The Accident

A Story by Dil Coeur

An excerpt from my memoir about a bad accident I was in at age 12

...Yet, I wanted to die. I didn’t want to actively kill myself, but I spent many nights lying in bed, staring at the red light on the smoke detector, and wishing my house would burn up with me inside while I was sleeping. I really, honestly, and truly wanted to die, but I wouldn’t understand why for many years. I didn’t tell anybody about my desire to die; maybe I was afraid nobody would care. Unfortunately, this was, I believe, the beginning of my struggle with bipolar disorder. I will discuss that in more depth later.

About a year after I first started wanting to die, I nearly did.

A couple weeks after I graduated from sixth grade, about 40 students went with teachers and chaperones on a week-long camping trip to the mountains to celebrate our transition from elementary school to middle school.

Unfortunately, I don’t remember much of that trip. On the second to the last day, the 15-passenger van I was in rolled five times.

We had just finished a rafting trip and were on our way to the next camp site. I hadn’t been buckled in right away. This was a vacation away from my parents and their rules, after all. After enough nagging from our chaperone, however, I did eventually buckle up. That probably saved my life and certainly saved me from devastating injuries.

Tired from rafting, I dozed off in the van. When I woke up, we were halfway through the first roll. I don’t remember what I saw, but I heard screams, cries, and breaking glass. Some time between the first and fifth roll, I hit my head and was knocked unconscious.

When I woke up again, the van had come to rest on its side. I was twisted in my seat belt. Mostly I was numb, in shock, but my right thumb felt strange and tingly. I managed to undo my seat belt and stand up to take in my surroundings. I heard lots of crying, lots of moaning, and somebody calling another person’s name.

And here is what I saw: my teacher’s brain had fallen out of her head.

Keep in mind, I had just received a severe concussion. In hindsight, there was probably a sweater crumpled up by her head and covered in blood. But in that moment, I was absolutely convinced her brain had fallen out of her head. Her left hand was almost entirely severed, hanging on by only a tendon.

And I had to step over her to exit the van by the windshield.

Obviously, all the other drivers in our caravan stopped when they saw what had happened. One of the other teachers, whose name and face are gone from my mind but for a goatee, was standing outside the van, motioning for me to walk out through space where the windshield used to be. I held my breath, watching my step carefully to ensure I didn’t step on my presumably dead teacher’s body, and exited the van. I was greeted by the other teacher and pointed toward the SUV he had been driving. There, girls who hadn’t spoken to me the entire school year (or school trip, for that matter) were trying to be my best friend.

Eventually, paramedics arrived, and the male teacher drove me and another boy who wasn’t too badly injured to the hospital, so the ambulances would be free for the eight others who were in worse shape than us. The other boy had whiplash and couldn’t turn his head. I still remember how creepy it was to see him stare straight forward, rarely even blinking; the whiplash and shock had turned him a zombie.

Due to the shock, neither of us were inclined to speak. Yet these other girls who had witnessed the accident were trying desperately to cheer us up by talking nonstop. I was only half listening, all I remember was something about what if cows were horses and horses were cows? I also remember the turn signal. We were on some two lane highway, many miles from the nearest town, and at some point, the teacher used his turn signal to change lanes and forgot to turn it off again. For. A. Very. Very. Long. Time. The teacher was clearly distracted, if not in a slight state of shock himself.

When we got to the hospital in Steamboat Springs, it was eventually determined that I had fractured my thumb (although with my concussion, I got a little confused and later told my mom on the phone that I had “fractioned” it); I had a bruise on my right shin that went all the way from my knee to my ankle; and I had a nasty bruise/welt from the seat belt. But I was alive, and after a small cast was put on my hand and an ace bandage wrapped around my leg, I was ushered to one of the local schools, which had volunteered to house us all for the night after learning about our accident.

The next 24 hours are a piecemeal of memories. Three of us went to the school that night, myself and the boy from the SUV and another boy who had broken his arm. Also, concussions for all, like a vicious party favor. I suddenly had a lot of “friends” who were willing to help me. My sleeping bag was lost, I believe, and I absolutely remember being told that my thin foam mattress had been used as a makeshift stretcher for my teacher, who I had presumed to be dead, but actually survived with life-threatening injuries.

I called home. No answer.

Somebody gave me food, and I think somebody else offered to let me use their sleeping bag and/or mattress pad.

I called home. No answer.

The adrenaline and shock wore off and my bruised right leg hurt. A lot.

I called home. No answer.

Somebody game me ibuprofen for the pain.

I called home. Finally my mom answered. They had all been at a concert, and, not having cell phones, had no idea until then that I had been in a horrific car accident. I wanted her to come get me. Immediately. I didn’t care that it was approaching midnight and we were three and a half hours apart, I wanted to get out of this nightmare and into the loving arms of my family. Long story short, my mom couldn’t come get me, and I had to come back home with the rest of the carpool the next day.

I slept a little bit, I think, but with a fresh cast, horrible bruising, trauma, and a gymnasium floor, it wasn’t exactly the most restful night of my life.

The next day, I got to go see one of my actual friends who had been in the accident also. She had been thrown from the van and was covered in severe road rash. If you’ve never seen it before, don’t. It’s terrible, and she was in so much pain.

Afterwards, I had to get in a minivan with strangers. It wasn’t the same type of van as the one that had just rolled, but I was still terrified. Somebody bought a snack for me on the road, because my wallet had been lost in the accident.

When I got home, my mom had a new car, and I cried. My entire life had been turned upside down, and this new car, which looked like a cross between a station wagon and a minivan (it was a Honda Odyssey, probably the first year they made them) was another representation of the fact that my life would never be the same.

I don’t remember all the injuries suffered by all ten people in that accident. I believe five of us were released from the hospital within 24 hours; the rest were in the hospital for up to several months with their injuries. It’s incredibly lucky that all ten of us survived. Luckily, most of us had worn our seat belts; if I hadn’t, there is really no guarantee I would be writing this right now. Even if I survived, I could have had permanent disabilities. My teacher had to have her hand reattached, and she was not expected to regain full range of motion in that hand; they were hoping she would get enough to get by.

It has been well-documented for many years now that fifteen-passenger vans have an extreme risk of rolling over, and countless thousands have died as a result. These vans are especially popular with schools and church groups because they can carry a relatively large amount of people, yet you don’t need a special license to drive them like you do a bus. I get terribly sad when I see these vehicles take the lives of so many young people.

In any case, that accident was key in shaping my life. I realized that I did not want to die yet, and that life is precious; you can never take it for granted. I also became a very nervous person, especially as a passenger in a car. I much prefer to be the driver than a passenger; it makes me nervous to trust my life to others.

But what’s the biggest lesson I learned? Always wear your seatbelt.

Also, don’t wear a one piece swimsuit under your clothes in case you are in an accident; it makes it very difficult to go to the bathroom in a hospital.