The crash that changed my life

A Moment That Changed Everything

It was around 9 p.m. on a Tuesday evening, the kind of quiet time when the streets are mostly empty, and the world feels like it’s winding down. I had just finished another long day at work, the kind that leaves your mind buzzing and your body exhausted. I was driving home in my car that I’d become so used to and even named. (Cutie) Everything seemed normal as I turned onto the main road and got into the turning lane.

The night was quiet, and the lights ahead of me were green. I was just focused on getting home, on getting through one more night. It had been a busy day—nothing particularly memorable, but nothing too overwhelming either. I wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary, just another uneventful drive.

But in a split second, everything changed.

Out of nowhere, a car swerved into my lane, cutting me off with no warning. I barely had time to react, my hand instinctively pressing on the horn. I remember thinking, What is this guy doing? He didn’t seem to notice me, or if he did, he just didn’t care. In that moment, I could see him in my rearview mirror, his car inching closer and closer to mine. He wasn’t stopping, and I knew something bad was about to happen. Then, with no warning, the collision happened. The impact felt like a sudden shock that rattled through my body. The sound of the crash, the scraping of metal, the screech of tires—it was all too much.

I don’t think I really understood what had happened until the airbags deployed. My wrist slammed into the airbag, and that’s when the pain hit. It was sharp, immediate, and all-encompassing. I could barely move my arm; it felt like it wasn’t even part of my body anymore. My mind was still foggy, and I had this strange sensation that everything was happening too quickly to process. For a moment, I just sat there in shock, trying to make sense of what had just occurred. It all felt like a bad dream, something that couldn’t really be happening to me. Immediately, I reached out for my phone to call my mom. It didn’t even occur to me that I hadn’t told her I was on my way home. I remember hearing her voice getting louder in my ear as I kept repeating “I’m on 19 and Curlew… I’m trying to stay calm… My wrist really hurts…” I will never forget the panic in her voice.

The other driver quickly got out of his car and approached mine. I could barely hear him pounding in my head, but I remember him saying I wasn’t paying attention. I’m so sorry. He kept apologizing, but I didn’t really know how to respond. My wrist was throbbing in pain, and I was more focused on that than on his words. I wanted to shout at him, to tell him how stupid he was, but my voice wouldn’t come out. All I could do was sit there and take it in. The confusion, the pain, the disbelief.

Soon, the paramedics arrived, and everything moved in a blur. They checked on me, made sure I wasn’t seriously injured, and asked all the necessary questions. They told me they needed to take me to the hospital for further evaluation. I was in shock, but I nodded. I just wanted the pain to stop, and for the world to go back to normal. But that wasn’t going to happen.

At the hospital, everything seemed cold. The sterile white walls, the quiet beeping of machines, and the bright lights that felt too harsh. My mom ran into the ER where I was waiting for her. I was taken in for X-rays, and when the results came back, the doctor confirmed what I already knew: my wrist was broken. A fracture. Not a bad one, but still, enough to leave me in a cast for weeks.

The doctor explained what would happen next, but I barely registered the words. I could feel the weight of the situation, but I couldn’t process it. I kept thinking, How could this happen? I had been careful, had been paying attention. Why did this have to happen to me? The pain in my wrist was intense, but there was something else—something deeper—that I couldn’t quite put into words. A sense of helplessness. A feeling that things I had always taken for granted, things I never thought about twice, could be taken away in an instant.

The weeks that followed were harder than I ever imagined. Simple tasks became nearly impossible. Brushing my hair, getting dressed, even typing a paper at school—it all became so difficult. I was frustrated, angry, and to be honest, a little depressed. I didn’t realize how much I depended on my hands and wrists for everyday tasks until I couldn’t use them the way I used to. I had to ask for help more often than I liked, and I hated feeling like I wasn’t capable of doing things on my own.

But as time passed, something changed inside me. I started to see things differently. It wasn’t just the pain in my wrist that made me stop and think—it was everything that came with it. I realized how often I took my health, my mobility, and my independence for granted. I always thought I had all the time in the world to enjoy those things, to slow down. But in an instant, all of that was taken from me. I could no longer do the little things that used to be second nature. And it was then that I understood something I hadn’t before: you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

I spent so much time rushing through my life, always moving forward, always looking ahead. But now, with a broken wrist and so much time on my hands, I had to slow down. I had no choice. It made me reflect on how I had been living, always busy with work, always chasing the next thing, without appreciating what was right in front of me.

I still struggle with this, of course. It’s hard to change habits that have been with you for so long. But I’m trying to be more present now, to appreciate my health, my body, and the simple things in life that I used to take for granted. It took a painful lesson to remind me of what truly matters—of how fragile life is, and how easily everything can change.

That night, in the quiet aftermath of the accident, I didn’t just break my wrist. I broke the way I saw the world. And in a strange way, that break has made me a better person. I hope I never forget the lesson it taught me: to appreciate the present, to slow down, and to never take anything for granted.