The Consequences of Distraction

It was a beautiful Northern California late summer day. My boyfriend Ryan and I had just left my home. He was driving us to an early evening semi-pro baseball game in his new used car, a 2002 convertible Camaro. As we crested a hill just a few miles from home, a distracted driver rolled a stop sign from a residential neighborhood to our right and headed right for us.

The police report stated she was looking at her phone and that’s why she didn’t see us as she pulled into traffic directly in our path. Ryan and I saw her, but unfortunately it was too late. As a teenage boy driving a new car, Ryan was unfortunately over the speed limit for that stretch of road, leaving him little time to react and avoid the collision. In that moment, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, yet we were powerless to alter the course of events. At the last moment, Ryan swerved to avoid impact, but as he did so her SUV plowed into the passenger side of our car, right where I was sitting.

I was trapped. Trapped between the dangerous distracted driving habits of both drivers. Ryan for speeding and the other driver using her cell phone. Ironically, neither of them were injured. Just me.

After the crash, our car careened into the median and skidded to a stop. The other driver’s car ricocheted across the road and onto the sidewalk. I was dazed by the exploding air bag and felt crushed, unable to breathe. I looked over to find Ryan, but he had already gotten out of the car and was running around to my side to get me out and to safety. With the help of a bystander, the two of them pried my door open. I smelled gas and smoke. I tried to push myself out of the car, but I couldn’t. “What is wrong with my foot? It won’t work right,” I found myself dazed and confused.

Ryan released my seat belt, lifted me from the car, and carried me to the curb. I heard sirens from far away coming closer, and before I knew it there were police, a fire truck, and an ambulance. “How did they get here so fast? Why are there so many of them? What about the baseball game? Ryan’s dad will be so mad when he sees the car.” My thoughts twirled around like horses on a carousel. A wave of sudden nausea hit me, and I felt so heavily exhausted I just wanted to go to sleep. But the paramedics wouldn’t let me, shining lights in my eyes while poking and prodding me onto a gurney. Before I knew it, I was in the ambulance and on my way to the emergency room.

My parents got to the hospital just as the x-rays were being taken of my ankle. They both looked up at the image on the screen, and even though neither of them are physicians, I heard my dad whisper to my mom, “It’s broken.” In fact, shattered into three pieces. Crap. Thankfully, other than being pretty shaken up, the rest of me was ok. Well, not really. My favorite jeans were torn, but even worse, I was actually not “ok” for quite a long time after my ordeal. Who wouldn’t be? My thoughts were: “It’s my senior year. I’m co-captain of the dance team. What about Homecoming?” When I discovered surgery and extensive rehabilitation were in my future, I confess I did some crying. Not just a little… a lot.

As the weeks went by, my emotions see-sawed from hopeful to depressed to resigned and eventually, a deep and unrelenting sense of loss. I’d never felt like a victim my entire life, but I sure did now. And it didn’t feel good. Not at all.

I could hear my parents talking about the bills from the ER, the surgeon, the ambulance, and the rehab. Our health insurance didn’t want to pay. It wasn’t their fault or responsibility. The other driver’s insurance was minimal. Ryan’s insurance said my expenses were not their responsibility either. So, my parents called an attorney a friend had recommended. The attorney and his staff reviewed all the paperwork and the history regarding my case. I still remember the evening when they told my mom and dad not to worry about the bills and to forward all letters and phone calls to them. They promised they would handle all the details of my case, interacting with the insurance companies, the ER, the surgery clinic, my doctors, rehabilitation of my shattered ankle, and counseling for the PTSD and anxiety. And they have. What a relief for my family!

I’m still going to physical therapy. But good news… I’m not feeling the need for counseling any longer. Whenever I ride in a car as a passenger, I still experience apprehension, but it’s getting less all the time. My car-crash experience has left me changed. I will never be the same as I was before, of that I am certain. But that’s not all a bad thing. I have become more appreciative of the little things in life. Stuff as simple as being able to drive through Starbucks to pick up my favorite drink. Or sitting in my car with a friend to watch the sunset. Or even just studying on the bed with my cat in my lap.

No doubt that accident is something I would never want to go through again. I’m sure my parents would say the same thing. I missed out on some of the senior year experiences I’d been looking forward to for years. Yet, at the same time, I’ve discovered myself to be more resilient than I thought. I’m tougher than I realized. And most importantly, I no longer take for granted the good things and the blessings in my life. I know all too well how they could be unexpectedly snatched away in an instant.

Both drivers in this accident were at fault. But I’m the one who paid the price. If only they’d taken what they learned in driver’s education more to heart, paid more attention, driven more defensively and more carefully, I wouldn’t have had to go through all that I did. Thankfully, the injuries were not worse than they turned out to be. But they could have been.

I’ve always been a careful driver, but now I drive with the anticipation that the other drivers on the road may not be so cautious or aware, and they could do something stupid at any moment. So I look ahead, avoid dangerous situations, and treat my ability to drive as more than just a right… it is a privilege. My friends have noticed how seriously I take my driving responsibility, and so have my friend’s parents. They have no hesitation letting their kids ride in my car, because they know how careful I am.

I appreciate your consideration for this scholarship opportunity. It has always been my intent to use fewer words to cover an assignment when “more” is really nothing more than additional characters on a page. I dearly hope you will consider the content of my submission.