Chapter Fourteen: Prayer Answered

It was about ten days after my prayer that I decided to take a long bike ride into downtown Long Beach. I'd stop by an ex-employer to see if there were any jobs available and then continue on to the Palos Verdes area. It would be a long ride, 20 miles or so, a good workout with hilly climbs and lots of nice scenery. I had already been riding my bike quite extensively since my car broke down; I was more than ready to start pushing my stamina limit.

I was riding up Long Beach blvd. when I got hit by a van and thrown against a parked truck. I don't remember much from the accident. According to the police report the driver said he never saw me, though he did report hearing a loud thump on the right side of his vehicle. That was my body colliding with his van that he heard, breaking off his side view mirror while shattering my ribs on my left side. The collision must have thrown me over my handlebars. My body struck a parked pick-up truck leaving a one foot by one foot indentation in the tailgate, breaking my pelvis in two different places. My body landed next to the drivers side door of the parked vehicle, but not before my head hit the asphalt so hard that it broke the bridge of my nose. I received a scrap on my right elbow and a torn rotator cuff, probably from the landing. The driver would've kept on driving if it wasn't for the witnesses who were screaming for him to pull over.

I remember barely opening one of my eyes to get a blurred vision of someone looking down into my face. That must have been the paramedic. I kind of remember being loaded on to an ambulance and being off loaded at the emergency room. Staring up from the gurney I could see emergency room personnel gathering around me as I was wheeled through the doors, and that was it. According to the medical report I had a positive loss of consciousness, I guess meaning that I passed out but hadn't gone into cardiac arrest. My memory of the experience doesn't get clear until after I was injected with morphine. By then I had been taken to get catscan images of my head, neck and midsection. From the looks of my head injury the medical team was sure I had multiple skull fractures, but the catscan came back negative. I often joke with people that it's my Polish heritage that saved me there; the Poles have always been known for having hard heads. I'm sure the Docs wanted to make sure that my injuries didn't require immediate surgery before administering morphine to numb the unbearable pain. The report said I was complaining about the pain, though I remember nothing before the morphine injection. My mind has wiped any clear memory of the traumatic experience.
My memory comes back to me as I was giving a nurse my personal information. I was fading in and out. One time I awoke to see a Doctor stitching up my right eyebrow. I asked "How many stitches?" and he replied "Oh, about 40." I would have raised my eyebrows in amazement but I didn't want to ruin his handiwork. All those stitches went to my forehead-told you I have a Polish hard head. I remember a rod being drilled into my knee for a traction device for my broken hip; I kind of wish that I was unconscious for that one. I blew bloody snot bubbles through my nose as I hyperventilated through the procedure.

My ex, my parents and my two best friends were notified of the accident, but my friends were the only ones to come see me in the emergency room that night. One of them later told me that as they were walking back to their car he turned to his brother and said "Boy, Mike sure fucked himself up this time." Once I found out that I had been taken to Long Beach Memorial Medical Center I was greatly relieved. Having grown up in Southern California all my life I knew that the hospital had one of the best trauma care units in the county. I also knew that, even though I had no medical insurance, from an ethical point of view, they would have to treat me and fix me up the best they could. My whole body felt shattered. I immediately knew that I was lucky to be alive.

Next up: When a Nice Sunset May be Your Last.

Chapter Thirteen: Why Not Join the Military?

I took my camping gear that I had stored at a friends garage and pitched a tent next to one of the local freeways. Then I tried to figure out what I'd do next. My best friend suggested that I join the military. I thought he was nuts. I had always been one to butt heads with authority and figured pacifism was usually the best route to go in life. But the more I thought about it the more it seemed that a stint with the military would be my best option. I'd be off the streets, have an income and have a purpose. Even though I thought the war in Iraq was a monumental mistake I'd always believed that the draft should be imposed anytime our government starts preaching war. The first to be drafted can be the children of the President and the members of Congress. I kinda think our government would be much less enthusiastic about war mongering if it was the lives of the family members our own supposed representatives that were on the line. I had been saddened time and again reading about the soldiers being sent over seas to "fight for our country" only to be sent home injured, maimed or in a pine box back to devastated love ones. I thought I could pitch a story to newspapers about my attempt to join the service in hopes of encouraging others to sign up. It's a tragedy that war vets have to be repeatedly redeployed to the front until they're burned out or worse. They're human beings, not expendable commodities like our country's treatment of them would suggest.





So at age 41 I decided that I would get myself in the best shape of my life. I planned on riding my bike throughout Orange and L.A. counties for three months or so until the first of the year. Then I'd try to sell myself to a recruiter who was willing to take a chance on someone six years past the maximum sign up age. At least I'd be in terrific shape by then, and if I failed to enlist then I'd just go on from there to wherever the winding road of life would lead me. I might of made one huge mistake, though, depending on your faith or lack thereof. Considering my pacifism I decided I'd sign up as a non-combatant. I still, however, said a prayer to God, asking him to show me a sign to indicate whether or not my decision was alright with him. You know the saying "Careful what you ask for"? How true. It was about 10 days after that prayer that I think I got my answer.



Next up: Prayer Answered