The other day I was talking with some friends who’d stopped by and mentioned my writer’s block. They suggested I write about the accident. I suppose I’ve been putting it off because I’ve just assumed most people know what happened! While, in fact, I’m learning some of the people closest to me still have no clue. Of course, that’s okay because I’m not entirely sure I know all that happened either!
So here it is. The day of the actual fall. Either it’s a fabricated rendition I’ve made up or it’s the truth. You decide!
The evening of February 2nd was spent discussing the forecasted storm Denver was to get hit with, how bad the roads may be heading out in the morning, and my use of the term shredding on a status update for Facebook. Having quickly become a ski addict and in a race to get as many days in on the mountain as possible I was stoked to head out! I was even more excited to be going with some peeps I knew would be heading down some great runs and fast too. They were far better than I, but at least it’d be challenging!
The biggest thing on my mind as the four of us journeyed to the mountain was what the roads going back into Denver would look like that evening and why I was driving when I had three backseat drivers with me. I mean, don’t most smart women learn their lesson early on in their driving careers? “Don’t drive with men in the car.” It’s some unspoken rule, whether it’s your father or friends, this is just one of those areas where we should say who cares and hand over the keys. It’s not that they’re better drivers. It’s certainly not that we’re intimidated. It’s really a case of sanity for all the wise-cracks from the peanut gallery. But it was my vehicle and I’m an Iowa girl used to adverse weather conditions so, alas, I drove and made a mental vow to drive on the way back whether I really wanted to or not!
We decided on Keystone as resort of the day. Looking back, this is fitting, as I’d determined earlier in the season that Keystone was my least favorite resort thus far and I would not go back until they got much more snow. It was a fabulous day though! The snow wasn’t great at all and it was depressing that Denver got a foot of snow during the night and was to get another foot that day while the mountains got nada. Even so, we were SKIING so of course it was an excellent day!
I appeased the boarders in the group, by going to the park for a bit and watched them do some jumps. Then surprised myself by hitting a small jump and getting some acceptable air. That was the first time I’d intentionally (note the word intentionally there....) hit a jump and got some air so that was pretty fantastic. The video of it, on the other hand....um, let’s just say my in-the-air form needs some work!
Sadly, what could have been my personal best ski day came to an unfortunate end a few runs later. We were on a black (aka - difficult) run on the back mountain. One of the guys later told me we were going about 40mph. I guess that’s fast. It didn’t seem like we were going fast though. Regardless, I hit a bump and caught an edge or something and fell hard on my left side then proceeded to barrel roll like 30 times before coming to a stop.
That’s, of course, what I was told. What I actually recall is suddenly being on the solid surface and simultaneously feeling and seeing my helmet and goggles going back and forth on my head. I kept thinking: “Is my helmet still on? Are my goggles still on? When am I going to stop? Where are the trees?” You know, I’ve decided anytime you have time to think THAT MUCH during a fall - it’s probably not a good thing. I’d taken a couple other hard-ish falls on ice and moguled out runs earlier in the season but they were like: fall, land, maybe clench my teeth or bite my lip a bit, stretch, ask what happened, and get up. Certainly not: fall, mentally try to figure out what’s going on and how to roll with it as I’m bouncing down the mountain!
After I landed I heard Kevin’s voice ask if I was alright. Sitting up I said, “Yeah, yes I’m good!” He’s like, “Are you sure? ‘Cuz you just took a really hard fall. You don’t have to sit up yet.” I asked Nate and Kevin what happened. They recounted what they’d seen and showed me where I first hit. Who knows how many times I actually tumbled, but what I do know is when they first said “like 30 times” I didn’t believe them for a second. But then I saw where I first hit and looked at where I’d landed. Oooohhhh.
Kevin went on down to tell Adam I’d had a fall so he wouldn’t wonder what was taking us so long. Meanwhile, Nate got a conference call. Random right? But it was perfect because it gave me time to stretch and rest. I figured I’d just badly bruised my hip and with some stretching it’d be good enough to ski on some less difficult blues the rest of the day. Several minutes later I stood and continued my attempt to work out the kinks. When Nate got off the phone he noted that I hadn’t been putting weight on my left leg. Bummer. I totally didn’t catch that. While he’d been on the phone a gentleman had come by twice to ask if I needed Ski Patrol. No thank you! Nate asked the same thing. No way no way no way did I want to take the ride of shame down!
We tried to get me clipped into my bindings but that left leg just wouldn’t do it. Finally, with tears of stubborn irritation, I relented to what I’m sure he and Kevin had realized immediately. Bring on the Ski Patrol. Just as well, too. My outer pants were ripped from my upper thigh down to my knee. Who wants to ski with ripped pants anyway?
By this time Adam and Kevin had taken the lift back up and skied down to us. We waited and waited on Ski Patrol. The icy, snowy slope was frigid and hard as a rock so I stood as we waited. Apparently there was miscommunication because no one saw a person on the ground. I think Adam took my skis and put them in an “X” to show we were the ones needing help. Once they finally got there I was put in the sled and began the trek down the mountain. It was really odd being strapped down to a backboard. I kept thinking of scenario’s we’d played out in my Wilderness First Responder course. Not cool being on the other side of the scenario. I also remember thinking, “Poor choice in helmet Heather. The only thing people can see sticking out of the sled is always the helmet and here you have a bright pink one. Fantastic. Next year, stick with the neutrals.”
The boarder gals who brought me down in the sled transferred me to an ATV thingy with a bed in the back. Then they drove to what seemed like another country before moving me to an ambulance-like vehicle. That vehicle drove forever as well, before they put me into yet another ambulance-like truck. Finally we arrived at the Keystone Medical Center. For all I knew we were in Croatia, it took so long! I felt like Sally Field escaping from Iran in Not Without My Daughter. They’d hide in one type of vehicle for a ways, then hustle out while surrounded by their protectors, only to be placed in another mode of transportation. In my case, I was hiding amidst the mounds of straps and fabric enfolding me while various Keystone staff lifted the backboard from one place to another.
I’d asked one of the guys if he thought I should get an x-ray. He said better safe than sorry so I begrudgingly consented to treatment. Something like three hours later, after having a catheter hooked up to me (yes, I just admitted that) I was given the disturbing news that I’d broken my pelvis in at least two places and they were concerned about a potential break which may need immediate surgery. Without missing a beat the doc went on to ask which trauma one hospital I wanted to be taken to and that they were going to put me in an ambulance and give me some powerful meds to keep me comfortable or something like that.
That’s when I started crying. Ever the Dutch girl (for those who don’t get that, Dutch people or historically cheap), I still wasn’t crying for the pain, rather it was because of the every-present thought of my extreme lack of insurance for everything the medical staff informed me was ahead: ambulance ride, possible surgery, hospital stay, off work for six weeks...ugh. All I saw were dollar signs and the quick realization that my supplemental adventure insurance was not going to cut it. I kept telling myself, “God is in control.”
It was about this point that I allowed the nurse to go get the guys. I hadn’t been very thoughtful and wouldn’t let them back in the room with me so they’d been waiting for a few hours. Sorry guys. A couple gal pals, Katrina and Emily, had also joined all of us there as soon as they’d found out. Again, sorry guys but I am really thankful the girls showed up!
No one but me seemed to like my idea of putting one of my seats down in my Pathfinder and having them drive me to the hospital (so much for my driving back!) I learned there’s three trauma one hospitals in the Denver area, whatever that meant. So I called my friend Brook who’s a nurse and asked her advice because I had no idea what they were talking about. She said to have them take me to St. Anthony’s saying something about that’s where the Columbine students were taken. My thought? “Oooh, so THAT’S what trauma one means.” I suppose it should’ve been my first hint that this wasn’t your run-of-the-mill accident. After a long wait for the ambulance to get there and the interstate to re-open from the blizzard, I was off.
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