Moment 8
When I was eleven years old I was hit by a car. It was at the intersection of two very busy streets near my home. My brother and I were on our way to the fireworks stand in the parking lot of the strip-mall. It would be our last purchase before the Fourth of July. We were on our bicycles, my brother ahead of me. I followed him across the street. I was nearly to the other side when I woke up laying on my back with a group of people around me. They were holding my severely cut leg up to slow the bleeding. I am told that my brother ran out to help me, and I knocked him down (something I would normally never be able to do as he was two years older than me) and ran to the side-walk and laid down. It seems that upon impact with the car I flew through the air and landed on my head. I had a large scrape on my forehead. I was told that the car (a Volkswagen Beetle) fared quite badly, though I never actually saw it. I did get to see my tibia, though. My Mom arrived on scene before the ambulance did. On the trip to the hospital the ambulance did not turn on its siren, and that bothered me. I guess I was better off than I thought. Once arriving there I sat for about three hours in the ER. The nurses would stop by and peak under the dressing to see my leg. When they finally got around to me they spent hours sewing me up (about 150 stitches). I did not cut any muscles or major blood vessels, or break any bones. I presume I had a concussion since I was unconscious for a while, so this whole tale might just be a tall tale. I was walking tentatively again after about three weeks of bed rest. I was paid $1200 by the insurance company of the lady who hit me. That money funded me through junior high and high school. I also got a new bike for Christmas. Even though I nearly died, it was far from the worst moment of my life.
Me when I first got my bike
Me on my replacement bike