Also, OUCH. That's me on the stretcher behind the car. See my feet?
Husband was driving. The Kid was at a birthday party, thank goodness. Every time I think about what might have happened had he been in the car with us, I fight back tears. Scary.
I won't go into details, but I will say that the little sports car that ran the red light didn't get nearly as beat up as our giant Pacifica. They basically hit our bumper from the passenger (my) side and plowed through it all the way across. Not that I remember any of that. I don't remember hitting my head or shoulder on the window either, but I guess I did.
By the time I realized what had happened, the car was full of white airbags and airbag dust and I had my hands up over my ears (including one which was still holding an empty Chipotle bowl--which sprinkled a festive layer of rice over my hair), a goose egg on the back of my head, and a splitting headache.
Husband wasn't injured, so he grabbed his cell phone and fervently dialed 911.
Being in a car wreck is weird. It happens so quickly, and then all of a sudden there are all these people there asking you to make decisions and assess situations: "What happened?" "What hurts?" "Do you want to go to the hospital?" How should I know?? I WAS JUST IN A WRECK. Confusing!
|Sorry it's blurry. It's hard to take a self-portrait while strapped to a board.|
But at least nobody died. And at least The Kid wasn't with us. And at least we'll get a new car, because that one wasn't all that fuel efficient anyways. Silver linings.