One Tuesday afternoon, I was carelessly riding through the woods on my
motorcycle. I had just gotten home from the races, and I had another 1st place trophy.
Nobody could beat me. I was the perfect motorcrosser, I thought. As I was riding
through the woods I came to a 60-foot long jump that I was always scared to hit. I hit it,
and then my life flashed before my eyes. The next thing I knew I was lying beside a huge
tree that I had just smashed into.
I came too, realizing that I could not move. My legs were numb. I felt like dying.
I knew my life would never be the same. So many questions bombarded my thoughts at
once. . I asked myself many questions in those solitary minutes. Would I live? Would I
be able to walk? School, my god. Will I pass?
Then as I started to cry for help, I heard someone coming. My friend came
running up to me, and the expression on his petrified face told me I was in deep trouble.
His eyes were opened wide, wide enough so that I could see my reflection. I looked
appalling. There was a trickle of blood running down my forehead. Then before I could
say anything he took off running to get help. As I was lying there in the middle of the
woods all alone, I began to think of my future. I thought of my future like I had never
before in my life. Then I blacked out.
I was coming too, I could see my mom and dad, and each had a hold of one of my
hands. They were not crying, but I knew on the inside, they were as in as much pain as I
was. It was the morning after my horrific accident. There were so many new sounds,
smells, and people, I would come to know quite well. I could hear the beeping of the
monitors that work monitoring my vital signs. I could hear the nurses scampering down
the hallways to meet the needs of their many sick patients. Just as I was becoming aware
of my surroundings, the doctor came in.
He introduced himself as Dr. Deblasi. He was an older man, probably in his upper
50's. He was nicely dressed, wearing an Armani suit, and a diamond drenched Rolex
watch. I figured he must have been a good doctor. I would soon learn over the next
couple of weeks, that he was a careless doctor, who made way too much money.
He told me I had broken a bone in my back that required no major surgery, and
would be able to walk in a week or so. I thought that was the best news that I had heard
in my life. He then told me that I would be walking with a cane for maybe 6 months, and
would never be able to play sports again. That did not bother me at all, as long as I could
walk I would be fine. Two weeks later he said my back should be healed enough to walk.
So in came the Physical Therapist to try and get me to walk. Once I got up, I screamed as
loud as I could. Pain overtook me, and they laid me back down. They decided to do
some more tests and x-rays and found that I had also broken my pelvis. This would
definitely need a major surgery, so my mom got another doctor.
Dr. Larson was his name. He told me that I needed surgery as soon as possible.
The nurses came later that day, making me sign papers stating that the doctors nor the
hospital is responsible for my death if I should die during the operation. After everyone
had cleared out of my room that night, I laid there in my bed, wondering if I would
survive.
Seven hours after my surgery started I came too. I was in the recovery room, and
I was alive. The surgery was successful. I now had a plate and 4 screws buried deep
beneath my skin. It was an uphill battle from here I thought. This doctor was perfect I
thought to myself. He was the expert, and could make no mistakes.
When they operated on me, they left a drainage tube in my abdominal region to
prevent infection. Three days after my operation the doctor