My parents always told me that it would not be good to brag about something if I was not really extraordinary in it. The advice kept me humble and down to earth, and since then, that has been the way I have lived my life. So when I say that, I hope you believe me: I're an expert on returning from death - because when I was 24, I was overtaken by 8 wheels of an 18-wheel truck.
It happened early on an autumn morning. I had ridden the bike to burn some calories from a weekend during which I had overdosed on food. It was a beautiful, bright and fresh breakfast. The leaves on my block in Brooklyn had just started to turn yellow. I was finishing the trip when I saw the sun starting to rise over the brick industrial buildings on a street near my apartment. I thought catching the dawn would make breakfast incredibly perfect.
I was looking towards him when I stopped at a red light and did not pay much attention to the truck next to me. The driver had not pressed the return signal and I had signaled that I was returning. I was sure he was aware of me.
I took the wide and slower turn and then noticed that the truck was not going straight. He was taking the turn and our roads would collide. Before I could record what was happening, I felt like I was crashing and found myself leaning under the first four wheels of the truck. I heard my bones breaking and saw tires spin over my body. I kept my eyes as the other set of wheels passed in the middle of me, already crushed. I was too terrified to close my eyes.
The mind is a miracle organ. My mind went into full psychological triage mode. I thought I could not close my eyes, because if I did, then somehow I would fall into a deep darkness where I would have no control. So I kept them open. I also remembered my mom's cell phone number and my house number so well that bystanders who had witnessed the accident could call my parents.
But the most incredible thing that came to my mind was to remember something that my close friend, who is a nurse, had told me: that if I ever needed an ambulance and the nearest hospital was not very specialized, I I had the rights of a patient and could ask to be taken elsewhere.
When ambulance people arrived, they found themselves talking to a woman with traces of tires on her belly asking her not to go to the nearest hospital, but instead to the best hospital. I watched as they stared at each other stunned, sure I was going to die before I went to any hospital. But I was persistent. My brain wanted my body to live and was willing to put pressure on me to accomplish this.
Opposing them, I remained conscious during the ambulance trip to the “best” hospital. I asked the nearest doctor if I was going to die. She looked at me sadly and said the situation did not look good, but she would try.
I'm not sure why my body did not surrender at that moment. Or in all the moments that followed during the 10 hour operation I spent. Surprisingly, he did not. Although it was too close to surrender.
I was given 8 bags of blood, but my blood did not clot, so the bleeding continued. The doctors told my family that if the blood clot did not start within the next hour, they would have to let me die. Amazingly with 15 minutes left until my real “deadline”, the blood clot started.
When I woke up from the operation, life was unknown to me. I had broken all the ribs, I had broken the pelvis in five places, I had lung damage and a hole in the bladder. I could not feel it from my chest and the bike had created a hole in the side of my abdomen.
I stayed two months in the hospital, working to heal the broken body. When I left the hospital under the care of my parents, I stayed in the room where I grew up sleeping in the rented hospital bed for another four months. I did intensive physical therapy every day. After an incredible workout and thanks to endless patience from friends and family, I finally walked myself eight months after the accident.
In the early stages of healing, I spent most of my time clinging to the person I had been before the collision, trying so hard to become her again. But at one point, I realized she no longer existed. I was not that carefree 24-year-old without realizing how challenging and precious my life was.
This was the moment when I stopped focusing on the parts of my life I had lost and began to focus on what I had gained: a deep gratitude for a life I almost never had a chance to live. I began to feel moments of joy, like when my mom pulled me into a wheelchair in the backyard, so I could feel the first hairs of winter snow falling on my tongue; or the day my feet hit the floor for the first time in weeks. The beauty of these little moments would have lost me just a few months ago.
I do not call myself an expert on survival not only because my body found a way to keep itself alive - but also because I struggled to bring my life from a broken place to a place of joy. To me, surviving is not just not dying. It is also about giving yourself the gift of truly living.
- Written by Katie McKenna, author of "How to Get Run Over By a Truck".
