I have been asked so many questions about my accident that I finally decided to write about it, because this was such a complex situation I decided to write about it in parts. Here’s something hard to believe though, getting hit by the car was THE LEAST traumatizing part of this entire ordeal. 

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Let me take you back to the start of 2017, I was living on Central Park West in Manhattan (sounds way fancier than it actually was) and had finally settled down with my son after years of dealing with abuse and wanting out. I had a somewhat comfortable savings account for the first time in my life, a good job, and planning my comeback to my studies. Things finally felt like they were on track— and then on a beautiful Friday evening on January 21st 2017 at around 6:30 p.m. I was waiting for my light to cross the street on 71st and Central Park West. As I was crossing I turned to my right, and in what seemed like a flash I felt a hit… next thing I know I was rolling on the ground. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but when my eyes opened I remember being on the ground surrounded by pedestrians, hearing a lot of noise and people asking someone for papers (I suppose the person who hit me) who apparently didn’t want to give them. I didn’t even feel pain immediately, in fact I tried getting up and I remember me saying that I needed to get back to my son. I believe a man and a woman both kept telling me to stay down, the police and ambulance never showed up–so one of the men there stopped a cab and put me in it. As it is my nature I wanted to do things alone, so I thanked the man and was about to tell the cab driver to take me to my apartment. By now my right leg felt wet with what I think was blood, but the driver himself said no, and that I needed a hospital.

I was taken to St. Luke’s emergency room and dropped off at the entrance; I walked in dragging my miraculously-not-broken-right-leg, and asked to be seen. They made me wait for a bit and by then I was already feeling like collapsing from pain but I couldn’t tell which part of my body was hurting the most. Finally the lady asked what was wrong and all I said was “I got hit by a car” she looked as if she’d seen a ghost and next thing I know she’s yelling for someone to get me on a wheelchair. I get rushed to a trauma room, and I have to say being there as a patient instead of the one over one was quite the experience. As I lay on that gurney looking at all the faces over me, answering their questions in my head I started to fade away… that was the morphine kicking in I’m sure. I remember feeling as if I was floating, but that’s because I was being rolled into an elevator to be taken in for scans. I could hear voices of what I think were interns talking about their Saturday night plans for drinking, and even under heavy medication I found it tedious. After all the tests were done and it was determined that I didn’t have organ damage or internal bleeding I was sent to a room, and there I stayed for hours still in disbelief. Once I came to all my senses, at around 11 p.m. I got a hold of my phone and discovered that one of the pedestrians who were at the sight of the accident had snapped pictures of the driver’s license belonging to the person who hit me, something I will forever be grateful for. I made a few calls to make sure my son was taken care of for the night—as well as getting on the phone with my partner to let him know that I was alive, since he was actually on the phone with me at the moment the car hit me and hadn’t heard from me since. After getting things in order I was asked by ER personnel if the cops had spoken to me, I didn’t understand why I was being asked, but they informed me that every person who came in through emergency trauma was supposed to be visited by the cops for questioning— that didn’t happen, at least not in the first 4 hours I was there. At some point 2 officers showed up to take my statement, and after telling them what had happened and where, they told me it was not their jurisdiction so I needed to speak to someone else. I spoke to my partner who was making calls on his end trying to figure out what needed to be done in these cases and maybe 2 hours after, two more officers showed up and spoke to me. These officers told me that they couldn’t do anything either, because the cops and ambulance never showed up at the site and that I needed to file a police report. I asked them to help me, but they said I needed to go to a precinct near where the accident took place. By this point I was already frustrated so they left and I rested for a little while.

Amazingly enough I was patched up and sent home the next morning. Once I was home I decided to search for the appropriate precinct, and since once again it is my nature to take care of things on my own—I dragged myself to that precinct to file a report the very next day. When I got there the cops told me they couldn’t file the report because they didn’t have the proper forms, I was fuming mad and in a lot of pain, so I started to yell at pretty much everyone there, and they got me the form (go figure). I mailed the accident report to the DMV, and returned home for some rest. Having no clue where to go next, still in somewhat of a shock, extremely worried that I was going to be missing work; I called my company and officially went on leave for recovery at the start of February 2017.

To Be Continued…