We had put Bacchus in the kennel Thursday evening so we could head out early Friday. We were joining our friends at Planet Bronze Gallery in Bozeman, Montana for their tenth anniversary. It was a festive evening. We were to head back home early the next morning.
I-90 appeared dry so we pulled onto the shoulder to switch into 2 wheel drive. As we accelerated to get back into traffic we hit the black ice. My husband, having been born and raised in Montana, has always been the best winter weather driver I've ever ridden with. He was doing everything right to get us out of the skid but our Expy had other ideas.
We did several wheelies in our two lanes before careening through the median, across the oncoming two lanes and finally coming to rest on the opposite side of the highway after taking out a sign. Then we tipped. Silence. I was hanging upside down from my seatbelt, hub was on his side. No blood. "You okay?" we said in unison. "Yeah, I think so, you?" "Yeah." Silence. "I guess I shouldn't have put it back in two wheel." We both managed a shaky chuckle.
People had seen it happening and had stopped. What I could see from them was a fear to look into the car, fear of what they might find. But approach they did and as they got close enough to see that we were alive,information was already being relayed to 911.
There was the young man who coordinated getting us untangled and out. There was another who crawled in through the rear on hands and knees so that he was beneath me when they released my seatbelt so I would't fall the three or so feet to the other side of the car.
There was the nurse who wouldn't let go of me until she was sure I wasn't going to collapse. How do we thank them? Words are hardly enough.
When the autorities arrived everyone who had initially been there gave their statements and faded away. Then we had the firemen and the paramedics. Brian who rode to the hospital with me and assured me everything looked fine but that yes, I was being smart to get checked out. I cringed when I saw the blood on the gurney from my husband's hand, knowing full well how very luck we were.
The nurse Corrine who insisted I get something in my stomach before taking the pain meds. The x-ray techs, the young man who gave me an EKG - and Dr. Mary (with a "y") Drake, my ER Doc, who had the patience of Job while we tried to sort out which pains were Zocor pains, which from my bad back and which from the accident. We even laughed though it hurt more than I could imagine.
How do I thank them? Words are hardly enough.
My stalwart Montana man had some glass cuts but seemed otherwise okay. The firemen tended to him as he waited for the wrecker. We had the carcass towed to Ford to await insurance adjusters. A saleman drove him to the airport to pick up a rental car. He gathered me up at the hospital and we drove, somewhat gingerly, home.
To each and everyone of you who cared enough to stop and help, who comforted and encouraged. Thank you. The Christmas spirit is alive and well in Bozeman, Montana.