My last regular post was The Unseen People. It was part of my chronicle of Leigh and me taking her mother back to her home in California. I pick up the rest of the posts here as one continuous series so I can share with you, pretty much in real time, all that happened after that. Read it in one sitting or as chapters, coming back as you like.
Interlude With Burger
The flight home solidified my belief in Jet Blue as a company that works efficiently without sacrificing friendliness or quality. I continued reading Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now. I had made up my mind sitting on the patio of my mother-in-law’s Coronado home that I would really work at incorporating his instructions on how to live in the present moment. I didn’t know that I would have a chance to test it in what would be one of the most critical times of my life, a time that would be arriving quite soon.
I spent the rest of my time listening to podcasts and watching a documentary on John Wilkes Booth on the history channel.
We landed at JFK on time. Our flight to Rochester, due in an hour, had been delayed one hour.
Leigh and I found a burger joint where you custom order your meal on a touch screen, then pay the waiter behind the counter. He hands you a receipt and when your burger comes out of the kitchen, he calls the number. The customer with the number raises his hand and the waiter trades the burger for your receipt.
During a lull with no customers the waiter came over to me. “What’s your number?”
“00,” I said. He nodded.
When my burger came out, he brought it over and started to hand it to me.
“No!” I said. “You can’t do that.”
He froze and looked puzzled, not sure if he should be angry, defensive or apologetic. “Why not?”
“You have to take it back, yell ‘77!” and then I raise my hand and say, ‘Here!’ Then you bring it over to me.”
He looked totally confused until he realized I was serious. After a brief silence, he nodded and walked back to the kitchen window. A part of his job he’d never even thought about was now a game in which he was self-consciously participating.
He yelled: “77″!
I raised my hand: “Here!”
He grinned as he brought it over and handed it to me. “Thank you,” I said.
He started laughing. “You have a good day, sir.”
One should have fun where one can. We don’t know what the next moment will bring.
Later we boarded the plane for what I thought was the last leg of our journey.
It wasn’t.
Far from it.
Crash
The flight from JFK to Rochester was an hour. My mother-in-law was safely back in her Coronado home after two years with us. I was looking forward to getting our bags, finding our new Nissan Sentra that we’d had for two weeks, and making the two hour drive home to our dogs, a drink, and a return to a quiet life.
After some searching we found the Nissan. “I love this car,” Leigh said.I agreed. It was black, well-designed,and the first new car we’d ever had.
We paid our parking bill and headed out on South on 390. Leigh called her sister in Coronado to let her know we’d made the 6,000 mile journey safely. She called our son, Nathan and told him we’d be home in two hours. He was ready for us to come home. He’d stayed at the house all week to take care of the gardens, clean and play with the dogs. He’d be leaving the next day for a camping trip in the Adirondacks that he’d spent two months planning with his high school friends.
It was 9 p.m.
I pictured, for the 100th time, sitting in the living room, luggage tossed in the corner, petting our dogs and sipping on a vodka and tonic.
We were both looking forward to the change of having our lives back for the first time in two years.
Change.
How does it happen? In myriad ways.
Sometimes with lightning speed.
Like headlights suddenly coming at us from a blind on ramp. My wife jumps. Our speed is 68 mph. I instinctively yank the wheel to the left to avoid the approaching car. New car. Not used to it. Turned wheel too fast and too far. I jerk the wheel to the right, then to the left.
We’re speeding to the left of the highway and hit the solid steel guardrail. The fender crumples as sparks fly. We bounce off the guardrail. I spin the wheel but it’s too late.
Everything is too late.
We’re out of control.
The Nissan fishtails across the highway. Leigh screams. During this rushing millisecond I watch the guardrails rushing at us head on, knowing that I am helpless.
I don’t remember feeling fear, just utter helplessness, of fate rushing forward at what is now probably 65 miles an hour.
The crash is like an explosion, followed by the lighter sounds of glass and plastic falling all around us.
And then there is silence.
The First Hour
I turned to Leigh to make sure she was alright. Her breathing was shallow, forced, painful. I touched her and she gasped in more pain. I’ve never felt so alone and helpless.
My only thought was: Don’t let her die!
The brain is lightning on adrenalin. I scanned the car. No blood. The airbags, which saved us possibly from death and certainly much worse damage, rested limply.
A young man at the passenger window: “Roll it down!” I did. “I’m am EMT but I’m from Canada so I can’t touch her. Miss what’s your name? What’s your name?
Leigh was taking short, painful breaths. “Leigh.”
Others appeared. “Call 911!”
“When were you born?
“January . . .fifth . . .” Her breathing is forced.
“Tell the ambulances to hurry! We need two!”
“Need fire trucks! The engine’s smoking!”
Ambulances seemed to instantly appear. I got out of the car, grabbed my pipe and tobacco, knowing it was going to be a long night. Sudden excruciating pain in my lower back nearly made me drop. My mouth was dry. Two EMTs appeared behind me. “What’s your name?”
“Dennis Miller.” Please, no Dennis Miller jokes.
“When were you born?”
“9-1-49.”
“What day is it?”
“Tuesday.” I could feel them nod to each other.
“My back,” I said. My mouth was dry. “I need water.”
“Stand still. We’re going to get you the board. Let us do everything. This will feel strange but we’re going to lower you. Let us do everything.”
“My wife. . .”
“She’s being taken care of. Don’t worry.”
They didn’t say “It will be okay. They just said don’t worry.
They were young, very serious, competent and professional. They loaded me in a separate ambulance swiftly and painlessly and put a neck brace on.
“Water,” I said, sounding like a bad movie.
“Just relax. We’ll have you to the hospital in no time.” That meant no water. Can’t fool me.
They took my blood pressure. “187 over 120.”
I studied the ceiling of the ambulance, thinking, “If I’m ever going to try to follow The Power of Now, it’s now. Don’t fret over the past or what could have been, or the future, whatever it might be. If there ever was a time I needed clutch the moment, it was now.
“So what were you doing when the call came in?” The young female EMT asked her partner.
“Watching the Olympics,” the guy said.
“I was cutting up vegetables for a late supper.” There was no hint of frustration at having their schedules interrupted. It was just conversation. Calls are what they live for. They train hard to become EMTs. My publications manager is an EMT and ambulance association chief. Their inside joke was “I was out saving a life last night. What were you doing?”
A joke but the truth. I was always appreciative of their interest and sacrifice. Now I was living it.
It was my life — and my wife’s — they were saving.
I focused on the now because nothing else mattered.
ER
I lost track of time. It could have been 10 minutes or an hour when we arrived at a rural hospital. They wheeled us into the empty ER.
Quiet nurses closed the curtain between Leigh and me. They inserted an IV. “What are you putting in me?”
“Saline.”
Good. I was getting the water I needed. My lower back was killing me. Shooting pains that stopped breath. Mick, a nurse’s aid, came in and looked me over. He was a short guy with one eye, built like a bulldog.
“Need anything?”
“A blanket. I’m cold.” He found a blanket and covered me as gently as he would a child. “I need this board off. It hurts.”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
Leigh was moaning, which I took as a good sign. She was breathing better. “Take this board out!” I could have told her they couldn’t but I didn’t have the strength. I wanted to call my son, Nathan, but they had already done it, giving him the worst phone call of his life:
“You’re parents were in a serious accident. . . .”
I heard a nurse ask what my name was.
“Dennis Miller,” another said.
“Oh, he’s famous!” I’ve heard this enough times that I could recognize in her voice the hope that I really was the comedian Dennis Miller. She would look at me and feel disappointment when she confirmed that she wasn’t going to tend to a movie star, that by some million-in-one chance the Dennis Miller had an accident on Rt. 390 and was brought to her small, rural emergency room.
I’ve disappointed a lot of people in my life by virtue of my name.
Time stood still and flew, like a hummingbird whose wings flap 25 times a second to hold it motionless in the air.
A state police woman appeared and asked me questions. She seemed satisfied and said it was clearly no fault.
A nurse came in. “What’s your pain level on a scale of 1-10?
“Eleven,” I said without exaggerating.
Nathan appeared and God himself couldn’t have been more welcome. He went from Leigh to me, caring, touching, being something no one else could be– our family, our son.
As he stood with Leigh on the other side of the curtain, I felt my fingers go numb. I started shaking. When my teeth began chattering I knew I was going into shock.
I took a deep breath and focused on the ceiling,the moment, the self. Another deep breath. I didn’t want any drugs. I wanted to know that Leigh would be okay. I took another breath and told myself to relax. I’d been through a trauma, yes, but I didn’t need to let it control me.
I calmed down.
Another wave of shaking. I didn’t call out. No drugs. Leave me alone until I get control.
Mick came in, quiet, rock steady like a veteran bartender checking your drink and your psyche.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine, Mick,” I said calmly. “Thanks.”
Trauma Center
Ironies are sometimes humorous, sometimes sad. Sometimes they’re just ironies.
I worried that Leigh had bruised her heart, punctured a lung or had some internal injury that affected her breathing. I’ve always had lower back problems so I was sure I’d just aggravated or bruised it. A 65-mph head-on impact jolts the body.
And this damned back board wasn’t helping anything. On the other side of the curtain Leigh insisted that the board be removed. “I’ll take responsibility!” She yelled. They finally removed it. Meanwhile I told Nathan to take mine out from under me. As he pulled on it, I felt something tugging. It was caught on the IV tube and was ripping the needle backwards out of my arm. We unwound it and got the board off. It definitely not like the movies where the actor rips out his IV and adhesive.
Mick watched quietly with his one good eye and said nothing.
They wheeled Leigh out for a CAT scan. I followed. When the scans came back, the doctor told Linda she had three broken ribs, probably from the side airbag.
I had compression fractures of three vertebrae. It was me who was in serious condition.
They didn’t have the equipment or expertise to take care of me so they made arrangements to transport us to Elmira, 70 miles away.
Nathan left to find our car and retrieve our luggage and computers.
A new ambulance crew came in. The accident happened at 9 p.m.
It was now 5:30 a.m.
Two of the crew members were young. The leader was my age, burly, quiet, professional. “I’m Ed.”
“I’m Dennis.”
“We’re taking you to the Arnot Ogden Trauma Center.”
“There are places I’d rather be but that’s good enough for now.” They made their preparations and lifted me onto the gurney. How many times tonight had I been lifted by people who knew I had a broken back and that one slip could cost me dearly? How many times did I give myself over to strangers and put my complete trust in them?
“We’re ready,” Ed said.
“Listen, Ed. Can you take the long way to the ambulance?”
He looked puzzled. “It’s just outside.”
“I need a smoke, Ed. I smoke a pipe. I just need a few puffs.”
“We’re not supposed to.”
“I know.”
When I was wheeled outside. Weak dawn light yawned away the darkness.
Ed pointed ahead and said to his young assistant: “Take him around to the side.”
The assistant stopped pushing me. “For a smoke? That’s against policy. I just tell them no.”
With quiet authority he repeated, “Around to the side.”
Rules are made by people. They’re broken by people, mostly by those with enough life experience and empathy to know when to break rules and why.
I lit my pipe and basked in the gentle buzz.
A few minutes later I was ready for the rest of our journey.
The day had only started.
Home and Healing
After two days in the hospital we are home. I’m encased in a back brace which is a hard shell cover that makes me look like a turtle.
I will wear it 24/7 for three months.
It took me a few days to get used to being totally dependent on other people. Our daughter flew in from Alaska and worked pretty much 16 hours a day cleaning, cooking, playing with the dogs, washing clothes. Our son was with us the first three days, giving up a long-awaited camping trip with friends. He’s been here every night.
My university president called me in the hospital and sent her love and support, telling me to take all the time I needed.
Until you’re in a position where you need that phone call and that support, words can’t describe how much it means.
I’ve had cards, calls and emails from the friends and colleagues on campus, the town and from around the country. I never knew how consoling and uplifting those thoughts, prayers and good wishes were until now.
Some friends and a couple reporters (also friends) asked me if the accident, the near-death experience, changed me. Certainly. But more importantly, it has enhanced and given depth to everything I’ve always felt.
I’ve always believed in the importance of family over all else. Our kids, my brothers, my mother, were all here for us. It helped physically in the day-to-day things, but it also helped spiritually.
I’ve always believed in Mansfield University and the borough of Mansfield. The outpouring of love, prayers and thoughts only deepened this feeling.
Professionally, when I look back at all my experiences during the last four weeks –from the airlines to taxis to EMTs, nurses, doctors, and insurance agents– I judge those experiences by the way Leigh and I were treated, the human interactions. No matter where these people were on the food chain, they represented their companies. I never once saw an administrator. Transpose that to a college campus and you have a lot of answers to questions about PR, marketing, recruiting, alumni relations. It’s all about human interaction, professionalism, sincerity, caring. . . .
* * *
Writing has been my life.
Writing this blog has been a way of sharing an experience, which is, of course, therapy. So you have been an important part of my healing. I do not say this lightly. Every person who has read my posts has contributed to my recovery process.
Life goes on and I can’t begin to tell you how much that phrase means to me.