Misfortune
Jeromy Wensley
©
Copyright 2020 by Jeromy Wensley
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My
cell phone began ringing: “BBBRING---BBBRING---BBBRING.”
I
snagged my cell-phone from the nearby kitchen table and said,
"Hello."
A
loud, electrified, slightly intoxicated Kyle responded, "Jeromy,
I'm having a party at my place tonight; you should take a road trip
home? It is going to be fun; besides that, it is only a few hours of
driving.”
I
replied, “Kyle; wasn't expecting a call from you,” as I
let out a smile because of the excitement in Kyle's tone. "I'm
with a girl right now, so as long as you’re okay with me
bringing her to your party; I’ll come!"
"Yes,
for sure she can come.” Kyle responded, “What does she
look like?"
I
gazed at the Young Woman, tucked the phone near to my mouth and
quietly said, “Never mind; she is right beside me;” I
smirked, then, turned my head to the side and said into the phone,
“Just wait; I’ll ask her if she wants to come with me to
your party.”
I
U-turned my head towards the Young Woman and said, “Do you want
to come to a party in my home town? It’s only a four-hour drive
and my friends are always very good when it comes to a new person.
Plus, it should be lots of fun!”
The
Young Woman replied, "Absolutely, I’ll come to the party
in your home-town with you, Jeromy!"
(It's
a bit of a rarity to find a Young Woman who is willing to go on a
trip with a man who she just met; to-boot, the trip wasn’t
planned. One could even say that this woman had a certain sense of
adventure that was similar to mine).
We
departed the Young Woman’s house, destined for Kyle’s
party in my home-town. I was behind the wheel driving, traveling at
speeds that were well over the speed limit. (Close to 90-miles an
hour, which is a far cry from the legal limit of 55-miles an hour).
Two
hours into our trip; halfway to my home-town and Kyle’s party:
the sun drifted down, and darkness fell upon the rural roads we were
driving on. My visibility of the upcoming road saw: blackness, with a
few etched out tree-tops shadowing in the distance, due to the moon
giving off a slight bit of light. My visibility was not good; but in
truth, it never is while driving in the nighttime hours of that old
single-lane highway to my home town. (Many have said: “The
drive has an eerie feeling.”) I began ascending a steep hill
with a subtle left turn. I arrived at the peak; the road straightened
as it descended. Unexpectedly, a large dark object appeared just
50-feet in front of me. I squinted my eyes, trying to establish a
visual on what the large dark object was; then, a glimpse of a
gigantic moose punched a jolt of terror into my heart.
(With
virtually no time to react, I had one massive problem: The head of
the moose was directly in front of my side of the vehicle and the
moose’s ass was directly in front of the Young Woman's side of
the vehicle. Therefore, my decision as the driver was a critical one:
If I swerve to the left, my life would be insured, but the Young
Woman would surely be mangled with the possibility of death. If I
swerve to the right, the Young Woman’s life would be spared,
and, as for me, quite possibly, I’d be in a pine box in the
days to come.)
Swiftly,
I boomeranged the vehicle to the right, and: ”SMASH,” the
moose’s ass crashed into my side of the car; instantly, I went
unconscious.
I
slowly opened my eyelids, amid the Young Woman shaking my shoulders,
panicking, screeching at me, "Jeromy, Jeromy; wake up. We hit a
moose. I just flagged down a passing vehicle and we are taking you to
the hospital!" The Young Woman’s voice echoed splitters of
remorse.
I
gazed around, not entirely knowing what had happened, where I was, or
what was to come. My eyelids pressed down as if weights were
connected; and suddenly, I went unconscious.
I
awoke in a bed at the Atikokan hospital: The Young Woman sunk her
head to my ear and whispered, "You saved my life, Jeromy. My
shoulder is in a bit of pain from your head ricocheting from the
moose’s ass to my shoulder, but other than that; I’m
fine."
Seconds
later, I faded unconscious.
The
next morning, I came out of unconsciousness: I sat up in the hospital
bed and, wow did I feel mangled. I set my feet on the floor, stood,
and drifted myself to the washroom, dragging my feet; barely able to
lift my head; my vision mangled. (The walk seemed endless). I reached
the inside of the bathroom, halted, and gazed into the mirror to
assess the damage: My one eye was closed shut; my face was riddled
with cuts, bruises, and scars. On top of that, my nose had a golf
ball size bulge in the middle of it, and, my two collar bones were no
longer straight: They had concave hooks in them that looked like they
were about one inch out of place. (Depression now steeped at an
all-time low). Tears of sorrow drifted down my face, embedding wet
marks on my hospital gown. My head sank; I turned and drug my feet
back to my hospital bed, then laid down in the bed.
Ten
minutes later, a Doctor pranced his way into my hospital room and
halted: Little glasses sat at the tip of his nose, and a doctor’s
chart lay dormant in his right hand. He lifted his doctor’s
chart, gazed at it; paused for a moment, then, looked at me and said,
"Last night’s nurse said you were fading in and out of
consciousness;” the Doctor paused, then, “That moose gave
you a good knock to your head, but, I’m sure you will be fine."
I
responded, "I don't know, Doc. I feel totally exhausted right
now. I’ve never felt like this before.”
An
argument arose: The Doctor and I went back and forth for a minute or
so. He was adamant with regards to his decision that I was fine, and,
as for me, I felt I was seriously injured. I then asked, "Well,
how come my eye won’t open, then, Doc?"
The
Doctor answered, "I think you crashing into the moose last night
caused some nerve damage, therefore, your eye is unable to open."
He paused---looked down at his doctor’s chart---looked back at
me and said, "Alright, I'm sending you home, Jeromy. You’re
going to have to call somebody to pick you up." The doctor then
U-turned his body and pranced his way out of my hospital room.
Not
long after, the Doctor pranced his way back into my hospital room,
this time, having a phone in the palm of his hand. He held the phone
out and said, "Here."
I
grasped the phone and began dialing my mom’s phone number. Mom
answered; I explained to her that I had hit a moose; I was now in a
hospital in a nearby town, and the Doctor just told me to find a ride
home. Mom replied, "I'll be on the way, Jeromy. Just give me a
few minutes to get ready and then I’ll leave. It's a two-hour
ride, so if the weather and the roads are good, I should be there in
just over two hours."
Mom
and I said our goodbyes and I hung up the phone. Seconds later; my
eyelids grew heavy and then, I remember nothing.
"Let’s
go, Jeromy. I'm here."
My
eyes shot open; I gazed at my mom for a brief second and with a
subdued voice, I said, “You are here already, Mom. How did you
get here so fast?”
“It’s
been almost three hours, Jeromy.” Mom replied. Mom gazed at me
with this puzzled look: (I’m sure my mom pondered how I did not
know it had been nearly three hours)
Minutes
later, Mom and I began the drive to Fort Frances: I held a
conversation with my mom for the first ten minutes of our ride. But,
it was short-lived, as my eyelids quickly fell victim to tiredness.
Mom
shook my shoulder and said, "Jeromy, we are home in Fort
Frances."
I
awoke; opened the car door and drug my feet into my mom's house.
Thereafter, I went straight to the bedroom; laid my head down on the
bed; seconds later, I was asleep.
A
day and a half passed; my awake time was just one hour in total: In
and out of conscience I went, having a hard time keeping my eyes open
for more than five minutes at a time. Mom was nearby the majority of
the hours; worry crept into her heart, prompting her to book me in to
see a doctor. She felt that the first Doctor may have been wrong, and
thought that I was in need of a second opinion. (An appointment was
secured for me at the town’s clinic in two days).
Two
days passed: My hours of awake time dwindled to virtually nothing.
Mom basically had to drag me out of bed to get me to my doctor’s
appointment.
Mom
and I arrived at the Fort Frances clinic. We checked in and not long
after, my name was called. The two of us walked into the doctor’s
office and sat. The Doctor didn’t give much of an evaluation by
the time he came to his conclusion: He said, "Jeromy, there is
something drastically wrong with you. I'm going to have you flown to
a city hospital as soon as I possibly can for an evaluation from a
Neurosurgeon Doctor.”
I
said, “Okay, doc.”
“Just
wait a moment, I will be right back,” the Doctor said.
The
Doctor left the office and returned minutes later. “Okay,
Jeromy; there is going to be an ambulance here shortly to pick you up
and take you to the airport. There will be an air-ambulance airplane
waiting for you at the airport.”
Not
long after, an ambulance arrived and brought me to the airport.
Furthermore, a nurse escorted me onto the air-ambulance airplane. An
hour later, we landed at the city’s airport. And I was rushed
to the hospital and given a hospital bedroom. 20-minutes later, a
Neurosurgeon Doctor walked in the hospital bedroom: He was a short,
East-Indian man; he wore glasses and was partially bald. The
Neurosurgeon Doctor glanced at me and said, “Hi, Jeromy. I’ve
been told that you were in a car crash with a moose and since then,
you are spending a lot of time sleeping.”
“Yes,”
I answered, “I am having a hard time staying awake.”
“All
right,” the Neurosurgeon Doctor said, “I am ordering a CT
scan to be done on you as soon as possible.”
“Okay,”
I replied.
“Afterward,”
the Neurosurgeon Doctor said, “I will make an assessment and
notify you what I have gathered from the assessment.”
“Okay,
Doc,” I said.
Within
two hours, I was taken to the CT scan room: A CT scan was performed
on me. And, shortly after, I was escorted back to my hospital
bedroom.
Not
long after, the Neurosurgeon Doctor walked into my hospital bedroom
and informed me that he had assessed the CT scan: He determined that
I had a blood clot the size of a coin in my head and, it was growing
due to a blood flow blockage in my brain. Furthermore, he explained
that I had hit a nerve just above my left eye; therefore, one of my
eye muscles was unresponsive, which, he said: illustrated why I was
barely able to open my left eye. The Neurosurgeon Doctor then
informed me that both of my collar bones were in rough shape, but,
were not broken. In addition, the Neurosurgeon Doctor touched base on
the cuts and scars I received on my face from the windshield glass:
He notified me that he would be stitching them up later on in the
day. The Neurosurgeon Doctor then said, "But first and foremost,
I have to perform a two-hour surgery on your head to relieve the
pressure on your brain." The Neurosurgeon Doctor paused, then
said, "If the surgery is successful, it will keep you from
slipping into a full coma and likely death, afterward." The
neurosurgeon doctor paused yet again, looked to the side, then back
to me and said, "Okay, Jeromy; I have to ask you a question:
Would you like me to do the surgery or not? My success rate is very
good, but I will have to cut your already damaged nerve above your
left eye, which will make your left eye close shut, and quite
possibly it will take a very long time to heal back to normal."
"How
long are we talking for my eye to heal, Doc?" I asked.
The
Neurosurgeon Doctor replied, "A couple of years and more than
likely it won’t heal back completely, but we can hope."
I
thought about the surgery for a few moments, pondering: whether I
should, or I shouldn't do the surgery, then responded, "Alright
Doc; just do your best to not let me die during the surgery."
"I
will and it's a minor surgery, so unless something drastic happens,
you should be fine," the Neurosurgeon Doctor replied.
Later
on that day, I was given some anesthetics and propofol; soon after, I
fell asleep. A few hours later, I awoke: opened my eyes, (the surgery
was successful), leaving me with just a recovery to account for.
Days
later, as I was recovering in the hospital, a specialist of people
crashing into moose in vehicle accidents ventured into my hospital
room: He was short, wore a baseball cap, and looked a bit like Tom
Cruise the movie star. I gazed at him, not knowing who he was, or
what he was doing in my hospital room. The Specialist cleared his
throat and said, “Are you, Jeromy?”
I
replied, “Yes, who are you?”
The
Specialist (the Tom Cruise look-alike) answered, “My name
is…………………..and I
have been doing research on people being in car accidents with moose
for 20 years, now.”
I
pondered for a brief moment, thinking: “Holy-man, they have a
specialist for everything.” Then I said, “Okay.”
The
Specialist said, “Jeromy, in my 20-years of doing this job, you
are in better shape than anyone I have ever encountered in my life.”
“Really;
huh,” I replied, as I gave off a dis-satisfied smirk. (I did
not feel I was so lucky)
The
Specialist said, “Yes, here are the statistics I have gathered
over the last 20 years: 50% of people died within days of the
accident; 25% are paralyzed or seriously injured, and not able to
conduct their lives without the help of a person at their side almost
all the time. And, 25% of people are somewhat normal, and I say
‘somewhat normal’ because they too, even years after the
accident, are still feeling the after-effects from crashing into the
moose.” The Specialist halted his words for a second, then,
“Jeromy, you are very lucky to be alive and even luckier to be
functioning normally.”
The
Specialist and I conversed for another hour before he said: “Goodbye,
Jeromy,” then---wished me well on my recovery.
AN
AFTERTHOUGHT: From time to time, I relay this chapter’s story
to a friend, a relative or whoever it may be: I speak about me
swerving the vehicle in the direction that forced me to crash into
the moose; nearly died, but saved a Young Woman’s life in the
process; the Young Woman was also a mother of a young one (a
three-year-old boy). I ask that particular person which direction he
or she would have swerved. It's always followed by a silence, then a:
"I don't know." But every so often, there is a brave soul
that says differently:
One
time, I had a tennis ball in my hand, as I relayed this story to a
crowd of friends, and, a Brave Friend spouted out the words: “I
would have swerved in the direction to save the Young Woman’s
life, and if I died in the process; so be it!”
Quickly,
I tossed the tennis ball I was holding in my hand at the Brave
Friend. (A girl stood directly behind him and he knew it). Swiftly,
he adjusted his body; the tennis ball soared past the Brave Friend
and struck the woman. The crowd of friends hushed: Sets of eyes
beamed at the Brave Friend from every which direction. (Apparently
not such a Brave Friend)
Seconds
of silence passed and I said, "Are you sure you would have taken
the blow from that moose?"
Instantly,
the color red compelled the Brave Friend’s complexion; his head
descended towards the ground. (He was caught in a lie and he knew
it). I broke the silence and said, "There you go! It takes more
courage than you think to do what I did."
TODAY’S
THOUGHTS: Something deep down always tells me that my friends, family
members, and even the Creator himself was proud of me for my actions
on that particular day: I saw no fear in saving a Young Woman’s
life, who, by the way, was a mother of a young one. My life was at
risk; nearly died; found myself needing brain-surgery because of,
but, sometimes a kind gesture will stand the test of time!!!!
I was born and raised in Northern, Ontario, Canada. (Very
isolated; the winters are frigidly cold) I was a good athlete,
excelled at nearly all sports. Health & Physical Education and
Mathematics were my best subjects in School; English and Writing were
my worst. (Actually failed grade 12 English).
(Unless
you
type
the
author's name
in
the subject
line
of the message
we
won't know where to send it.)
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