Ten years ago today, I was hit by a drunk driver.
It had been a long Friday at school, and with finals the following week, everyone was eager to get out of there, though most of us had some hard studying to do over the weekend. It was the end of my first semester at the University of Wisconsin, Eau Claire, and I planned on spending most of the weekend cramming but also spending time at home with friends and family.
I wasn't going to drive home to the cities until the following morning. It would be easier to drive home on a Saturday morning than a Friday night. My roommate Mike and I were going to caravan, since his family also lived in the Twin Cities, though on the other side of where I was headed.
However, our plans of having a restful Friday night were interrupted by our downstairs neighbor who was having a party to celebrate the end of school. Nevermind that he was a week early, but you know some people - any excuse for a party. Mike and I wouldn't have minded, but it was late and since we had planned on getting up early, we wanted to sleep, and by midnight, we could see that there was no way that was going to happen. This party was going to continue all night. So we decided we would drive home now while we were awake. We got our cars loaded and started out from Eau Claire to Minneapolis/St. Paul.
At the time, the bars in Wisconsin closed at 2am and the bars in Minnesota closed at 1am. It was pretty common to drive over the border for the extra hour of drinking, though me being newly 21, I didn't pay attention to the bar patron habits.
We crossed over into Minnesota about a quarter after one and began our drive into the suburbs of the cities. We were on I-94 heading west, Mike driving in front of me, about a half dozen car lengths up, give or take. In Woodbury, just around the 494/694/94 interchange, I thought I saw some lights up ahead, coming through Mike's window. It was a weird second of thought, wondering what would make that glow...
A half a second later, my car was hit and whirled around, seemingly facing northeast. I heard loud noises, crunching and screeching, and then nothing. A silence and my own scared breathing. My car was off - it would never run again - and I tried to get out of the car, but the door wouldn't open. I managed to undo my seatbelt and then kicked open the door with my legs while holding on to my seat and steering wheel for leverage.
I got out and looked around me, so completely dazed that I'm not entirely sure what happened next. I know I wasn't the only one hit, because I saw Mike's car in the median, and a another person's car behind me, though I couldn't tell if she had pulled over first, or what had happened. Later I learned that she had seen what was happening, but it was too late - she was hit too. I couldn't see Mike and at first, I think I assumed he had gotten out of his car. It was so dark, and I was so confused anyway - I had no idea what was going on.
Traffic had stopped now, and a man came over to me and ushered me to a safe part of the road. He stayed there with me until police came, which was only a minute. I was then told to get into the back of the State Trooper's car, where one of the troopers asked me questions, though I think he realized quickly that I was still in shock. I kept asking where Mike was and what had happened, but I didn't get any answers just yet. And I still can't remember what he asked me, but soon after the questioning, he gave me a phone to call my parents with.
At my grandparents' house, it was about 1:30am when my grandfather picked up the phone. If I hadn't been in such a daze, I'm sure I would have been crying. But I told him where I was, what had happened, and then quickly asked the trooper where they were taking me. St. Paul's Regions Hospital. I had never been there, nor knew where it was, so I panicked slightly, worrying that they wouldn't be able to find me. My grandfather assured me he'd get there and I gave the phone back to the State Trooper. I don't know if he talked to my grandfather at this point, or just hung up. I suppose it wasn't important, but at the time, despite sensory overload, I was trying to understand everything.
After getting out of the trooper's car, I heard someone shouting my name. I looked over to see Mike, being wheeled away in a stretcher. "She's here, Mike," the trooper yelled. "She's okay." I looked at the trooper wondering what was going on. There was also suddenly a lot of wind, as I noticed that there was a helicopter above us. It couldn't land, but I remember thinking that it was really freakin' close.
I was then led to an ambulance, where they told me it was standard procedure to put me in there so I could be looked over at the hospital. The EMTs/paramedics looked me over and examined my neck after I said it hurt. They determined I had no serious injuries, but I had to lay in the stretcher anyway. It was weird, being tied down like that. When I finally had a moment to ask, I asked what had happened with Mike. He answered, "He wouldn't go without knowing what happened to you." I felt deeply touched, and hoped he knew I was worrying about him too.
On the drive to the hospital, I noticed a teddy bear in the ambulance. After asking about it, the driver told me that it was for children to who had to be in the ambulance and needed some comforting. After a moment, he asked me if I wanted it. I said no thanks, but kept looking at it the whole way there, feeling oddly comforted by a bear and my attendant.
I was taken into the hospital and allowed out of the stretcher in the ER. The paramedics said goodbye and I was put in an examining area. A doctor came to see me and examined me. I had a sprained or broken pinky finger (it didn't matter - it would heal the same either way) and a huge pink mark across my chest from the seatbelt straining hard to hold me. It did it's job, though later, my family and I wondered why the airbag hadn't worked. I was pretty shook up, and the doctor told me to take it easy for a couple weeks. I told him that finals were next week, and that there was no way I could miss that and not get in serious trouble. And that's when I realized I didn't have my backpack with me; it was still in the car. The troopers also stopped by and asked me questions.
Not long after, my grandparents and mother showed up, escorted by a nurse, I think. My mom told me she was just coming home from work when Grandpa and Grandma were heading out the door. Surprised, she didn't have time to ask before my grandfather told her I was in the hospital and pulled her along with them. When they got there, I hugged them a lot and that's when I wanted to cry. I had wrecked the car, I was out past bar closing, and they had to get up to come get me. I felt so bad and yet, so happy to be able to be talking to them.
The doctor told me that Mike wasn't so lucky.
The driver of the car that hit us was going down the wrong way on I-94, having been very drunk and not able to tell that he was going on the on-ramp the wrong way. When the troopers talked to me in the hospital, they told me that they were on their way after having received calls from a few people that there was someone driving the wrong way on the freeway. They knew that unless they caught up to the guy quickly, there would be an accident. "We were just too late," he said. The drunk driver's car had been going roughly 70 miles an hour. Mike and I too, had been doing about that, though I don't remember exactly. Now some physics for you... What happens when two cars going about 70mph hit each other? A mess, to say the least.
Right after Mike was hit, the car swirled and hit me next, the speed cut in half from his and Mike's collision. He hit me too, but at a different angle of course. Then after that, car still moving, the woman behind me was hit too. Now it doesn't take a genius to figure out which car had it worse. Both Mike's and my cars were totalled, but his wasn't much more than metal pieces after the accident. The windshield had shattered and the front end crushed in like an aluminum can.
Mike's injuries are something that no doubt, he still lives with to this day. When the glass shattered, it went inside the car, spraying him with glass shards. From his face to his hair to his chest, they were picking out glass pieces for a long time from what I was told. He also broke his left foot, and was in a cast for a while after that.
The drunk broke both of his legs in the accident and had to be airlifted to the hospital. I believe he was taken to the same hospital, though I wasn't allowed to see him. I heard he was in a surgery room. Good thing too... I'm sure I would have wanted to hurt him. Mike told me later that it wouldn't have done any good. I knew he was right, but I was angry and wanted justice.
Mike did research in the following weeks and found that our drunk driver, Alan Sylte (and no, I don't feel bad in the least about putting his name out there), was a stereotypical bum. Deadbeat dad, arrested for drunk driving before, and had other accidents on his record. We were not his first victims. And of course, he had no insurance and no money. Our insurance companies covered our injuries, but Mike's was going to sue, though I don't know what they hoped to get out of that guy.
Much to our anger, he spent only six months in jail. We don't know if he had to go to AA or anything like that, but six months seemed pretty minimal to us. I would have preferred a couple years and a long time of probation.
There isn't much to tell of the aftermath. We made it back to school that Monday morning, though both late for our classes and our minds too messed up to do 100% on our tests. Mike wouldn't drive again for a while, but thankfully, his girlfriend helped him quite a bit.
Life happened though, and we both moved on, finishing school and going our respective ways. We don't talk anymore now, but I still believe - firmly - that Mike saved my life that night. As the car directly in front, he could have moved and allowed me to be hit first, but he didn't. How could he have not seen it coming, after all? I am told by quite a few that's it not likely that he did that on purpose. That's possible, and I respect that opinion. But they weren't there.
My point of writing this all down is that I want to remember - and I want others to know - that drunk driving hurts people. We were so lucky to not have lost our lives that night. I wish it didn't happen, but it did, and I am a different person because of it.
There is no excuse, NONE at all, to drive while intoxicated. Have a designated driver, call a taxi, take a bus, anything! Or do what most of us do and drink at home because it's cheaper!
I don't like driving after bar closing now. I haven't for ten years. I do anything to avoid driving at that time to not have to go through what I went through ten years ago. It wasn't just the accident. It was the pain in the ass that followed. Having to find a new car (that I couldn't afford), getting my backpack from my car from the impound lot (harder than you think), dealing with scores of "are you okay?" for months, and the nightmares that lasted for a year after (which probably was the reason for the concern of friends), were all pieces of the part of my life taken from me.
I'm alive, and I'm happy for that, but it's not enough. Ideally, I want this to never happen again to anyone. I want my story to not have to be told ever again. I know that it's a lot to ask, and most likely not going to happen, but I'm going to try for it.
I want to close this chapter on my life, and never think about it again. But I know that because of it I am a different person, and one who is willing to do anything to stop drunk driving.
