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What Happened Friday Night...

Friday evening, just before dusk, I stopped along the road at KItuwah (ᎩᏚᏩ) to photograph the Polar Express train I heard approaching. I pulled onto the shoulder, parked, and turned on flashers.

I’d taken several shots as the train passed slowly, standing with the open driver's side door against my back, elbows on the roof, holding the phone. Wait! Was the Fiat moving? Quickly, I sat half-in, half-out of the car to set the emergency brake—I’d forgotten! What happened next is a blur, even now.

I was lying on the wet, grassy shoulder, on my left side, my booted left foot stuck under the car body and the right was twisted back, the boot resting against the driver’s side rear tire.

I realized how close the car and my head were to the road when a car zoomed past. Very close, four feet? Maybe a dozen more cars passed in quick succession. Why was no one was stopping? Couldn’t they see me lying there, clearly in need of help?

I heard myself crying and screaming for help—a loud prayer. Then, “No! No!” as I felt the car roll forward, towards the road and the tire press more tightly against my right boot.

Almost immediately, I heard a vehicle pulling up and saw their headlights. “You need help?”

Jason walked past me and into my line of sight. “Yes! Set the emergency brake! Car's rolling!” He reached over me and into the Fiat to engage the brake.

Jason said he was a paramedic and asked a few questions. Did I pass out? Hit my head? Was my vision blurry? After answering “no” to each, Jason assured me I’d be okay—he’d get me out of this mess and to the ER. He made a quick call to 911.

Before Jason touched me, he asked if I could feel my legs? My feet? Could I move them at all? Yes, I could. “Okay, let’s get you on your feet.”

Jason helped extricate my legs from under the car and asked if I could stand. “Not even on a good day!” I joked. He cupped me under the arms and lifted me upright, holding on until I was steady. "My left ankle may be broken, I said." Jason asked me to sit in the car, legs out, He pushed up the legs of my jeans and removed my boots and socks.

After a quick exam, he said, “I don’t think you have any fractures, but your left ankle and maybe toes are going to swell up and be real sore for a while." The right leg of my jeans was torn below the knee and the leg suffered a nasty scrape. "Wanna go to the ER?" Jason asked. No, I just wanted to get home.

“You’re lucky, It could have been a lot worse.” Jason asked where I lived (“nearby”) and asked if I thought I could drive home safely and take care of myself. I did.

A moment later (it seemed all at once) several EMS and police vehicles appeared, lights flashing, blocking the road. Oh yeah, Jason had called 911. What we didn’t know immediately was that a passing car had called 911 to report a pedestrian hit on the road.

Jason knew everyone and quickly briefed them on the situation as they approached. The paramedics strongly suggested a trip to the ER or at least to let them examine me on their truck, and I resisted. “No, thanks. Jason says I’m good. I just want to get home.”

I couldn’t get away from that scene quickly enough, with all the people, noise and flashing red and blue lights. I signed a release for EMS and asked Jason to please clear a path for me to get on the road. He did and came back, long enough for me to thank him, through tears, and take a picture.

I've been hobbling around, sore and grumpy since the incident, but I made it, thanks to Jason. ❤️

#FediversalPictures