What Happened to You?

What happened to you?  This is probably the question I have been asked most frequently. People are mostly curious, but I’m convinced that something in our human nature thrives on knowing all the gory details. Very few seem to be satisfied with the simple answer.  

I was in a car accident.  

They always want to know more. This is what happened…  

It was Easter Monday – 13^th April 1998. We were driving home from a family holiday in the Eastern Cape. It was a long drive – close to 14 hours.  

We purposefully stuck to the “back” routes, as the Easter weekend is notorious for a high incidence of car accidents due to the large volumes of traffic on our roads. Although these rural roads are often narrow, badly marked and full of potholes, there is often less traffic, which can decrease traveling time significantly. With a 10-month-old baby and our dog in the car, we wanted the trip to go as quickly and smoothly as possible.  

With just over two hours to go, we were approaching a small farming town called Standerton. Our son Chad became extremely distressed – he had a dirty nappy and wanted to be free of his baby-safe car chair. I have always been a bit paranoid about the use of seat belts – we never drove anywhere without being buckled-in. After a quick discussion with my husband, we decided not to stop at that point. We were traveling along an isolated country road and felt a little vulnerable. Unfortunately, due to the high crime rate in our beautiful country, we cannot just stop alongside the road for any reason. We decided to push through to Standerton, where Chad and Rocky (the dog) could both receive the attention they needed.  It would be our last stop to fill up with fuel, stretch legs and then we would be almost home.  

After a while I could take Chad’s heart-wrenching sobs no longer. So I unbuckled my seatbelt and climbed over the front seat into the back to comfort him. But he screamed even louder when he realized that I wasn’t going to pick him up. I told my husband that I would quickly change Chad’s nappy. I picked him up and held him to me tightly. His exhausted little body immediately relaxed, and instantly he stopped crying. I lay him down gently on the seat right next to Rocky.  

Seconds later, my husband yelled at me to grab hold of Chad.  He thought that the car in front of us had burst its tyre. It slammed on brakes and came to a sudden halt. I turned to see what was happening. I remember seeing a blue car directly in front of us. There seemed to be a cloud of dust or smoke surrounding it. Stones or bits of tar were flying up onto our windscreen. Instinctively I turned back to grab hold of Chad. He had flipped over on his tummy and was crawling away. I made a desperate attempt to grab hold of his foot. He was too fast. I lost my balance as my husband lost control of the car. Our Land Rover swerved across the path of the oncoming traffic, unbelievably avoiding a head-on collision, and overturned, landing on its roof. In the process I hit my head.  

Fortunately I never lost consciousness. I was aware of everything going on around me. I don’t remember feeling any pain. I was lying flat on my back. I could not move.   

I watched as my arm fell limply from above my head into my lap. I realized immediately that I had broken my neck. I just knew. I heard Chad crying. I couldn’t turn my head to find him.      

Shouting, my husband asked if I was alright. I told him that I had broken my neck. I pleaded with him to find Chad. He cursed as he unbuckled his seat belt and climbed out of the car.  

Chad’s toys and other personal items were lying strewn all over. I could hear different voices – people had kindly stopped to help. I was frantically listening for any sign of Chad. Even after my husband assured me that he had found Chad and that he was fine, I insisted on seeing him myself.    

Chad was wide-eyed but quiet. His face was tear-stained. Thank God he was okay.  

Miraculously, nobody else was hurt. Even Rocky was still wagging his tail.  

I later learned that my husband had handed Chad over to a young lady who had stopped at the scene of the accident. She apparently had to call her mother and ask her how to change a baby’s nappy. Today she is married, with children of her own.  

I started having difficulty breathing. Waiting for the ambulance to arrive felt like an eternity. I panicked. I have always feared suffocation as a means of death. I made my husband promise that I would not be kept alive by machines, and that if I died he would take good care of our son.   

In the midst of this chaos, I asked him to remove my rings and other jewellery. I suddenly remembered a ‘varsity’ friend telling me how the paramedics had tried to steal her jewellery at the scene of her accident. Isn’t it amazing: I was about to entrust my life to the paramedics, but I wouldn’t trust them with my jewellery! 

I felt desperate by the time the paramedics arrived. They immediately gave me oxygen. I felt the air flowing into my lungs. A little relief – finally!  This helped to calm me.   

Weeks later, I learned the reasons for my struggling to breathe. Besides the fact that my chest muscles, along with the rest of my body, were immediately paralysed, there was a lot of swelling in my neck which was constricting the supply of blood and oxygen – making me feel as if somebody was literally strangling me to death.    

After securing my neck in a neckbrace, I was loaded into the ambulance by the paramedics who had also scolded me for moving my head. I was trying to find Chad.  

My husband grabbed Chad and my handbag and jumped into the back of the ambulance with me. Suddenly I thought of Rocky. My husband set my mind at rest. Someone at the scene of the accident had volunteered to bring our luggage and our dog to the hospital. I remember thinking that there are such kind people in this world.  

Just as a matter of interest, the driver of the vehicle who caused the accident ran away from the scene, leaving his shocked passenger to give statements to the police.  Besides this vehicle being completely unroadworthy, it was suspected that the driver had been drinking, because his car was scattered with many empty and half-filled beer bottles. But unfortunately, it was never proven.  

The trip in the ambulance was bumpy and uncomfortable. My heart broke as Chad sat on his dad’s lap and looked down on me with big, bewildered eyes. All I wanted to do was take him in my arms, hold him and tell him that everything would be alright. At that moment, I did not feel frightened for myself. I was more concerned about Chad. I was aware that it was almost time for his bottle. I asked his dad to take care of this as soon as we got to the hospital. I did not realize then what a gift this strong maternal instinct was, or what a great asset it would be for the rest of my life – how important it would become for my survival, both physically and emotionally.  

The doctor at the hospital who was examining me was young and professional. He was very attractive, had a genuine kindness in his eyes, and had a very caring attitude. Whilst examining me, he tried to sound cheerful. But I could see the sadness in his eyes. Somehow I just knew that he too feared the worst.    

I noticed the doctor pricking my legs with a needle to see if I could feel anything. He kept watching me for a reaction. No words can explain how desperate I was to feel the pain of the needle at that moment – and I hated needles – they terrified me.  A part of me wanted to scream “Ouch!”. I tried to ignore it. I began explaining to my husband how to mix the milk for Chad’s bottle. I could not feel anything, but I shut my eyes hoping that it would all go away. I thought that if I closed my eyes for a few seconds, this whole nightmare would all be over when I opened them again.  

A nurse started cutting my clothes off with a pair of scissors. I was so indignant because they were brand new – a gorgeous pair of shorts and top. These, amongst a few others, were the first new clothes I had bought since Chad’s birth, and here was this nurse just destroying them! She told me gently, and patiently, that I needed to be  X-ray’ed  and so had to remove  my clothes in order to do so.   

They took me off for X-rays. Another doctor asked if I was pregnant. I answered, “No“. I hesitated, “Yes. I might be.  I don’t know“. The doctor frowned at me, looking a little confused, but just continued to prep me for the X-rays. Although we had started trying for another baby, I knew that I wasn’t yet pregnant. But at that moment I so badly wanted to be pregnant so that I didn’t have to be X-rayed to confirm what I already knew. In my mixed-up state of mind, I thought that if they thought I was pregnant they would all leave me alone, allow me to go home, and I could forget this ever happened.  

The next thing my Dad and father-in-law arrived at the hospital. They both smiled and tried to be cheerful, but their eyes told a different story. I could hear them speaking in hushed tones with my husband and the doctor. The Moms were at home, waiting for news. Not long after, Trent and Monica also arrived – my brother and his wife.   

The severity of the situation began sinking in when my brother took my hand in his and looked into my eyes, constantly reassuring me that everything would be alright. “Hey Sis, you’re going to be OK.”  His voice was comforting but strained. He looked tired. I felt so tired too.  

My husband came over. “Trace, we have to get you to Pretoria. The doctors here have neither the experience nor the equipment to deal with this kind of injury. We have two options: we can either air-lift you or take you by ambulance”.  

Although I really couldn’t face the ambulance because it was so bumpy, noisy and uncomfortable, I immediately began to worry about the costs.  But my husband had already made up his mind to have me transported by helicopter. He told me not to worry about the money. The minister from a local Methodist Church had kindly signed surety for the expense of the flight.  

I remember feeling excitement at the prospect of flying in a helicopter for the first time. That feeling was short-lived since they informed me that I would need to be heavily sedated for the trip. So while I was being air-lifted to the Eugene Marais Hospital in Pretoria, the Dads took Chad, Rocky and our luggage back to Nelspruit. Trent and Monica drove my husband through to Pretoria.  

On reaching the hospital in Pretoria, they did an emergency operation, fusing my 4^th and 5^th cervical vertebrae, using bone extracted from my hip. As you probably know, the spine has 7 cervical, 12 thoracic and 5 lumbar vertebrae.   The higher up you injure your spinal cord, the less movement you will have. Every centimeter makes a huge difference. For example, had I injured myself one centimetre lower, I would still be a quadriplegic, but I would probably have enough movement and muscle strength to feed myself, brush my teeth and even drive a specially adapted vehicle with hand controls. On the other hand, if I had injured myself one centimetre higher, I would either be on a permanent ventilator like the late Christopher Reeves after his accident, or dead. 

My eyelids felt heavy as I tried to open them once I regained consciousness. My eyes hurt as I squinted at the bright lights. I opened my eyes slowly and looked straight up at my husband. He was leaning over me with his face close to mine. ”Hey there, Trace“. His voice was quiet and soothing. He looked tired, and was trying hard to conceal his anxiety.   

I was instantly aware of a loud, deep, breathing sound. It sounded as though someone was in a deep sleep. I soon realized that this noise was actually a machine (ventilator) forcing air in and out of my lungs through a pipe fed through my nostrils. My husband must have noticed the panic in my eyes because he immediately told me that the doctors had assured him that the ventilator was only a temporary measure. He obviously knew my fear and my determined wish not to be kept alive artificially. I tried to talk but was unable to, due to the inhibiting pipe bypassing my throat into my lungs.   

I looked up into the face of the man I loved – the father of my child – as he told me gently that I would always be paralysed. The tears rolled down both our cheeks. I lay there, unable to move, unable to speak and unable to breathe on my own. I had never felt so scared in all my life.  

That was the end of life as I knew it. 

On the beach with Chad days before the accident.

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