I'm not sure what was going on today but, there were multiple times I saw a fire truck with their lights and sirens blaring and all. We live fairly close to a fire station so, it's common to hear one every couple of nights. But today I've probably seen or heard at least 4. I find myself dreamily watching the trucks speed by while I try to catch a glimpse of a dude in uniform. Oh yeah.....
You see, I'm slightly obsessed with fire fighters. I know, it's not original. Most women are. But for me, you could probably take any ordinary looking gentleman, put him in those oversized yellow pants with the suspenders and navy blue t-shirt, and I would swoon. I've been known, a time or two, to follow a truck into the Safeway parking lot. I'll wait (pretending to text on my phone) for the men to file out of the truck and into the store to do their shopping, and then follow them in soon after. I try to be subtle but I'm certain there have been a few times one of the guys saw me lurking about. How embarrassing.
My obsession started on a warm sunny day, way back in 1997. I was 23 and living in Portland at the time, but I decided to fly back to Salt Lake City to visit some family and friends. I had been in town for less than 24 hours when my Mom received a sad call that my Great-Aunt Helen had passed away.
My Mom and Dad decided they wanted to drive over to Aunt Helen's house to give our condolences to her children and grandchildren. I felt I needed to be supportive, so I went with them.
Mom decided to drive (unusual for my parents). Dad was in the passenger seat, and I was in the back seat behind Dad. Mind you, this was back in the 1990's where the auto industry decided it was a great idea to manufacture cars that had those automatic shoulder strap seat belts. You know the ones.... The minute you open or close the door your seat belt would move up or down along the edge of the window, usually when you weren't expecting it and it caught your head at a weird angle and sometimes you would get smacked in the face if you weren't careful. Yeah, those ones. They basically force you to wear a seat belt. Dad was notorious (still is) about not wearing his seat belt. No amount of pleading, or reasoning with him would make him wear one, so we were actually grateful for these automatic straps. Anything is better than nothing, right?
I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was wearing a light colored t-shirt, Levi's shorts and Keds sneakers, sans socks. I noticed an oncoming car moving toward the middle of the road with it's turn signal blinking to turn left. I remember thinking, "That car looks like it's going to try to turn in front of us." I remember opening my mouth to warn my Mom. And that's when it happened. The car turned directly into our path.
My Mom didn't have any time to react, and we hit the other car directly on their passenger side, which caused them to start spinning across the road. The impact forced my right leg underneath the seat in front of me. My Mom hit the brakes, and time stood still. There was the initial horrific sound of metal scraping against metal and glass breaking. Then there was a millisecond of silence. In that moment, I could see my Mom's arms outstretched in front of her, elbows locked, hands at 10 and 2, gripping the steering wheel. I saw my leg under Dad's seat at an angle I was certain could not be achieved without breaking a bone. I could hear my Dad's short but eerie grunt as the impact pushed all of the air out of his lungs. I could see the other car, still spinning, the top of a child's head sitting in the passenger seat. The world around me felt different. Dream like. This can't be happening. And then: Reality set in. I started screaming. This was real. There was searing pain in my lower right leg and it hurt SO MUCH. . We eventually came to a stop. That's when I heard my Dad shouting, "My chest...my chest..I can't breath..." and I could hear the strain in his voice. My Dad didn't secure the lap belt, so the shoulder seat belt forced all of the impact into his chest. The pain in my leg vanished. I was certain my Dad was having a heart attack. I opened my door, stumbled out, and tried to open my Dad's door. But it was stuck. I could see him through the window, grabbing his chest in agony. I was helpless. What a horrible feeling that is. I kept pulling on the handle, but it wouldn't budge. I resorted to banging my fists on the window. I remember thinking, "How am I going to get him out through the window by myself?". I never realized what the phrase, "My life flashed before my eyes.." really meant until that moment. I tried to imagine how I was ever going to be ok with Dad gone. That's when I turned around and saw...them.
You know that opening scene on Baywatch where the women are in their bathing suits, holding their life-saving floater things... running in slow motion? Well, that's what I saw. But instead of scantily clad women in bathing suits, I saw firefighters with first aide kits. Our accident happened directly in front of a fire station. Hey guys: If any of you plan on getting into a car crash at any point, I highly suggest you do it in front of a fire station.
Back to the glorious firemen running in slow motion toward me. I would guess there were about 20 of them. My heroes. I started screaming, "Help! My Dad is having a heart attack!" A couple of the fire fighters started trying to pry Dad's door open, while a couple others grabbed me, and quickly but gently set me down in the back seat and started to evaluate me. Taking my vitals, looking at my leg, (which had started to THROB once again), asking me questions to check for any head or brain injury. "What's your name? What day of the week is it? Who's the current President of the United States?" Yes, they really asked me that question. I was trying to focus on what was happening with my Dad in the front seat, and I was crying, trying to keep myself from becoming hysterical. Dad's door had apparently been forced open and they were helping him. I kept asking, "Is my Dad ok? Is he going to be ok? He needs to go to the hospital!" I was so scared. And I was in pain. I watched the firefighter's stay calm but focused as they worked efficiently on stabilizing Dad, talking to him and trying to help him breath. The men were trained for this. They knew exactly what to do. They reassured me everything was going to be ok. They would make sure of it. And I was smitten.
They stayed with us until the paramedics arrived. I watched as they helped the paramedics carefully put my Dad on the gurney. I watched them as they comforted my Mom, letting her know it wasn't her fault. It was going to be ok. Dad was going to be fine.
And he was. He ended up NOT having a heart attack. We were all taken to the hospital. Dad bruised his chest and the muscles around his heart but, he was otherwise fine. My leg wasn't broken but I had one HELL of a hematoma. It was the size of a baseball. It turned a deep purple almost instantly. Gosh it was ugly. And it stayed ugly for a long time, which sucked because it was the middle of summer and every time I wore shorts, that horrible bruise was the first thing people noticed. Mom broke her little toe. We later teased her about it because compared to my ugly leg and Dad's pseudo heart attack, listening to her complain about her little toe pain seemed to pale in comparison. The people in the other car ended up having some minor injuries as well. It was obviously scary, but everyone walked away safe.
I had a newfound admiration for firefighters. I was experiencing, what I thought to be at the time, one of the worst moments of my life, and then I turned around to see 20 or so very handsome and heroic men running toward me. It's something I think about often. And on some small demented level...I remember that day being kind of... magical.
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