzle my family is, but just know that the trip was supposed to happen on July 24, 2004, and on July 21, I offered to go and pick up my niece in Colorado so that she could fly from Salt Lake to California, to Disneyland. Well, my mom offered, but I didn't (and still don't) trust my mom's driving, so I offered to go as "company." So the schedule would've been: July 21-22, driving to Colorado and back to Utah; July 23, going through the temple; July 24, fly out to California for Toontown. Schedule-schmedule. Are dates even pertinent?
I have this strained relationship with my mom, but I still care about her well-being. I didn't want her driving alone to and from Denver. I didn't own a car, so we took hers. She was angry with me because I took the driver's seat and the keys. Controlling, bossy, impossible. Things she called me and much more. But I was hell-bent on taking charge. And if only things would've stayed that way.
I still find it funny (not laughable funny, not that kind of funny) that when I decided to be less bossy, less controlling, I was placed in the most helpless situation. And in the moment, I remember thinking, "What the hell?! I should've never given her those keys."
I thought a lot of things before, during, and after the car rolled. I sat in the backseat to read to Elise (my niece), which was possibly the best option now that I look back at my seat placement. I didn't have complete loss of control - The Cure was still playing on the CD player. The Wish album. Before thought as my mom overcorrected for whatever reason: "We're going to roll!" Actually, that's what I screamed (and thought) while I looked through the front windshield at the ravine/hill coming toward us. I flung my body over Elise (carseat, too, of course), but that impact was stronger than I thought I was. During thoughts: disbelieving and fearful ones. Simply survival thoughts for the people in the car. And the after thoughts...
In the middle of nowhere (maps call it Dinosaur...). Somewhere in between Elk Springs and Maybell. I call it "Dear God, what will happen to us out here?". My flip-flops were gone, my phone was gone, my vomit-covered cd's were in all kinds of crevices. I would've preferred landing right-side up. As it goes, I just had to make due. I unstrapped Elise and had her crawl out of the broken back window. I hope she had shoes on. I wasn't focusing on those minor details. I called for her. I called for my mom, but she didn't answer. And all of the CPR classes that I didn't pay attention to came full-force. They always said that you think it won't happen to you. Ugh.
I don't need to explain what she looked like not breathing. She just wasn't, and I'll always remember pulling her out like that. And I'll never remember if Elise was watching or just crying on the side of the road. I stopped pulling on my mom when I was told to (twice), and I finger-swept her mouth because I then realized why she had no oxygen. But when the sweep doesn't produce the dreamed-up passageway you intended, you are helpless. And I talked to God in the warm, soft sand. Of all the patches of earth we landed on, this seemed to be the only thornless spot, the only broken beer bottle-less side of road. I felt the quiet all over, and I wasn't worried about any of it. I said, out loud, "I'm still going on my mission, and you can't stop me." I vocally asked God what to do. What to do. And I was ready to let her go, and I was settled with it. I want to watch the replay of this after I die. Because the order of things that happened after I found my peace is hazy. Two men were there blessing my mom on the side of the deserted road, and I never saw them again. But the sand was so soft and ridiculously warm. Someone rolled my mom on her side so that her throat cleared. I ran into the road, waving my arms, yelling, when I heard a car. Elise likes to impersonate me at this point in the story: "Somebody help us, please!" These days, she does it a little more dramatic. She's added her own selection of words as she's gotten older. And I still didn't know where she was standing through it all. I just knew she was living and breathing, no visible broken bones. And I know Gina and Dave were comforting her at their car.
We all lived. My mom was in all sorts of shapes, but her gargling breathing was, nevertheless, breathing. When she was brought about, she didn't remember a thing. She continually rotated the same 4-5 questions to anyone around. Mostly questions about what happened, who was with her, and who was driving. And everytime I answered her, she crumbled. And the cycle began again. I never really know how it all happened.
I held it all together. But my moment for deflation finally occurred while sitting on the edge of the ambulance. This woman just kept questioning me, and I lost my breath. Things get frantic when you have no air. They gave me some after that, and the questions stopped for the moment. I lost the oxygen again while traveling in the ambulance with my mom. The EMT just kept jabbing her with this needle. An IV attempt? I guess. Ren said he was probably a volunteer. And then we had a debate about the government and paying people like that so they can be trained properly. Not what this post is about. Anyway, I expressed myself (disoriented and confused??), and there was a stop made in Maybell where I got my own ambulance with more oxygen. But I only used it when I started thinking.
Maybell's new hospital opens in the fall. That year, July 22, 2004, CT scans must not have been working properly. (Sarcasm??) They ran some on my mom to make sure nothing was seriously broken, and it was confirmed that nothing was broken. However, she kept complaining that her neck hurt. The man moving her from one table to the life-flight stretcher carelessly allowed her head to fall to the side. There was more complaining from her and even more reaming from my mouth regarding the art of listening to patients. They took her to Grand Junction. Head trauma and a broken neck. So much for nothing being broken. The rest is history (which included a halo and fluctuating emotions courtesy of my mom). I was left to take care of the little one, to comfort her, for the night in some hotel that claimed to give a discount in times like these.
I have more to say on this. More thoughts, more insights; however, there's something to be said about the length of this already. I do want to add that I feel the same as Benjamin Button when he looked back at all of the events that led up to Daisy's accident. I remember having that moment myself. Maybe that's why I love that movie so much.
