This can’t be happening!

I ran over a duck on the way to work. The little quack was taking his time crossing the street. I thought that I could scare him with intense speed and engine revving. I was wrong. He barely had time to flap his wings before my tire sent his entrails rocketing through his mouth and onto the road.

In a fit of panic, I slammed on my breaks and jumped from the car. I raced back to the duck’s flattened carcass and cradled it in my arms. I don’t know how long I was singing, Hush Little Baby, when the truck hit me.

I awoke to blaring sirens. I could not see from the blood stinging my eyes. Someone was yelling at me to stay still. I heard a woman crying. I was crying, too. The pain was intense. My spine felt wrong. I tried to wipe the blood from my eyes, but my hands stayed at my sides, my arms unmoving. Someone lifted my head into their lap and I felt a pop. I saw stars.

You stupid old bitch! Someone screamed.

I only wanted to help him, said a softer voice, shaken and disturbed.

I think my head hit the pavement. I know that I blacked out.

I woke up in a cold, white room. Crisp white sheets covered my body. A mechanical beep rhythmically broke the silence. Tubes from machines and IVs snaked into my sides, spitting and sucking. My throat was on fire from a bigger tube. I tried to cough, but started to choke. The beeping got faster and sounded an alarm. Suddenly, people burst into the room, men and women bringing chaos again. I cried out, biting down on the tube, my throat gripping it in convulsions. I felt a stab of pain in my left arm. A needle. Warmth spilling through my body. It made me sleepy and I followed the feeling to darkness.

This morning, I woke up in the same cold, white room. I have fewer tubes invading my body. My arms are working again and I can wiggle my toes. The colostomy bag is a new addition that I may never accept.

However, I am enjoying the medication. It makes my insides float. A nurse told me my physical therapy starts in less than six weeks. I still haven’t seen any of my visitors, but they’ve come to see me. At least long enough to drop off some flowers and my laptop.

So, I’m thankful for that.


One response to “This can’t be happening!

  1. Is it bad that I LOLed for real?

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