To those who triumph over tragedy
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When Michael and I walked triumphantly up the aisle as our guests clapped for us as newlyweds, we had no idea our marriage would be measured in hours, not decades.
We met in high school, but didn't date until college. Michael proposed to me at Christmas when we were seniors and we planned to marry that June.
I was excited as the date drew nearer, but there was so much to do. A bridal gown, flowers, a cake, a plan for a honeymoon, and a thousand other details later, we stood together, and spoke the vows we had written.
A few hours later, having changed into our travel clothes, Michael and I pulled out of the parking lot to drive 10 miles to the airport.
We had lived together that last year of school, so our wedding night would not be our first sexual experience together. Far from it. However, it would be special as our first night as husband and wife, and we were both excited.
I vaguely remember leaning over and kissing Michael's cheek, but I'm not even sure about that.
All I remember is waking up in a hospital room. I looked around and saw my mother.
"Mom!"
I thought I spoke it, but there was only a strange raspy sound.
I cried, but I wasn't yet sure why. She held me. She was crying, too.
Before I could figure out my own condition and why I was there, Michael's mother walked in the door and was crying, too. She came and hugged me and then hugged Mom.
"Where's Michael?"
Still raspy, but audible this time.
All I heard was sobbing.
"Where is he? I want to see him!"
"Ashley, Michael... Michael died in the accident. I'm so sorry."
"What? No!"
In that moment, I noticed my pain, and it was intense.
I was sobbing, not understanding anything, only that Michael was gone.
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Over the next few days I learned I had been unconscious for five days. I had missed Michael's funeral. Each new thing I learned made me cry.
I hurt all over, physically and emotionally. I asked Dad what had happened.
He said the police had done their best to reconstruct the accident. They believed Michael was driving 45 in a 45 zone--I was positive that was true. Michael never drove faster than the speed limit.
"A drunk driver--everything was caught on a traffic cam--a drunk driver driving a large SUV and traveling at an estimated 60 miles per hour--the speed limit was 35 on that street--raced through a red light 16 seconds after it turned red. He hit your car on Michael's door.
"I've watched the traffic cam video. Your car went airborne and rolled three times as it slid along the road.
"Ashley, I'm so glad you weren't killed!"
"Was Michael alive?"
"No. He was apparently killed instantly."
I was crying, trying not to imagine what Michael looked like.
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My doctor sat down with me and explained my injuries in terms I could understand.
"Ashley, you look a lot better now than the night you were brought into the ER. There were several skilled specialists we contacted that night, who spent most of the first 24 hours there. You were a mess. I know that's a reaction rather than a catalog of injuries, so let me talk about them.
"I'll start from your feet. You had a dislocated right ankle and a severely broken fibula in that leg. We resolved the dislocation, and surgically repaired ligament damage. Your leg also required surgery and a plate and some screws to reduce the break sufficiently to heal. You should eventually regain close to 100% use of that ankle and leg, but it will take some time. We're waiting for swelling to go down to cast that leg.
"Your left leg was fractured, but reduction was simpler and is in a cast now. You should have no problems with that leg after rehab.
"Your right forearm was fractured and is in a cast now. Your left arm escaped injury, except for a lot of bruising.
"Your right ear was partially torn, but our specialist repaired it and I don't think you will have much of a visible scar. He worked wonders!
"You had a deep cut high on your forehead with substantial bleeding, but I think the scar will be minimal and you can cover it with your hairstyle.
"Overall, your entire body took a beating. You managed to remain unconscious, partially with the aid of some sedation. That spared you a lot of pain."
"Is my back injured? It's really sore."
"We were concerned about that and studied the X-rays carefully. I'm confident you will be extremely sore, but there should not be any lasting problem.
"Ashley, I don't want to paint too rosy a picture. You'll recover, but it will take time and some hard work in physical therapy. There won't be much you can do until the casts come off, but I want you in PT within a week after that."
"Thanks, doctor. Would you express my thanks to all the doctors and nurses?"
"They're all rooting for you. I'll let them know."
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The day before I was released from the hospital, I had a visit from an attorney, Nathan Winston. He was hired by our auto insurance company, to recover actual damages such as the cost of my hospitalization and rehabilitation. Nathan needed to broaden the claim to include all of my claims, damages for pain and suffering and the wrongful death of my husband. We talked about the claims and I signed the representation letter.
As my pain receded, my grief came to the fore. I missed Michael. All my hopes and dreams for us as a family, our plan to have children, all that was gone. I cried a lot.
I knew my parents were worried I was depressed. I could see it in their eyes. I was trying not to be, but I had little else to do but dwell on my losses.
I was discharged from the hospital and Dad drove me home. I couldn't use crutches, because of my three casts, but I had a wheelchair. My bedroom was upstairs, but that was impossible, so they moved my bed to our den. Dad lifted me in and out of bed. Even to go to the bathroom. Dad lifted me out of the bed and into my wheelchair. He would set me on the toilet and Mom helped me pull up my gown. Then the teamwork went in reverse.
I was pathetic!
It wasn't too long before I could handle everything except bed to wheelchair and back. It felt like independence. Imagine, my success in life defined by whether I could pee unassisted!
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When the casts were removed, I was surprised at how bad my legs and my arm looked. I was even more surprised that I couldn't walk!
A week later I slowly shuffled down the hall of the medical building and into the physical therapy clinic. I sat in the first chair I could find and stayed there to check in with the receptionist.
A few minutes later, a man came out from the back.
