Survey the scene.
Airway.
Breathing.
Circulation.
Excessive blood loss?
No.
Major deformities or tender abdomen? No.
Surely, there’s head or spine trauma. But again, no.
Even as my disoriented brain ran through the checklist, I
stared blankly at a stand of white birches sitting about 2 inches from my
driver side window.
Everywhere I looked there was snow and tree limbs.
Through the falling flakes, I could make out freshly churned
up snow leading vaguely in the direction of the road.
I was facing the wrong direction – looking back toward the
Canadian border, which I had just passed through on my way home.
As more of my senses came back to me, I realized there was
liquid pouring from my brow.
Blood? No. Unless my poor health habits had finally
turned my blood to Coca-Cola, it was just my drink. A vacant cup holder confirmed my suspicion.
The twisted engine of my SUV sounded like a craigslist
lawnmower, but it was still running – still pushing warm air into my battered
vehicle.
I ran my hands over my feet, my legs, my torso, and finally
each arm and my head. How could I
not be hurt?
I repeated the process just to be sure.
Smoke was rising in the glow of the headlights in front of
me. It was -15 degrees
outside. Did I dare turn off the
engine, my only heat source? Not
yet.
