Shit Luck

My wife was T-boned by a car within yards from our house. The car swerved to miss hitting Uncle Mack on his bike with his wife and slammed HARD into my wife on her Harley.

I had heard the bikes turn onto the hill. I saw the car pass by. I heard the crash.

Uncle Mack was yelling to call an ambulance, so I did just that. Dispatch, in Derby. I stayed on until they asked my Social Security number, Then I hung up and crutched to the crash.

Marg's bike was ruined. Crushed. Something had painted the brush black, oil? Blood?

When I reached her she was broken on an old rock wall. Eyes glazed, body twisted, left leg gone below the knee.

Stop the bleeding. Protect the wound. Treat or prevent shock.

No wound visible but leg. Pressure. Hold the leg tight, stop the bleeding.

But she wasn't bleeding. She had bled out before I got there.

Off to Weeks Memorial in Lancaster. Lots of blood lost. Six bags. Little or no pulse.

Off to Dartmouth, Marg on a chopper, me in the van.

At Dartmouth there were 10-20 people around her, doing nothing. It was over, They wanted a CAT Scan and I went into the Death Room with a Doc. Broken pelvis, massive blood loss, possible brain damage. Need to see brain.

Brain bad, swelling, no extraordinary procedures are possible.

They covered the respiration and heart monitors.

I said goodbye.

In Nam there was an understanding about "Shit Luck". One guy walks through an ambush and the next guy gets it. A mortar round hits only one guy in a group. The single snipers round hisses through a helmet. Shit luck. This eliminates the "what if's" , the ironic components, the bargaining with unheeding gods.

Shit luck.