A Road More Traveled

CONTRIBUTION — NAME WITHHELD BY REQUEST

It was early February 2021— Super Bowl Sunday, to be exact, when a companion and I were driving from Cape Cod to Rhode Island, and the snow began to stick to the icy road surfaces. Traffic was light, but drivers ignored the treacherous conditions and mindlessly exceeded a reduced speed limit customarily imposed by common sense.

We left Route 495 and began heading west on Route 195, when I noticed a pickup truck pulled to the left of the passing lane, precariously balanced between the pavement and the dirt shoulder. Its hazard lights were flashing, but the operator remained inside.

As we passed the lone truck—from the corner of my eye—I saw a black Mercedes-Benz SUV off the road; it rested against a grove of trees; its nose pointed east, opposite to the flow of traffic, it looked as if it were a typical spin out.

Once observed, I felt the need to make a decision; with only a second to spare, I asked myself, do I stop, stay the course, or alert the police? Details of what I witnessed swirled in my mind, and I began to evaluate the circumstances that flashed before me; was the damage the remnants of an early collision, or did it just occur?

I mused over why only one vehicle was perched above the scene—unresponsive; it was odd and without explanation.

With inadequate time to process what I saw, these bits of data created more questions and little in the way of providing answers; making a choice—I pulled into the breakdown lane.

I carefully skated across the snow-slick road and ran down the embankment towards the car; by this time, there were swirls of hot steam rising from under the hood only to dissipate into the cold winter air. The accident had just occurred, and I was the second person to arrive on the scene.

As I approached the heavily damaged SUV, I found myself in a vacuum; I was engulfed by undistracted silence and surrounded by a thick tenor of turmoil. Such an odd occurrence caused me pangs of loneliness, which reminded me that I had immersed myself into the unknown and was now responsible for whatever followed; there was no turning back.

I made my way to what appeared to be a total wreck; I tried to convince myself that no one would be found; it was not what it seemed to be.

As I reached for the door handle, an obliterating groan emanated from behind the cloth curtains created by the blownout airbags; “Damn it,” I thought, “I hope to hell there are no children inside.”

Tugging on the driver’s side door, it wouldn’t release. I pulled and pulled— then, with all my strength, I finally got the lock to release. As the door opened, a high-pitched scream of metal against metal rang out; it clarified the extent of the damage; it also revealed a pair of legs jammed under the steering column and the dashboard, with the rest of the body lying over the console and extending onto the floor of the passenger’s area.

At that moment, I could feel adrenaline being released into my bloodstream; my focus was heightened, my senses keen, nothing else mattered in the space of time, I knew what I had to do next.

Quickly, I ran to the passenger’s side of the car; similar to the other side, the door was jammed, but I got it open. The sound of agony continued to heighten my attention; my eyes were drawn to the floor. There was the torso of the driver covered by debris and copious amounts of fresh blood. It was splattered everywhere; it amassed the shattered windshield, was smeared along the dashboard, covered both headrests, and coated the interior.

The driver was alive, but for how long I questioned. After a quick evaluation, I determined his airway was clear, so I searched for visible injuries. The driver had a deep and elongated laceration across the back of his scalp; he also experienced a blunt-force injury to the side of his head—front to back.

My immediate concern was to stop the bleeding; with only a roll of paper towels—found in the car—I applied pressure to the in and out of consciousness driver’s wound. While only temporary, I realized I had to find a better way to stop the hemorrhaging. Another problem I had to resolve was the inverted position, which was causing his heart to pump vigorously and increasing the bleeding. It was apparent that the man’s life was in my blood-covered hands, and I needed to act quickly if he was going to make it out of the car, get to a hospital, and see his family again.

I frantically searched inside the car for anything that I could use to apply pressure to the injury and absorb the discharge—but I found nothing. Finally, while digging deep into my brain and begging for an answer, I gazed out the door and up to the lone pickup truck when I noticed the driver waving a white towel in my direction. Could it be true, my prayers were being answered?

Not fully understanding why he wouldn’t leave his vehicle, I realized it was up to me to retrieve his offer, and, as much as I didn’t want to leave the injured man, I had to make a decision—I ran up to the truck. Pulling the towel from the driver’s hand, I asked if he called for help; he responded over the sound of passing traffic, “My battery is out of power; I don’t have service.”

Under pressure to get back to the accident victim, I returned to the car while quietly cursing, “Fuck, what the hell am I going to do; no one has made a call or stopped to help? I have a guy who could die if he loses any more blood. I don’t believe this!”

I applied the fluffy oversized bandage to the wound and gently applied pressure. At the same time, I spoke to the driver, who was beginning to respond but had no idea what had happened.

Keeping my voice low and reassuring, I explained help was on the way, and I was going to stay with him until it arrived: my feeling was that at least one of us needed to be optimistic.

I had been cradling Don (not his real name) from behind, attempting to keep his head from falling out of the vehicle. Fearing he would go into hypovolemic shock, concerned over his aimless movements, and my losing strength from holding deadweight for what seemed to be forever, it was time to take the next step.

Don was becoming more fluid and responded to requests; this enabled us to remove his legs out from under the dash, over the console, lift his head and body upright, and into a seated position.

Now sitting up, I was able to keep the pressure on the back of Don’s head. Once secured, I extracted huge branches from the car and placed personal items onto the rear seat.

The seriousness of the driver’s injury hadn’t taken hold; he didn’t seem to be worried—or understand—that he could bleed out. I also doubt he felt the crippling pain caused by the physical trauma of being thrown around the interior. I continued to focus on keeping Don’s condition stable until help arrived; but deep down, I questioned why no one had responded.

Suddenly, another passerby—a former police officer appeared to offer assistance; I explained the driver was hurt and needed an ambulance. As quickly as he showed up, he disappeared. Running to his mini-van, he placed a call to 911.

Time labored on, and what seemed like an hour, was no more than 15 minutes; I was later told.

Finally, a Massachusetts State Trooper arrived, his uniform dry and crisp, so much so, it seemed to repel the snowflakes, made his way down to the scene and asked for a status report. Satisfied with the findings, he kept traffic under control and summoned assistance.

Shortly after his call, the EMS and fire apparatus appeared; in quick order, fire- fighters surrounded and secured the site. After briefing the medical technicians and speaking to the Chief, I retreated.

While waiting on the sidelines, uncertain if I had to make a statement or answer any questions, I started to reconstruct the accident from tire tracks, damage, and what I had found in the car.

The SUV contained a large tree branch broken into three pieces, about five to six inches in diameter and maybe five feet long in total. One section had a point at its end much like a spear; it startled me because it was apparent it sliced the flesh of Don’s head during impact.

From my observations and what Don tried to explain, he was traveling on the opposite side of the highway on his way to Cape Cod. Without notice, his car went into a spin, jetted off the road, traveled down the embankment, passing through a space between two large trees, and continued to move through a small clearing. The vehicle skirted along a row of mature trees and brush, breaking a limb. The heavy branch blasted through the windshield into the cabin—one side to another. Simultaneously, the momentum had thrust Don forward and to the right towards the passenger side. Not wearing a seatbelt, Don explained why I found him with his head in the foot-well and his feet under the dash.

Further analysis indicated the projectile crossed from the left side of the vehicle to the right—forcefully inserted between the seats and the driver; from this finding, it can be assumed that the branch caused Don’s head injury.

My best guess is that Don was spared from death by only a few inches; it seems the broken limb crossed behind his head as he was thrown forward, violently striking the back of his skull. A further assumption—but an accurate one is that if he had not been driven to the floor at a crucial point in time, the pointed branch would have pierced his head, either through his ear canal or temple.

You might ask why I share these details with you. Well, I have a satisfactory answer—at least to me. First, I believe Don had a guardian angel looking out for him. It was more than a lucky break that he ended up where he did and avoided death. Next, timing is everything—having some healthcare experience—I may have been the right person to come upon the accident. Then, I was given a choice—to stop or continue on my way. I could have left the obligation to offer assistance to another traveler, but I didn’t; I knew, in my heart, I had to respond when called upon.

I hope no one feels I have marginalized the driver of the pickup parked along the road and remained in the cab. He was responsible for my noticing the accident and provided a clean towel I needed at the time. His contributions made a difference that day—I hope he knows my appreciation since he uneventfully drove away without notice.

Everyone’s actions served as heaven’s gifts intended for Don. In hindsight, it seems that our roles were predetermined and only required us to act them out.

Once Don was in the ambulance, the officer stopped traffic so I could cross the highway. As I approached my car and opened the door, I heard a voice say, “You’re covered in blood—what the hell happened?” As I started the car and drove away, my passenger asked for details; but shared that she believed I was talking to someone about the accident and thought the car had been abandoned.

Her response caused me to smile; not fully processing the order of events, I asked, “Don’t you know what happened?” “No,” was the retort. “You told me to stay in the car, and you would be right back; I couldn’t see anything from here.” The only thing I thought to say was, “Oh my God, do I have a story for you.”

Amazed when she learned of what happened, my companion gleefully bestowed admiration for my quick action, and the fact I was willing to accept the personal risk to help another, made her proud.

We continued to our destination when again she praised my reaction and intervention. However, I noticed those Audrey Hepburn eyes scanning me from head to toe, punctuated by a wrinkle of her nose. As she turned away, a warm comment was released from her lips, “You have to get those clothes off and wash them as soon as possible—they’re so gross!”

I share this story hoping you will publish it and alert the public to the dangers of driving in inclement weather and the importance of navigating according to the conditions. This driver made it, but not everyone will be so lucky.