Monday, May 3, 2010

Breaking in traffic...I iz doing it wrong.

I've been driving, oh, about 10 years now. The first three of those were hell. Not for me really, but for my dad & a guy named Sam. You see, Sam is our insurance agent. My dad has dealt with Sam since he could drive himself. Sam & my dad got to know each other really well those first couple years I drove.

You see, there are various things I seem to attract...idiots, cats, & bad drivers. When I started driving, within the first 3 years or so, I should have just entered myself into a demolition derby because cars came everywhere to whack me. Counting time my parked car was hit while I was in a Subway or something, I had at least 12 reports to insurance those first few years. From something simple like someone backing into me at the dentist office while I was getting a cleaning to that doctor who rear ended me at a red light, sending my 3 day old new car into the car in front of me, causing a 4 car pile up.

Sam is a patient man. Sam dealt with my crazy grandma who use to see dust coming through her vents & eating the paint off her walls. She'd call the man all hours to yell at him that her house was melting.

Patient man.

But even Sam got tired of me. My dad was so excited for my 21st birthday. Sure, I could go get plastered & he couldn't stop me, but he didn't care. I remember the night before my birthday seeing the insurance policy at the phone, he was calling as soon as he got up. You see, at 21 I no longer needed insurance, I could drive his car as just a registered driver. And Sam was happy because he stopped getting calls about me eventually. My last car accident, that whole doctor rear ending story, was in October 2002. I've not had a car accident of any kind in 7 1/2 years.

Shit. Can't say that anymore.

And what better time to have a car accident than when you're 7 1/2 months pregnant with your post dead baby baby, who you're scared of killing anyway?

Friday, it was a good day.

As I drove home alone with kitten formula (don't ask), I followed a truck. A truck that drove kinda dumb. She liked sudden stops when there was no reason to stop. Eventually, we separated & I thought life would be fine.

The next time I saw her was when I slammed on my brakes after she slammed hers on & my car slid into her rear end as I heard a love "crunch" sound.

We went through a red light. Traffic is backed up because it always is in this area. For some reason, she stopped at the next line of slowly moving traffic but instead of coming to a slow, normal stop, she decided to just STOP. Which is fine & well, I stopped, too. But I slid. Looking back, I should have just hit her because I sped up when I slammed on my breaks upon realizing that we were all too close for her to totally stop that fast.

As the crunch occurred, I braced myself for my rear end to get hit, but thankfully the folks behind me were able to stop just in time. Seriously, I looked in my mirror & the woman behind me you could tell was shocked & happy she'd barely avoided hitting me.

In the impact, everything in my purse went flying, I'm crying because I just wrecked my car & killed my baby all in a 30 second period outside of the local buffet restaurant. I start looking for my phone to call the cops, Adam, & my parents house since I'd just dropped Jules off while I ran out to the pet store. I look up & realize the truck was gone. It had driven off like nothing happened. She's way up the road, before I see her reverse lights on & she's backing up. She backs up, but she was still like 3 car lengths at least in front of me. As I still look for my phone I see that she's staring at me in her mirror. I'm thinking, "shit, this lady is going to kick my ass or something" because she's just staring, nothing else. I'm not getting out of my car in the busy road or to let her kick my ass before I call the cops, so I stay in my car & finally find my phone after less than a minute, but felt like 10. When she sees me on my phone, she gets out of the truck & comes back my way. She started to ask, "are you call..." but I cut her off & told her I was calling the cops. She just nodded & went back to her truck. Local 911 finally answers, I tell them I've been in an accident, what the cars are, where we are at, & when she ask if anyone is hurt I tell her I don't think so but I am 7 1/2 months pregnant. This, my friends, gets you quite the first response I find out later.

A cop comes by in enough time for me to call Adam at work & tell him he needs to come get me because I know I'm going to have to go to the hospital. He pulls up to the truck, says stuff, then pulls up to my car & ask if I'm alright, I tell him I'm the pregnant one, he asked if I was alright to drive, I told him yes, & he told me to go up to the buffet restaurant. OK, fine. I drive down the road a few feet where I can turn around. During this time, I call my OB's office. While I'm on holding waiting for a nurse, I can see the woman in the truck going way further down the road. I see her pull off & kinda behind a gas station & park. I think it's weird, very weird. She actually doesn't come to where the cop told her to go until about 10 minutes later.

As I get out of my car, I look at the damage on my car. I'm thinking I didn't hit her going very fast, so it can't be that bad.

I no longer have a front end.

Well, I do, but it's not where it should be. My hood is bent up, one side worse than the other, my fenders are bent where the headlights went back into them, my VW symbol is just no where to be found at that time, & the grill thing between my bumper & hood is bent up. Large chunks of paint are gone from my hood & bumper.

I hear the cop go, "what is this...?" & look up. Three ambulances. Three. And a supervisor in an SUV. Um, wow. They ask, "are you the pregnant one?" which is funny considering I was still the only person there. They take me in & check my BP, heart rate, & oxygen levels...all things I'm not concerned about. I was in too much shock to blurt it out, but I was thinking, "don't you people have a doppler or something to make sure the baby isn't dead?" They offered to take me to the hospital, but already knowing that just that 3 minute check was going to cost me about $800, I decided I didn't really want to pay mileage to the hospital as well, so I'd just let Adam take me.

Adam is there right around the same time the woman I whacked gets there. A new cop, who looks like a 70's porn star, is now on the case. He tells me she's not interested in doing anything about getting hit so he's not going to do a report since it'd just be a report that said I damaged my car by running into someone. He says to just exchange info. The woman doesn't want to. I insist, but she tells me she's not going to do anything or call anyone about it...on & on & on. I decide her entire reaction to this is insane. She obviously thought about leaving after I hit her, she pulled behind a gas station knowing where the cop said to go & didn't come for like 10 minutes, & now she doesn't even want to do any reports to info. And I whacked her. The cop didn't even check our ID's to make sure we had them or to make sure we weren't wanted for murder somewhere, I'm guessing because before I was out of the ambulance she'd already insisted they not do anything.

So I've decided that I rear ended a serial killer who was on the run.

I mean seriously, how do you have an accident & not even check ID's? What the hell?

Adam & I load up & head to my favorite place on earth...Cabell Huntington Hospital.

Click the link if you want to see some of the fun times I've had with these people.

I go to register...I know if I don't I'll not be seen. The woman is taking my info as another employee comes up & starts helping other people. The catch? She's not using any of the 5 other computers there...she's having the woman whose using her computer to check me in log out of checking me in to look up info for other people. As I stand there...pregnant, just in a car accident, there on doctors orders. Adam loudly comments that "gee, I hope as we're standing here there is nothing wrong with our baby" & I start commenting on the hospitals liability insurance policy. I eventually get asked questions like, "did this happen today?" I keep my snarky answers to myself until she asked, "how did the accident happen?" I know they need this info, but never once did they ask anything to try to confirm the health of my baby. They were correcting my mailing address & phone number & setting up another womans MRI appointment, while I stand there not feeling my baby move. To me, all of this is info they can ask me after I get upstairs to OB. I blurt out, "I...was in a car...that hit another car." At the end, she ask if I want to walk up or wait for her to find a wheelchair & someone to take me. I tell her me walking would be faster than her finding someone & start on my adventure.

I cringed as I walked these halls. I cringed even more as I walked up to the OB window. If she told me I had to wait or something else, I think I would have choked her. But thankfully, she told me to come back & what room we were going to.

I was laid down & left for 20 minutes.

No, I wasn't hooked to anything, I wasn't asked any questions...nothing. I lay there while she "gets paperwork." For 20 minutes. Over actually. The only thing I'd been asked was if I was bleeding, I told her not that I knew of. Again, no question of if I was having contractions, pain, or feeling the baby move. No checking for the baby. Nothing. Laid down on a bed beside a monitor that wasn't on. Adam & I continue to be in shock. Finally a nurse comes in, asking me the same questions I'd already went through down stairs. Oh, but she did ask what pregnancy this was. And she asked how many kids I had. I stared at her, pondering. She guessed the number that correlated with my pregnancies. I stared at her, this time confused & pondering. They really should ask "living children" then I wouldn't feel so bad naming a number one less than I have. When she goes down one, she continues to write that I had a miscarriage to which I always speak up with the lovely news of "no, I had a full term stillbirth." She cringed as well, now understanding my issue with the numbers. She finally goes to hook me up, only to realize she has no little monitors to stick on me. She goes to find some, I look at Adam like "is this really happening?"

Obviously baby had a heartbeat. If not, this post would start out totally different, like as someone posting about me being admitted to a local mental hospital. But I find it insane that I come in with doctor orders telling me I need monitored, been in a car accident, & I've had to wait 45 minutes since getting there for anyone to even listen to a heartbeat.

After I'm hooked up & all is going well, I send Adam home to take care of the dogs, who I'd left running free in the house since I was just going to be gone a short time, feed the kittens, & he was going to run by his work to do whatever teachers do.

I get bored. So I take pictures. Yay, phone camera. You know you love it.

After looking around this ugly room, I"m confused by something.

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A flashlight.

Do I even want to know why? Are they so broke over there from their ugly paint that they can't afford real lights for exams or births? The doctor has to hold a light in his mouth or something?

Then I saw this little sign on the bathroom door.

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In case you can't read it, it's a list telling you what is OK to ask. I personally took offense to this & considered writing a letter to post along with it, letting everyone know that it's their health & body, so they can ask ANYTHING. You don't need to check a list to ask. Just do it, peeps.

I sit (well, lay) there with my juice.

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I hate juice in those cups. I'm not sure why, but they just seem icky & germy. I always hated those in school, so I don't like them as an adult. But the juice is helped to get the baby moving (since they didn't offer me a coke like I really would have liked at that moment), so I could push this thing.

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That's a button. Sadly, it's not so I can buzz in & win money, it's to push when I feel the baby move so it can mark on the monitor & they can see how his heart reactions to his movement. Personally I hate the pressure these things put on me. Sometimes I'm not sure if some things count as actual movement. Or I worry I'm too slow with my pushing. I watch my monitor.

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I miss those days where there would be a little print out. I don't like everything on earth coming up on a computer screen.

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The paper is there, just waiting to be used.

I watched Lets Make a Deal on TV.

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I wanted to get a picture of Wayne Brady on the screen to show what I was watching, but that bastard kept going off screen.

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I have about 5 of these on my phone. But finally, I manged to do a good job.

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During all of this fun, a vampire came in. Well, a lab tech. She took my blood, but it felt & looks like she chewed through my arm to get it to bleed. I love how some people manage to make me walk around looking like a heroin addict. And that tape they use to stick gauze on is a hit or miss for me, because sometimes it doesn't do anything & other times it gives me some sort of rash. This is one of those times I ended up with a rash. Thankfully I took the tape off early, so I didn't end up with a huge eyesore. Minus that whole "looks like I shoot up heroin" thing. I guess I should mention that, but I'm use to being ignored about things. I took me years of fighting rashes when given amoxicillin drugs before people started listing to me & stopped telling me I had to take them. The final straw was a doctor laughing in my face over my petty allergy reaction & telling me it wasn't a big enough deal. I had a rash over a decent part of my body for a fun 6 weeks after that dosage. I dared anyone to tell me I could only have amoxicillin again after that even.

Yes, I've always had bad experiences with doctors & hospital.

Anyway, Wayne Brady isn't that great, but the only other view I had was this.

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Look close for the stretch marks up top. Joel gets credit for those. Jules gets credit for all the low ones I have. I always had this fear of Freddy Kruger, so I think my children decided to make me look as though I was attacked by him in my dreams. Hell, maybe I was attacked by him in my dreams & I just thought they were stretch marks when really they were fight scars.

Too bad my brakes aren't as good as my imagination.

Eventually the nurse came in & told me I was free to go, I was there for around 2 1/2 hours actually getting monitored. I assume my test came back fine, I didn't ask because I'm dumb but I suppose it's pretty clear that if they weren't I wouldn't be free. Apparently they didn't type my blood (yes, seriously) so thankfully I knew my blood type or I guess I would have had to get another blood draw & wait on those results.

We unhooked me (yes, we as in Adam & myself) & went on our way.

I hate this thing.

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It's in the hospital parking lot. I find it creepy. Always have, always will. Opinions?

After that, we loaded up in the husband car & went back to get mine, which was still parked near the accident scene. I then took these pictures.

This is the good side of my car.

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This is the worse side of my car.

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This is what is left of my VW symbol that Adam pulled out from who knows where & my sad dirty hood.

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Of course, dirty is the least of it's worries. The bright side is that when it's repaired, it will be washed. So finally, my car will get washed. Woohoo!

Here is my favorite...

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A bump & a dent. A picture of The Blair & his first car accident. One for the baby book...you know, if I was actually one of those concerned people who actually kept up with baby books.

And that's what I've dealt with, which had kept me from getting my cake. Tomorrow, we shall try again. I deserve cake after this. And, you know, driving lessons.

4 comments:

  1. So sorry about the accident Jessi! Glad you and baby are okay and no one was hurt.

    PS. That statue? Way creepy! and really strange too

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  2. You sure do deserve cake! I am glad all is well with Blair. Once again you remind me how incompetent the people at Cabell is.

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  3. dorothygaleislostMay 4, 2010 at 12:24 PM

    Oh - you poor thing. This just makes me sick to my stomach. Part of me thinks DB moms should be allowed to walk around with a metal or some kind of hat when we go to doctor's appointments / hospitals... so they know right off the bat what they are dealing with (since it's obvious that no one seems to give a damn about asking the right questions)... I have been quite tempted to contact the nursing program at my alma mater to talk to an OB class about proper DB communication. Okay - stepping down from the soap box.

    Just know I am very happy you and Blair are fine! :o)

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  4. I'm glad that you both are ok!! That one lady in the truck sounds fishy. Something was def up!

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