By John Phillips
Imagine that it’s midnight on April 1, 2012, in pitch black darkness, a chilly 54 degrees, and you’re lying face down in your neighbor’s flower bed. As you teeter in and out of consciousness and are unable to move, you’re yelling for help. You hear a man’s voice say, “You’re fine – just get up and walk it off!” Your neighbor offers to call 9-1-1, and the same voice responds, “No! Get back in your house!” Will you live or die?
With our children staying overnight with friends, my wife, Kim, and I enjoyed an evening to ourselves. When we arrived home, it was time for my nightly walk with our dog, Annabelle. We headed down Mulberry Road, rounded the cul-de-sac, and began our journey home. I heard a speeding vehicle approaching and wondered if it could maneuver the curve that so many had not through the years. In a split second, I threw our dog to what I prayed was safety and saw two bright headlights and a silver grill. I then remember cool mulch against my cheek and palms. I alternated calling for help and unconsciousness. During this time, as witnessed by a neighbor, the driver and passenger fled the scene but returned to hide their cooler of beer in another neighbor’s hedges.
In what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, an angel in dark blue ran towards me, fell to his knees, and asked what I needed. God forever bless Joe Washburn, formerly of the Martinsville City Police Department. My request was simple, “An ambulance, my wife, and my brother.” I felt great relief knowing that they would be summoned. Another angel, neighbor Neal Bowman, had watched the activity and called 9-1-1. I continued to go in and out of consciousness, and once in the ambulance, was comforted to hear familiar voices from my days working in the local emergency department and emergency medical services.
Memorial Hospital (Martinsville) quickly realized that I needed to be transferred to Carilion Roanoke Memorial Hospital. My sacrum was fractured in three places, and my right leg had sustained significant internal damage. The helicopter was cold and very small, but I felt “packaged” and secure. As the pilot was preparing for flight, someone ran out of the hospital waving their hands to stop. The ED physician had just learned that my pelvis was shattered which required extra support for transport. I also remember saying repeatedly that my left wrist hurt and showing how floppy it was like a rag doll. The added fracture was discovered on the second day of hospitalization.
I went to surgery daily during the first week, either for a repair or dressing change. The trip through the hospital required a long corridor with windows and white walls, similar to a skywalk. I quickly fell in love with this trip as it meant progress to me and provided therapeutic sunlight and warmth. I also learned quickly exactly where the – bumpity bump – door thresholds were at both ends of the hallway.
One of the scarier moments was feeling quite different one evening – unable to describe or explain it. I was in atrial fibrillation, an irregular and rapid heart rhythm leading to inefficient blood pumping, a result of multiple trauma. I endured deep vein thrombi and pulmonary emboli and earned a special heart filter – which looked more like a fishing lure than medical device – to prevent blood clots from traveling to the heart and lungs. On a different day, I experienced an ileus which was an intestinal disruption. As a result of my immobility, I developed kidney stones which I passed and gallstones which I did not. Back to surgery for gallbladder removal in July and hernia repair in November.
During my second stay in the nursing home, Kim and our children visited me one Sunday morning. Once I saw their faces, I burst into hysterical crying. After three weeks I had reached my breaking point. Her uncle and aunt picked up the kids. Fortunately, my primary care provider was rounding that morning and was able to prescribe something for me, short term and long term, for post-traumatic stress disorder.
At the time of the accident, I taught at Radford University which was a blessing. The program chair finished the remaining five weeks of my classes for the semester. I had the summer off and was able to return to campus in August in a wheelchair. If I had had a traditional job, I most certainly would have lost it after exhausting family medical leave.
Annabelle was found the next morning under a neighbor’s car. Her veterinarian confirmed there were no injuries, and she enjoyed a spa day. She visited me in the nursing home and lived another 3 years.
We were blessed and humbled by the support that we received. My evil, Episcopalian aunt said that the only reason that I survived was because HER church prayed. However, we felt the thoughts and prayers from all denominations. With the help of family and friends, we kept the schedules of our kids, ages 10 and 8, as normal as possible – school, baseball, dance, etc. Kim, John Ainsley, and Claudia Grace were my greatest sources of strength!
The driver and passenger were in town from Texas for the Martinsville Speedway races. They left a local bar and found themselves lost in Forest Park. The driver’s blood alcohol was 0.16, twice the legal limit in Virginia. Witnesses and the police estimate his speed at 60MPH; the speed limit for Mulberry Road is 35MPH. Telephone records proved that he was texting while driving.
Imagine that it’s two years later. The judicial process centers around the defendant who was not available every other month while working on an offshore oil rig. You rehash the above details in open court. Recap – the driver was intoxicated, speeding, and texting. In the end, the judge states his verdict, “Not guilty on all charges.” Not one day in jail, not one dollar, not one apology.
