The accident that nearly killed me

It was the noise of the tires hitting the gravel at the side of the road that made me open my eyes. I was driving, and the car was speeding directly toward a concrete barrier at the side of a bridge. I had collapsed behind the wheel.

The moment that followed was strange—both infinitely small and terrifyingly large. I actually thought in that brief instant that I was going to die. The car had gathered quite a bit of speed from coming down a slope in the road, and the concrete barrier was coming at me very, very quickly.

Survival instinct kicked in. I jerked the steering wheel hard to the right. Horrible sounds came from everywhere. Metal crunching and twisting. An ungodly, hellish scraping. Something hit me in the face. There were airbags everywhere. The car was spinning.

This happened on 2 December 2022, exactly 5 months to the day after I broke my back falling from a chin-up bar. Let’s just say that 2022 was not a good year for me.

The month before

During the month leading up to this terrible crash, I had started the return to my day job after breaking my back. I was working just 2 hours a day remotely, but it was surprisingly difficult. My back pain was still raging, and my fatigue was out of control. Concentrating on anything for more than 15 minutes completely drained me.

But I wanted desperately to get back to work. I’d been pushing myself very hard all month. Doctors and physios and occupational therapists had told me that I was ready to work. My body, however, was telling me that I was not ready—a fact I willfully ignored.

Put simply, I spent the entire month of November listening more to other people than to myself. It’s difficult to describe to you how exhausted I had become. I worked at home in the morning and then literally passed out on the bed next to my desk for the entire afternoon. Every single day I felt more drained than the day before. I told no one.

All month long, I continued to ignore what my body was saying. I was absolutely bone-weary. I was struggling to keep up with my physio 3 times a day, plus the partial return to work, plus all of my various medical appointments. It was just too much. By the time December 2nd rolled around, it honestly felt like I’d spent a month working 80 hours a week.

The day of the crash, I was driving myself back from Masterton (45 minutes away), where I attend a chronic pain management program. I had just gone through an hour-long, emotional session with a health psychologist, followed by an especially grueling physiotherapy session in the gym.

In hindsight, it’s no wonder I eventually collapsed. I wish it hadn’t happened while I was driving, of course. I’m just glad I didn’t hurt anybody else.

The car comes to rest

When the car finally stopped spinning and the horrible noises ended, I was facing the wrong direction in the middle of a country road where the speed limit is 100 kph. Broken glass and twisted metal surrounded me. I was about 30 metres from our driveway. I had almost made it home.

Miraculously, I was able to open the driver-side door and step out. Pain engulfed my entire body—especially my vulnerable back. I realized that I couldn’t see clearly. I touched my face. My glasses were gone.

I went back to the car and felt around. My eyesight is atrocious. I can barely see a thing without my glasses. My hands touched sharp metal and shattered bits of safety glass. Finally, I located my glasses on the floor. They were, thankfully, in one piece.

That was when I realized that the passenger side of the car had been pretty much scraped clean off. Thank God I was driving alone.

Still in shock, I went back to the side of the road, took out my phone, and called for help. It did not occur to me to call the police. I called my neighbors. Many people came. Someone with a tractor dragged my broken car out of the road. One of the wheels was missing. Pieces of the vehicle were scattered everywhere. My neighbor Bob picked them up.

Two paths

The difference between life and death is sometimes surprisingly small. That day, there was a hair’s breadth of difference between me living and dying. People who saw the twisted wreckage in person said they were shocked that I actually walked away.

What do you do when you’re given a second chance?

In my experience, first you retreat and regroup. You take a moment for yourself. You take 6 months if you have to. You take a year. Then you take a long, deep breath, and you continue on, but differently.

You decide, above all, to listen to yourself. You stop foolishly trying to meet the expectations of others when it’s actually doing you harm. You move away from fear and into gratitude. You decide to make the most of what you’ve been so graciously given.

Somewhere there is another world—one where I opened my eyes a split second later, one where I did not have time to turn the wheel.

In that world, I am already dead.

But in this world, I am still here.

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