October 6th. My Near-Death Anniversary

It’s been a full year since the accident that left me writhing in agony on the side of the road, just half a block from my New York City apartment. As I lay helplessly on the street, unable to move because of the pain, I knew instantly that something wasn’t right with my back. When it’s your bike vs. a speeding livery cab, you’re the one found wanting.

My immediate thought was that I might be paralyzed. I had just rolled over and been thrown from a speeding vehicle. I panicked internally for a long moment before I decided I had to know if I could move my toes. Through the stabbing pain that was shooting up and down my spine, I mustered up the mental courage to try and wiggle my toes.

Success.

But I was still far from relieved. What if this was temporary? I could still lose the ability the walk if my back twists half an inch the wrong way. I imagined an x-ray of shattered spine — my spine and my life if I were to be confined to a wheelchair. Was that better than being dead? I supposed I didn’t have to think of that alternative quite yet.

People started to gather. Shouting to me if I was ‘OK’ (or so it seemed), shouting to each other (clearly about me and what had just happened on a usually busy intersection in Central Harlem). I couldn’t listen to them over my own racing thoughts. The only response from me they received were the pathetic whimpers of pain and fear that I had been making for what seemed like an eternity now. I was still on the street and in excruciating pain. Someone said they were calling 911. Good. I didn’t have to, but I had to tell someone I knew.

October 6 had started so unassumingly. It had been a quiet, fall Sunday, and my boyfriend, Andrew invited me to his friend’s place in Chelsea to play card games, but I had already decided I wanted to ride my new bike before the season got too cold. I had already been biking around the city several times since I got the bike in September. Picking up groceries at the Fairway Market across town, in Harlem, up and down the gorgeous Greenway Park on the city’s west side, and through Central Park. I figured I could compromise on riding my bike in Central Park and agreed to ride my bike down to meet them.

It was approximately 7.5 miles, 125 city blocks away. Thinking about that now, I’m a bit shocked and impressed at the distance. It was the longest trip I had made in the city on my bike to date. It was a great feeling when I arrived. I played a few games of “Cards Against Humanity” and my team won a round (or two) of the game, “Heads Up!” I excused myself early since I had to make the trip back home on my bike. The sun had already set. Andrew stayed in Chelsea. He was too far to get to me in time.

Who could I call? My roommate might be home. My apartment was only half a block from where I was. No answer. I called my upstairs neighbor, Omar. No answer. The next closest friend was about 10 minutes away in Hamilton Heights. He probably even couldn’t get to me before the ambulance, but I was growing desperate. I called. No answer. I was alone. No one else could remotely get to me in time, and no one was answering the phone. Oh, Millennials — perhaps I should have tried to mass text them (seriously, the thought crossed my mind). I made another round of calls. And another. Finally, Omar answered.

How do you communicate to someone that you just got hit by a cab, you don’t have time to answer their questions, but need them to come down to the end of the block, right now? The wails of fast-approaching sirens joined my inner thoughts. I looked over towards the black cab that had hit me. My bike lay in the street several yards ahead of it. I could tell the front tire was mangled, even from my low vantage point. Omar arrived quickly and visibly alarmed. Finally. The ambulance arrived soon after Omar, or just before. I don’t recall anymore. I assured him that I was going to be OK.

Before Omar rushed my damaged bike back to his apartment, I gave him my helmet to take with him. I wasn’t going to need it anymore. The EMT’s strapped me into a red board, like you see in the movies, being ever so careful with my compromised body. While an EMT started taking my information and asking me questions, I finally broke down in tears. I was in the back of an ambulance, and this was really happening.

I was scared, and all my thoughts came to a head. I was unemployed at the time and taking full-time development classes at General Assembly. How was I supposed to tell my mother what happened? I can’t miss any days of class, or I’d miss something important and won’t be able to catch up. How am I supposed to afford an ambulance ride and an ER visit with no health insurance? Am I ever going to be able to walk back into my apartment or around the city I love? Will I become a burden to my friends and loved ones? What if I can’t finish the classes I just started in an effort to change my career into something I was finally interested in? Is this the end of life, as I knew it?

“I don’t have any health insurance,” I confessed as I focused back on the EMT looking over me with tears in my eyes. He gave me a comforting smile and assured me it was fine, and that the important thing was that I focus on getting better. Omar hopped into the back of the ambulance, and we sped off to Harlem Hospital. I had been so close to home, but I wasn’t going to make it there that night, or until the following Friday to be exact.

The EMT in the back of the ambulance and the ER doctor both told me that my helmet saved my life. One of the clearest memories I have of the accident is of flipping off the side of the cab, headfirst. I saw the asphalt rapidly approaching my face, and the only control I had of my body in that moment was to tuck my head down so that the lip of the helmet smashed against the cold hard street, instead of my face.

I had a lot of time to think about my own mortality for a while, in the hospital and while I was on bed rest in my apartment. I thought about how fragile life really is. How precious is can be. Sometimes, I still wonder when I’m with my friends how their conversations would be if I weren’t there any more. Whether they would miss me or if I would be quickly forgotten, like a rainy day in September. Then, I remember how they rallied to my side when I was unable to go out. Visiting me in the hospital or coming to my apartment, armed with board games and gifts to cheer me up. The thought still makes me smile, and feel quite humbled to have such supportive friends.

I ended up with a pressure fracture to my L1 lumbar spine, a smaller fracture in my tailbone and left me with limited mobility and in a back brace for months. I was lucky in that my lumbar fracture was on the anterior side, rather than the posterior, where all my spinal cord and nerves run.

Since then, life has certainly worked out for the better! I have a wonderful support system: Andrew, my family, and my wonderful friends. I ended up starting classes at General Assembly again in January and graduated in April of this year. I started an incredible job as a developer at an exciting startup, Sprinklr.

I’ve also been happy about the changes that I’ve seen in my city over the past year. New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio was elected with a bold Vision Zero stance that envisions a city with zero car deaths (it’s modeled from a similar program in Sweden). City construction workers tore up and widened the tip of the meridian on my block where I was hit and a few neighboring blocks along Adam Clayton Powell, which is well known for its speeding problems. The new intersections create an illusion for drivers that the road is narrowing in on them, causing drivers to naturally slow down. I am happy to see it. I have to admit, as a result of the accident, I’m even more against cars and traffic-focused development, and I’m even more of a proponent for walk-able urban cities with good public transportation. Intersections still scare me. And yes, I got back on a bike this summer on the Greenway, and I plan to ride one again someday.

Today has been such an unassuming day. Just like October 6th, one year ago. Looking back, I count myself lucky, and will make sure to keep this day in my mind like a reminder to cherish what I have and live my life to the fullest.