Crash, Bang

Let's start with an honest acknowledgement of stupidity and recklessness, before we go any further. There are driving rules; rules that are written as imperative commands, not flexible guidelines like the Pirate Code. Put simply, persons in the active charge of moving vehicles have the responsibility to obey the laws imposed upon them in order that they, their passengers and everyone else on the road remain safe.

Knowing that - having had the message of "drive carefully" called over the noise of a revving engine every time I have ever left the house - did not stop the foolish invincibility that I felt when I pulled onto Highway 60 without my seatbelt fastened. I was leaving the kennels after a long day, with Jess by my side, just chatting. I was going slowly, driving to the weather conditions, but I still slipped a bit in the intersection. To avoid a dangerous turn, I decided to move forward and catch the off ramp instead, when the coast was clear. FYI, that particular move is called an illegal U-turn, as stated on my fancy ticket. We both looked, both believed that the way was safe, and were both wrong.

Very suddenly, I couldn't hear anything. I saw, but could not understand. I remember Jess screaming something, but all I could scream back is that I couldn't hear her. Then I couldn't see.

I remember Jess jumping out to yell at the other driver. I remember them trying to yank open the door. Black truck. Strange voices. I remember wiggling my toes, somebody called the police, Jess telling me to turn off the car, and then I saw my Mum's sunglasses in what used to be the dash. The lenses were shattered. Something had happened. Not good. Jess sassing everyone, just like she would. Chris and Shayna appeared instantly. A ski patroller held my neck straight. Someone found me a blanket to cover my trembling body. Glass in my teeth. Questions. A familiar face in uniform brought the first of my tears. Blood on my face transferred to my hands. The doors came off, they lifted me out, and I was in the ambulance. Five minutes, they said. Turn off the lights, they said. You can call your Mom at the hospital, they said. But God bless Chris for jumping that call and getting my family there long before I would have been handed a phone. They told me I was out there for 40 minutes. It felt like ten.

Everything comes in flashes until I see my first nurse - Karen Stark - from church. I ask her to pray with me, and she does. Needles and drugs, then x-rays and stitches. The Lord cushioned my night with Christians I knew and trusted. Thank God for Dan Moore and his strength, and thank God for Esther Jennings and her patient care. Thank God for Matt and his coffees for my waiting family, and for anyone else who contributed what they could, whether or not I ever know. Thank God I'm Canadian and didn't have to pay for anything - not even parking.

I left the kennels just before six, and got myself into bed by three in the morning - on my own - no broken bones.

I will need to keep relatively still for a while, but I'm feeling miraculously well. Based on the car, I should be in a wheel chair... or a coffin. But instead I am here, whole. A few years ago someone told me this: "My life is immortal until my work for the Lord is complete." I have claimed it before, and I claim it now. Jesus still has work for me in this world. I still have a job to do - and as long as that is true, I'm not going anywhere.

If you're a friend on Facebook you'll soon be able to ogle my eye. If not, rest in the knowledge that five stitches and a shiner are the worst of my visual injuries. Truth be told, I have more bruises from the last three weeks of dogsledding than from getting t-boned two days ago. My arms are weak and my shoulders and upper back are in pain, so please resist the urge to hug me better or shake my hand. We've resorted to gentle, affectionate patting on the head at home, or kisses on the cheek. I won't be creeped out if you join in.

So... buckle up. Take a deep breath. Count your blessings, and praise the Lord.