April 9, 2012
By CornStarchAddict GOLD, Rome, Georgia
CornStarchAddict GOLD, Rome, Georgia
10 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive. -Josephine Hart

The sun's rays were still beating down as the ambulance rushed me to the hospital. My voice cracked as I asked the paramedic for more medicine to deal with the aches throbbing throughout my body. Meanwhile, my father attempted to elucidate the situation, barely holding back tears. "She was laying in the driveway sunbathing. I couldn't see her, and she got stuck under the car. My poor baby-" Wracking sobs kept him from finish his sentence. The driver continued to navigate through traffic, callous to the tortured tears of the man who served as the rock of our family. For him, this was only another routine car accident, but for me, the foundation of my world had been demolished.

When van finally pulled up to the doors of the hospital, several doctors who anticipated my arrival dispatched me to the emergency room. A radiologist attempted to obtain x-rays to search for broken bones and internal bleeding. Simultaneously, my siblings and best friend prayed fervently in the waiting room, pleading with God to keep me alive. My parents paced my room, faces in hand,feelings of regret and remorse welling up in their hearts. When the radiologist completed his tests and the doctors had inspected the condition of my wounds, a youthful nurse came to fix my IV, complimenting my nails, which I had painted a pretty coral color that morning. Other nurses arrived, working to clear the blood off of my legs. An hour later, the leading physician clarified the extent of my injuries. My legs were burnt badly, having been scraped on the coarse concrete for almost ten feet, and my shoulder demanded a sling, being badly dislocated. Despite the damage, there was no internal bleeding. The road to recovery would be long, but I would survive.

I was more popular in the hospital than I had been before. My cousins drove directly from South Carolina to see me. My parents' bosses, youth pastor, distant relatives, all frequented my uninviting hospital room. My father and brother competed to bring me the most colossal stuffed animals they could find; immense teddy bears and enormous dogs covered the shelves, jockeying for position among the books, magazines, candy boxes, and other miscellaneous trinkets. Often I had no recollection of the visitors, morphine providing a blissful relief from the itching and pain. I absolved my father of all responsibility for the accident; I never once blamed him. My mother was always a comfort, bringing movies to watch and homemade food to nibble at. My church small group leader, Mrs. Tessie, visited every other day, bearing McDonald's hamburgers to consume during Jeopardy. The love shown to me by strangers and friends ameliorated the healing process; their visits broke up the monotony of the two dismal weeks spent at the hospital.

Two surgeries and numerous physical therapy sessions later, I finally broke free from the hospital. I hobbled along using a walker, only able to walk several feet before needing a rest. The constant stream of visitors continued once I was home. The cheerful faces managed to keep my spirits up. A month later, I endured my first day at a brand new school. My legs were covered in bandages, which sparked unsolicited stares and whispers as I walked down the hallway. Prying students quizzed me about my legs. At first, I simply told the full story, causing either pitying stares or mocking jokes from my insensitive peers. Eventually, I learned to only call it a 'car accident' and ignore any further questions, thus preventing embarassing moments. My more malicious classmates called my legs atrocious and claimed that it was my fault for sunbathing in the driveway; from that point on, I wore only jeans. The forgiving blue demin covered my wounds, allowing me to blend into the crowd. I coveted the time when the probing questions would cease and life would return to normal.

It has been eighteen months since that warm summer day that made my life topsy-turvy. Even today, I recieved unwarranted stares when I wear dresses, and kids remaine insensitively rude. The harshness and misunderstanding of those who mocked me has given me a pessimistic view of the world; now, I am often inclined to see the worst in people. It is those who judge me without knowing me that have had the most negative effect on my life, but the amiable friends and family that upheld me through my darkest times have changed my life in the most positive way conceivable. Those wonderful people taught me to always have a sanguine attitude, no matter the circumstances, and to forgive and forget. Good or bad, these two groups taught me my own strength, which is limitless.

The author's comments:
This story is completely true. It changed my life, leaving behind scars that can never be erased, but looking back, I wouldn't change anything.

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