Five of us hopped in Pontius to get some supplies from Costco for the Trojan Siege. The five of us were:
Me
Athena, my also-9-month pregnant sister in law
Patrick, her fianc�
Aisling, Dim�s cousin Peter�s girlfriend (whom he�d marry already if he had the sense God gave a donut.)
Stella, Dim�s aunt
I needed to make a left turn to get to Sophie�s house. The street was three lanes in each direction. Long story short, I couldn�t see around a stalled vehicle, and, instead of waiting to make a turn until I could assess the intersection better, I tried to make a left-hand turn.
Unfortunately, a Land Rover had plans for the intersection other than my passing through it.
So I blocked the path of the Land Rover with my car, and the Land Rover hit us and spun us 180 degrees. All of the airbags deployed. I don�t remember spinning. I only remember worrying about everyone else in the car and getting them out before someone else hit us.
We all lumbered out of the Pilot, counted heads (yup, five, all still attached) and I checked on the lady in the Land Rover. She was shaken, but okay. She didn�t want to get out of her car until the paramedics showed. Looking at the passel of dazed Greeks staggering in the street like zombies, I didn�t blame her.
Witnesses stayed at the scene, and I think it was one of them who called 911. In retrospect, I learned that if you want to speed up response time of medical and police assistance, make sure that you tell them that two 9-month pregnant women were involved in a car accident.
The paramedics responded quickly (it couldn�t have been more than six or eight minutes) and took a look at everyone. We had bumps and painful things that would later blossom into some spectacular-looking bruises, but nothing major. I had a pretty good burn from my airbag venting, and Aisling�s toe was bleeding, but the rest was kid stuff.
No one went in an ambulance to the hospital. The paramedics (helloooooo, Ving Rhames lookalike. Pour saline on my arm a little slower, will you?) asked us preggers if we wanted to go, but didn�t recommend it since we�d just be sitting for hours in a hospital anyway. We could both feel the babies kicking, and we weren�t contracting or anything, so we took a pass on an ambulance ride and promised to call our OBs once we got home.
The policeman (hellooooo, Poncharello lookalike. Write slower, will you?) wrote me a citation for the accident. The other lady and I exchanged information that wasn�t on the police report. I invited everyone: the witnesses, the cop, the lady I hit, and her husband to the Greek siege. No one took me up on it, but everyone felt better for the offer of hospitality. The lady has since made it a point to call me and check up on me and the baby. She�s someone that, had we not met under these circumstances, I�d enjoy having as a friend.
If one good thing can come of the accident, it�s this: I shine in a crisis. I wasn�t shaky, and I didn�t get batty. I was solid as a rock. My first instincts were to take care of others. I remained clear-headed and focused. I was cracking jokes with the paramedics. I was making sure that ice packs were properly placed on others. I was the paragon of clear-headedness and steely calm.
Of course, once I was sure everyone was taken care of and the cars were being safely towed away, I crumpled in Dimitri�s arms and sobbed like a little girl.
ed note: This picture sugar coats the damage to the Honda. It actually looked a lot worse in person.