- Share This Post
- Pin It
- 0
- 21
-
Sparkle (3)
Because of a young woman's irresponsible behavior and reckless choices, I spent the early morning hours today strapped in an uncomfortable neck brace in the emergency room as my back and shoulders were poked and prodded for broken bones.
I had to stand uncomfortably in an x-ray booth wearing a lead apron over my 23-week pregnant belly, trusting that the exposure wouldn't be too much for Bug.
I was given powerful narcotics I'd rather not have to take as a pregnant woman. I then spent two full hours with monitors strapped across my abdomen as Bug's heartbeat was monitored for any signs of stress.
Throughout all this, my husband in Northern Virginia and my family in Cincinnati could only sit helplessly by the phone and wait for my sporadic updates, worried out of their minds.
And for the next few days, I will be staying in my military hotel room on medical orders (called "quarters") to recover from severe whiplash that's gripped my body into a stiff, aching freeze.
All because a stranger decided to get behind the wheel of her car after a night spent drinking alcohol.
It happened at an intersection near the Air Force base where I work for my Air Force Reserve duty.
It was shortly after 11 p.m. and the roads were clear. I was just minutes away from my hotel, heading down to the nearby 24-hour convenience store to pick up some orange juice and food.
Normally, I wouldn't have been out so late. Yet, after my eight-hour duty day Saturday, I had returned to my hotel room for a nap. All the traveling and early mornings I've pulled the last few days caught up with me, and I ended up sleeping until about 10 p.m., which meant I missed the dinner hour at the military dining facility, and the hotel restaurant was closing.
I needed to eat, and the convenience store was just a five-minute drive away. I was stopped at a red light. It was a long light, and nearly a minute passed before I saw headlights approaching me from behind.
As they got closer, I could sense there was no slowing down. I had just enough time to wrap my arms around my stomach, lifting my belly above the seatbelt across my lap just as the car slammed into my car at full speed. I felt my body and head lunge forward before snapping back.
I knew the driver had to be drunk. I hadn't heard any screeching tires, no sound of the driver applying their breaks. I unbuckled my belt, grabbed my cell phone and got out of the car.
She was already stumbling toward me, yelling, "I have insurance!"
"You are drunk," I answered.
"I'm not drunk," she insisted, rambling on about this not being a big deal, how it's her boyfriend's car, her insurance will pay for everything.
The front of her car was smashed, the hood bent up at a weird angle. My back bumper was pushed in and scraped; the entire back section of the car was elevated as if it were a jack-in-the-box. Other cars were approaching, so I went to the sidewalk, dialing 9-1-1. The drunk driver followed me, begging me not to call anyone. When she saw I wasn't talking to her, or getting off the phone, she raced back to her car and opened the driver's side door. That's when I moved to get her license plate, fearing she was going to leave the scene, and as soon as the 9-1-1 dispatcher answered, I blurted out the address of the intersection and the numbers. I said I've been hit by a drunk driver and I think she's going to leave, and that I'm also pregnant and will need a medic. That's when the drunk woman came my way again. She saw I was still on the phone and started screaming at me again, accusing me of causing trouble, saying I looked fine, I didn't need to call anyone.
I sensed she wanted to lunge and snatch my phone out of my hand, so I kept moving beyond her reach. Her eyes were glassy and she wasn't steady, but she was taller and bigger than me and getting angry.
I told the dispatcher that I didn't know how long she was going to remain civil, to please send the police. The
