thoughts from a passenger of a drunk driving crash

reflections on 11 years since the drunk driving crash that could have ended my life

It’s been 11 years since the crash. 11 years since getting into a car with a drunk driver who spun out of control. 11 years since my neck — the C2 vertebrae in my neck — broke in two places. 11 years since I was placed in a halo brace, held together with four metal pins in my skull. 11 years since the doctors told me it was a miracle I was not paralyzed, or dead.

It’s hard to believe that September 5, 2012 could’ve been my death anniversary. Or the day I became paralyzed. Most years when this day rolls around, I try not to think too much about it. I chalk it up to the day something traumatic happened and the following months the period I overcame it. Some years I can’t help but go deeper than that. This year is one of those times.

When I do reflect on that time in my life, I think about the crash. I think about how the last thing I remembered before we spun out of control was telling him to slow down. I think about how the driver — my friend — fled the scene of the crime, leaving me and two friends in his car. I think about how as I was pulled onto the stretcher and into the ambulance, he was in bed, pretending to be asleep. I think about how he was released from jail on a $10,000 bail and partied three days after, while I was still in the hospital. I think about how I woke up to family and friends, to the halo brace around my head and chest and crying. I think about how a hospital bed had to be put in my parents’ living room because I could no longer sleep flat on my back in my bed. I think about how I stayed up all night in that hospital bed, wishing I could tell my parents how sorry I was for all the worry and inconvenience I caused but never mustering up the courage to because I couldn’t bear to see how they’d react. I think about the uncertainty I lived with every single day in those months — how I wouldn’t know if the halo brace was working or if my bones were healing, only until after I went back for the final x-ray. I think about how I prayed to a God each night, thankful to be alive and begging to be healed and begging for the strength to help me through this, while simultaneously asking why this had to happen to me, why I did this to my loved ones. I think about having to rely on my family for the most simple of tasks, like picking up something off the ground because I couldn’t bend over, and my mom wiping me down with damp towels and washing my hair because I couldn’t bathe or shower myself. I think about how I felt so alone, how no one understood what I was going through, and how no one ever will. I think about how when friends or family came to visit, some looked at me with pity and the deep shame I felt with that. I think about how on the hardest days, a part of me wished I didn’t make it at all because it was my fault, my mistake, and I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, and that maybe it would be easier if I wasn’t there. I think about how I put on a brave face, faking smiles and telling jokes, wearing a cloak of positivity through it all even when I didn’t feel like it, so that my family and friends wouldn’t worry more than they already did.

But as painful as it was, I am thankful for it. Thankful for the hurt, for those long months in a halo brace, uncertain if I would actually heal and the patience that came with that. Thankful for the harsh reality knowing that there were people out there, people like him with no remorse, who partied as much as he could before going behind bars. Thankful to learn that people like him, people who had money and privilege, would do less time in jail than the amount of time it took me to heal. Thankful to know that there were people who supported him because they saw themselves in him, saying his life would never be the same, ignoring the fact that he almost took mine. I’m thankful to be reminded to be careful who I trusted, how I spent my time and with who. Thankful to learn that I wasn’t invincible — that my choices came with consequences, choices that not only affected me, but also those around me. I’m thankful for the perspective — to learn that my worries before the crash and likely all the ones to come after were not as big as I thought. Thankful to be aware of how unfair life often is, especially for those who had their own painful stories and experiences that often went unheard or dismissed. I’m thankful that I was able see how lucky I was, especially in having a family so supportive and so strong, who cared for me without question and who interacted with me each day like nothing was wrong so that I would feel strong, too. Thankful to learn that as much as I try, I couldn’t always do things on my own and that to get through life and the obstacles in this life, I needed to accept the help and kindness from others even when I didn’t feel like I deserved it. I’m thankful to discover how a handwritten letter or a thoughtful text or call could make my week, could pull me out of the cloud of loneliness and sadness I often found myself in. I’m thankful to find out which friends really cared, who took the time to check up on me and found ways to cheer me up… and which friends weren’t really friends at all. And I’m thankful to be alive and be able to understand how mortal I really am and how finite the time we have on earth is.

As I sit here writing this, tears streaming down my face, thinking back to the things I usually try not to remember, I realize that period in my life was the worst and also the best thing that ever happened to me. It showed me — up close — how fragile life really is. How there are no guarantees. How everything could be taken away in an instant. How much I took for granted. For many years, that awareness made me feel an immense pressure to be extraordinary. To be worthy of that second chance. Like I needed to prove my gratitude to the powers that be, to show them that it was the right decision to make me one of the lucky ones. I don’t know — by being something. Successful. Altruistic. Impressive. Deserving. It took a long time for me to unlearn that. It took a long time to realize that I don’t need to be any of those things to be worthy of living.

Ever since the crash, I often check in with myself, asking things like: what makes my life worth living? Who do I really want to spend it with? What do I want to prioritize? What do I want to care about? What is worth my time, my energy, my worry? It’s a shorter list than I expected, but an important one. My family. My friends. Telling the people I care about how much they mean to me and being there for them. Going outside. Pursuing what makes me happy. Taking chances. Seeing the world. Giving back in some way. Moving my body. Recognizing how fortunate I am to have the ability to walk, move, speak, feel, think. Being grateful for just being alive.

I also ask myself the inverse: what is not worth my time? This list tends to be longer, but some things come to mind. Worrying about what I cannot change. Dwelling on the little things. Staying in unhealthy relationships, whether with friends, work or romantic partners. Striving towards measures of success that aren’t my own. Trying to please everyone. Engaging in reckless behavior. Drinking heavily — especially as a way to fit in or make the people and places I thought I had to be around more tolerable. Putting up with toxic work environments. Giving into self-doubt. Fixating on what I don’t have rather than appreciating what I do have. Obsessing over aging and wrinkles and shit I would be so lucky to have — what so many try to get rid of, what many out there wish more than anything they could live long enough to obtain.

Both of these lists are ever-growing and ever-changing. They’re lists I’m still figuring out.

But as I reflect on these lists, my mind goes back to another. A list I made during that time in my life when I laid in a hospital bed with a broken neck and halo brace. It was a mental list of all the things I would do if I got better. I told myself that if I was ever lucky enough to do the things on that list, I would never, ever take them for granted. Maybe putting all of this in writing is my way of reminding myself of that. To do both the big and the small things I dreamed about and to be grateful for it all because I know first hand that at any moment, it could all change.

Drinking and driving is 100% preventable.

On average, 2 in 3 people will be involved in a drunk driving crash in their lifetime.

Every day in America, 28 people are killed as a result of drunk driving. This is one death every 50 minutes.

From 2010 to 2019, more than 10,000 people died each year in drunk driving crashes.

On average, a drunk driver will drive 80 times under the influence before their first arrest.

Nearly 25% of Americans overestimate the amount they can drink and still drive safely.

Each day, people drive drunk more than 300,000 times, but only about 2,800 are arrested.

43% of Americans admit to having driven under the influence of alcohol and 45% have gotten a ride from someone who had been drinking. 56% of men admitted to drinking and driving and 29% of women.

50% to 75% of convicted drunk drivers continue to drive on a suspended license.

About 290,000 are injured in drunk driving crashes each year.

37% of college-aged respondents think they are fit to drive after having 3–4 drinks.

30% of car crash fatalities in the US involve drunk drivers.

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Sources:

https://www.thezebra.com/resources/research/drunk-driving-statistics/

https://www.forbes.com/advisor/car-insurance/drunk-driving-statistics/

https://www.valuepenguin.com/drinking-habits-survey#:~:text=43%25%20of%20Americans%20admit%20to,%2C%20versus%2029%25%20of%20women.

https://policyadvice.net/insurance/insights/drunk-driving-statistics/#:~:text=You%20will%20be%20more%20surprised,one%20person%20every%2050%20minutes.&text=15.

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If you are able to help support someone whose life has been impacted by a drunk driver, please look into Sophy Hernandez’s story here.

On Sunday, September 3, 2023, 12-year-old Sophya was involved in a severe drunk driving crash with her brother and mom. They were on their way home from the state fair when they were t-boned by a drunk driver, who fled the scene after causing the crash. Thankfully, her mom and brother were only mildly injured. Unfortunately, Sophya was airlifted to a hospital and has to undergo surgery for her broken back.

Sophya loves Harry Potter, reading and spending time with her friends and family. She faces a long road to recovery, including surgery and intensive physical therapy. Any donation — big or small — will help cover these medical expenses.

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