Local Woman Hit by Bus (Part 2)

I recently wrote about my experience with getting hit by a bus in 2008 and the recovery process that continues through today. I am using this mini-series to address various topics related to the incident, and this installment discusses what it was like to have a near-death experience (NDE).

Spoiler alert: No, my life did not flash before my eyes, nor did I see a light at the end of the tunnel. No feelings of serenity or deep understanding about the meaning of life or finding peace with my possible death. No sensations I’d quite describe as leaving my body either.

Despite the fact this easily could have been a fatal tragedy, maybe I just wasn’t close enough to death for the really juicy stuff to go down. It is probably debatable whether the situation was a true NDE considering that I stood up on my own two feet within a few minutes of the incident. To the best of my knowledge, I didn’t even lose consciousness unless it was for just a second or two between hitting the ground and moments later sitting up, feeling anxious to get myself out of the road. I certainly didn’t require CPR or anything nearly that serious.

That said, many definitions of NDEs don’t require flatlining. Instead, they are more generally described as traumatic, life-threatening situations in which a person is in serious harm’s way. This Scientific American article includes things like blunt traumas and significant falls.

“Several studies, including surveys of recently resuscitated hospitalized patients and a nationwide poll of the general population have estimated that near-death experiences are reported by 30%-40% of individuals who come close to death, or about 5% of the adult American population.”

Dr. Bruce greyson

Rather than get caught up in semantics, I’ll downgrade how I refer to it slightly as being a “(near-) near-death experience” ((N)NDE). I did, after all, get hit by a bus, which is the quintessential phrase used when folks reference how fleeting life is or how important it is to prepare for the possibility of death — because who knows, as the logic goes, any one of us could get hit by a bus tomorrow. This notion even lent itself to developing what is called the “bus factor” in workplaces, which is as a measurement of the risk resulting from information and functions not being shared among team members or having redundancy built in.

“A project’s bus factor (or truck factor) is a number equal to the number of team members who, if run over by a bus, would put the project in jeopardy.”

DevIQ.com

As far as NDE accounts go, the common experiences I can relate to are time slowing down, my thoughts speeding up, and an absence of pain.

I distinctly recall the gradual onset of the realization that the accident was about to happen. As I mentioned in Part 1, there were several points of observation about the bus’s location and speed. Once I noted its status of getting further into the turn without slowing down, I picked up the pace in an unsuccessful attempt to clear its path, which is when events suddenly began to unfold too quickly to avert the disaster I saw coming. The clarity of these recollections has far more depth and detail than what seems like should be possible given how quickly the situation evolved, as it doesn’t take more than a minute to cover one lane of traffic in a crosswalk.

As for the moment of impact, my recollections grow somewhat blurry. I vaguely recall the physical sensation of being struck on my left side and then a few jostling bumps as I hit the pavement on my right side. But when I sat up moments later, I was stunned to discover myself lying on the ground.

To an extent, I had no idea how I’d gotten there. My immediate response was fear because my instincts told me I was in an unsafe location and needed to get out of the road. I immediately sat up and began gingerly exploring standing until I heard someone shouting, “Don’t move! You’ve been hit by a bus!”

I had a tough time comprehending that the person was speaking to me. Still, the voice commanded so much intensity and authority that I gave up the effort to rise. I began to look around to get my bearings and observed the bus stopped several feet away, just beyond the end of the crosswalk, with its hazard lights flashing. The distance between myself and it later processed into the understanding that it struck me hard enough to knock me probably at least 12 feet or more beyond where I’d been walking.

Memory blanks like mine are common for accident and trauma victims. The brain is such a complex and fascinating part of our body; for an interesting read on the mechanisms that interplay in these types of situations, check out this Scientific American article, which notes that when “the mind and body enter a more alert but also more stressed state, [there are] trade-offs that can save your life, but harm your mind’s memory-making abilities.” Essentially, the same increase in adrenaline in my bloodstream that cued my potentially life-saving instinct to run a few steps before the bus hit me also likely prompted my brain to produce noradrenaline, which impeded the formation of a cohesive memory of the events.

The adrenaline also explains the remarkable absence of pain I experienced in the hour or so following the accident. This typical response to collisions and traumatic injuries arises because victims are in a chemically altered state due to the adrenaline spike instructing the body to release endorphins that act as natural painkillers and distract from the extent of pain.

Instead of focusing on potential injuries, I first worried about where my purse had gone; much like noticing I was on the ground and feeling unsafe instinctively, I likewise felt insecure realizing I didn’t have possession of this vital object and grew concerned as to whether it would make its way back to me. Following that thought was a random, absurd curiosity about where the cigarette was that I’d been smoking. I intently scanned the pavement for it. I don’t think I planned to retrieve or finish it; I just wanted to know where the heck it landed for some reason.

When a concerned couple who witnessed the accident informed me that an ambulance was on the way, I ill-advisedly insisted that I was fine and did not need medical care. In surveying myself, I only noticed a few scrapes that looked minor enough to deal with using rubbing alcohol and some Neosporin. As a broke young barista, the notion of ambulance and emergency room expenses was easily as problematic as the possibility that something I wasn’t yet aware of may be wrong.

Fortunately, that couple reasoned with me to at least get a once-over from the EMTs when they arrived. Then, while treating my road rash abrasions, the EMTs convinced me to accept a ride to the nearest emergency room. As all these folks suspected, my pain began to reveal itself shortly after my transport, so the ER team insisted on X-rays and several hours of monitoring.

At the time of my release, I walked away keenly aware of how fortunate I was. My ribs, the chief complaint that first day, were only bruised, not broken. I did not require a single stitch, and my cognitive functioning remained fully intact. What are the chances of getting hit by a bus and not having a concussion? Talk about being blessed, for real!

“Better to lose count while naming your blessings than to lose your blessings counting your troubles.”

Maltbie d. babcock

Other injuries made themselves known in the months and years that followed (coccydynia, reduced shoulder rotation, and two herniated lumbar discs), plus an array of other hardships like financial instability and trauma caused by several missed months of work. Despite my many difficulties, I still count myself the luckiest unlucky person I know.

If you’ve had an NDE or (N)NDE, I’m curious about your experience. Drop me a line using the Contact form, email hello@hezhub.com, or leave a comment below.