FLIRTING WITH THE DARWIN AWARDS

By Kelvin Wade

(This is updated from a blog entry I wrote three years ago.)

Got a call from the insurance broker last week saying the accident is no longer on my record and he could shop around for a lower rate. The accident. It’s hard to believe it’s been three years.

I've often told friends that I never wanted to be the victim of a "freak accident." No one wants their demise to be fodder for the Darwin Awards.
But like O rings in the Challenger disaster, little things can often add up to big problems. What happened to me three years ago, with apologies to Lemony Snicket, was a series of unfortunate events.

I'd had some minor setbacks during the day that put me in a grumpy mood. I was distracted, preoccupied. Being a distracted driver doesn't require a cell phone, CD or foodstuffs. One's thoughts are enough.

I was in my minivan on my driveway with the engine running, ready to take Lauryn, 10, and Kawika, 2, out for dinner. That was the routine back then. On Fridays, Cathi took her daughter Sheryl out for sushi and I took the kids out for dinner somewhere else. Lauryn was having difficulty fastening Kawika's car seat. Though the clasp is a bit snug, Lauryn is usually able to do it. However, earlier in the day, she'd injured the fingers on her right hand and she couldn't get it to close. It was a seemingly innocuous circumstance.

I told her I'd do it. So I set the parking brake, not realizing I'd left the car in reverse. I don’t even remember putting the car in reverse. It’s not something I would normally do but this was a day of distractions. While Lauryn buckled up in her own seat, I got out of the car, went to the back and fastened Vika in. As I got back to the driver's door, I did something boneheaded that I never do. Thinking the van was in park; I reached in and released the parking brake.

Shock turned to horror as the van began rolling down the driveway. I was in an awkward position overestimating my strength in keeping a Dodge Caravan in reverse from making it down a steep driveway. I was not the Incredible Hulk and I couldn't halt the car from rolling down to the street with one hand on the door and one on the wheel. I yelled to Lauryn, "Hit the brake! Hit the brake!" The van was in the street now and still rolling back. Lauryn reacted astonishingly fast, diving to the floor of the van. I thought this was about to come to a swift conclusion. That is, until I saw her reach down and press the accelerator to the floor.

A ten year old doesn’t drive. They don’t know which pedal is for what. It was a 50-50 chance.

Oh no, I'm dead, I thought to myself. Neighbors who witnessed the event later helped me piece together what happened next. I was knocked back partially over the front of the hood of a Camaro parked on the other side of the street landing hard on my back on the sidewalk. I don't remember that part.

I know human bodies aren’t designed to go flying over hoods of cars and landing on concrete. But my body is especially not designed for such a maneuver.

The open driver door on the van struck the front of the Camaro, bending it back the other way. Then the open door rolled over the lower half of my body, dragging me a bit, gouging painfully large patches of road rash on my backside, massively bruising my right thigh and slashing it open. The van continued up at an angle on the lawn across the street before Lauryn quickly pressed on the brake pedal.

I had the presence of mind to tell the neighbor standing over me calling 911 on my cell phone to go inside and call from a landline. And when the paramedics arrived and asked me who the President of the United States was, I even had enough sense to say, "Unfortunately, George Bush." But I couldn't kid myself. This had been a series of mistakes that resulted in something dangerous that could've been fatal.

An eyewitness across the street told everyone how I’d tried to stop the van to save those kids. All I felt like was a complete idiot. Fire trucks. Ambulance. Neighbors Kravitzing.

Paramedics checked my back and bum, probably the first time I’d had my ass out in public since I was a child. (Nah!) The road rash looked like raw hamburger. They repeatedly asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital and I told them no. I signed a paper saying I wasn’t going to the hospital (which would turn out to be a mistake.) Cathi and Sheryl were already at dinner and I didn’t want to leave the kids with neighbors or have them sitting by themselves in an ER waiting room. I had to be with the kids.

I called Cathi and they headed home. After the fire trucks and ambulance left, a neighbor put the van back on my driveway. By the time Cathi came home, I was sitting in my recliner in the living room. I told her what happened and that’s when she noticed the blood. I was bleeding badly from my leg and didn’t know it.

Sheryl took the kids home and Cathi took me to the ER. We spent nearly 12 hours in the ER. (As crazy as it sounds, waiting in the dismal ER in pain with Cathi all night was, in a bizarre way, romantic. We just felt very close, not that I want to pull another all nighter in the ER!) I got stitches. But serious back pain didn’t hit me until Sunday.

Three years later, I’m more cognizant of my driving especially on days where I’m agitated or distracted. I still have the constant back pain. Drugs help. I'd come too close to manifesting one of my biggest fears, dying in a freak accident. If I'm not vigilant, next time I may not be so lucky.

And…oh yeah…now that it’s off my record, we’re saving a pantload on insurance.