Hit me!

I never crossed the bridge today.
On these summer mornings, I particularly relish crossing the Mississippi River as I head into the station. When I'm in the middle of the bridge, suspended over the water, I make sure that my head swivels from right to left, north to south, to take in the majestic vision of that storied ribbon of water.
Too often on my morning commute in the past, I would arrive at the parking lot at work with no memory of making the drive--I had coasted in on autopilot.
Right now, I'm working on and learning to be 'more present' in my every moment...to be less distracted, to appreciate each task for the pleasure in it, to give up the idea that multi-tasking is a worthy, efficient accomplishment.
I'm changing. This is good.
I want to be more alive in my own life, less distracted by the illusion of busy-ness and productivity. I want to slow down and stop coasting on autopilot.
I've only been back at work for two days, so I'm hardly stuck in the old routine. And I really, really want to be back on the air. The contemplative cocoon I've spun for myself to inhaibt in the days since surgery has served me well, but at some point, this extrovert can have too much silence and a good thang could go bad. I needed very much to return to my familiar post and the work that I love so much. I needed the stimulation and laughter that I find in the broadcast booth. I was so content, being back in my chair and on the air on Monday and Tuesday. I found it comforting that, in the midst of so much change, my ability to talk on the radio has remained a constant.
But right now, the only way I can do my work is to work differently. My post surgery fatigue demands that I show up later, leave earlier, let the show flow with less preparation. Be more myself, more spontaneous. Like its host, the program is in transition.
As part of my determined effort to work less and sleep more, I now leave for the office at 8:00 am--I used to take off at 6:00. This time switch gets me into the thick of rush hour traffic for the first time in years.
I felt particularly cheerful this morning as I walked out my back door, coffee in hand. I noticed a squirrel scampering on my back fence, admired the purple petunias spilling out of the clay pots on my patio. I turned the key, popped the car into reverse and tuned into Ian without Margery. Ah. Feeling centered and content, I turned out of my driveway and soon was heading north on 35W.
As I approached the turn from 35 to eastbound 94, I noticed the red brake lights on the car in front of me. I braked.
Fortunately, I was not going too fast, not tailing too closely.
Unfortunately, the car behind me WAS going too fast, WAS tailing too closely.
My eyes flicked to my rearview mirror. In slow motion, I saw the vehicle behind me--which I swear looked more imposing than one of those monster trucks with the two-story-tall wheels--looming large.
I'm about to be rear-ended, I thought. My mind froze around one word. I braced myself and muttered, "Oh, heavens to Betsy!"
(Actually, I didn't mention heaven or Betsy. I know there are words that broadcasters who value their jobs do not use on the airwaves. I don't know if it's dangerous to use those words in a blog that appears on a broadcast website. I'm not taking any chances...a prudent policy seems to be: if you can't say it on the air, best not write it on the blog.)
The huge car--which later shrunk to being a cherry red Nissan--hit me. Hard.
I pulled over to the shoulder of the freeway and cautiously stepped out of my car. The other driver--a young woman--was mashed behind her inflated airbag. Her front bumper was in the road, her hood was crumpled, and I could hear a hissing-gurgling coming from the exposed engine.
The damage to my car was minor in comparison--a shredded back bumper and dented hatch.
The Highway Helper came arrived with the orange cones. The other driver got her car on the shoulder of the road. She squeezed out of her car, realized she was unharmed and began crying. She was trembling too hard to write down her insurance information for me. The patrol officer showed up with his clipboard. The tow truck arrived to haul the other car away. I was able to drive my car home.
I called Alexis, told her I wouldn't be in to do the show, and headed home.
I've spent the rest of the day seeing doctors.
Checking in with receptionists, filling out medical forms and flipping through magazines in medical waiting rooms is nothing out of the ordinary for me these days, but today the appointments were all 'squeezes,' doctors pushing their schedules around to accomodate me.
When my car was struck, I was thrown hard against my seat belt. I immediately got a headache and felt a very slight twinge in my shoulder and lower back. Although I did not have a feeling of dread or true concern about any of this, I'm totally freaked out about a)my body and b)my bad luck with my health right now.
I called my primary care physician who recommended that I make immediate appointments with my plastic surgeon and a neurologist.
The plastic surgeon checked my incisions and my implant. (Still feels mighty wierd to write that word and know that it applies to moi!) Both were determined to be intact. Good. The neurologist squeezed my shoulders, tapped my hands with a silver hammer, passed a cylinder in front of my face to watch my eyes track it. He, too, pronounced me fine. Good again!
Call me shaken, not stirred.
All's well that ends well, as my mother says.
But I'm hung up on that instant when I looked in my rear view mirror. When I knew I was going to be hit--but just didn't know how hard, with what force and velocity. I didn't know if I would shoot through my windshield, or if my car would be struck so that it would spin into the adjacent lane, just as a multi-ton 18-wheeler was bearing down.
There was time for one word to form in my brain, to bubble up from my place of deepest fear. The word was "Please."
Please let me live.
Yes, I'm exhausted right now. It's been a day of reading off claim numbers, accident reports and rushing to doctor's offices. I've talked to several claim agents at several insuance agencies. I took my car to a repair shop and learned that it will take four days to repair what looks like a coupla dents to me.
A busy, tedious, frustrating, exhausting day.
But I'm not bitchin.
My life could have ended today. Right now, I could be in a hospital with critical injuries. In a brief second, my future could have been altered forever. Once again.
But it didn't.
I didn't cross the river today. But I'll do it tomorrow.
"Please" isn't much of a prayer, but it was all I had time for. It was a prayer that was heard and heeded. For those of you who have been praying for me--thanks. The spillover from your prayers might have saved me this morning.