This story got me thinking. First, I was reminded of the clarity by which I watched a hunk of oddly-formed metal rain from the sky to pit my car windshield and how I now feel validated by neuroscientist Eagleman, then I was reminded of why my "mega memory" was activated in that moment.
As explained in the NPR excerpt, the slo-mo effect of your brain generally only kicks in when your mind and body actually feel like you're going to die. While the expression "I'm going to die" is used rather nonchalantly (i.e. describing situations of extreme boredom or embarrassment), in my experience, the times when I almost died were not moments I was thinking, "HOLY CRAP I'M GOING TO DIE", but more along the lines of, "OH S***, HOW AM I GONNA GET OUT OF THIS?!".
If I was a metaphorical cat, I'd be down to seven (maybe six) lives right now.
I've mentioned I'm pretty accident prone. Injuries I generally incur are hardly life-threatening because I unintentionally do them
to myself. I don't take huge risks with things that I know are inherently dangerous, that would just be asking for it. However, on occasion, I have almost died by a fluke other than my own doing. Not to be morbid or anything, but I'm going to tell you about them.
About almost dying:
The first time... I might have been asking for it.
When I was 11, my grandparents bought the whole family tickets to Hawaii for Christmas. The day after we arrived, my father and I decided to take to the beach all day to try our hand at body surfing. It was gorgeous out and the waves were huge, the average face broke at about 10 feet.
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| These are 5-foot waves, they are for pussies. |
A yellow coastal warning flag was flying that day indicating "medium hazard, moderate surf and/or currents", but I was a strong swimmer and was able to handle the undertow and usually move fast enough to swim up and over the face of the wave if I couldn't catch a break that would carry me towards shore. If I didn't catch a break and couldn't make it over the top, I had the sense to dive under or through the wave and come out in one piece on the other side.
Throughout the day, the waves got bigger. And BIGGER. We would ride one into shore and, upon heading back out, watch them rise to 15, 20, then 25 and 30 feet. The faces of the waves were HUGE and
we were surfing them, with only our bodies, and it was AWESOME. We were hardly a match for such a respectable and deadly force of nature, but it was too much fun to call it quits. At some point the beach cleared out and the lifeguards changed the flag from yellow to red meaning "high hazard, high surf and/or strong currents." We just plain didn't see it.
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These are 100-foot waves. they are for people with GIANT BALLS MADE OF BRASS
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We did notice that the breaks were coming really hard and really fast. One right after the other. Were you at the base of the waves when they peaked, you only stood in about a foot of water. The sheer size and power of them sucked up innumerable gallons all around you before hammering its thunderous descent into the exposed sand. Needless to say, you didn't want to be anywhere near the base of the wave when it fell, nor did you want to be just under the crest. I dove through more and more, unable to make it anywhere near over the top. Finally, my dad and I saw a good set and decided to take one last ride. "Let's make this one the best one of the day!" he said (or something like that, my mega memory didn't kick in yet). We swam out through the deafening crash of waves.
I watched my father take off in my periphery, then, swimming hard across the first break, set myself in a position to catch the second. I started swimming at a steady pace and, as the swell tugged me back and up and up and up, time slowed.
Something was wrong.
Was I swimming too fast? Did I engage too early? Thirty-some-odd feet above the ground I realized I was looking straight down and the only thing supporting me was the crest of the wave that was creeping across my back. I was
under the break. The wave was breaking directly above me and there was nothing below me but a foot of water and hard packed sand. I didn't catch the wave, I was about to eat it.
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I know how this guy feels.
Photo courtesy of The Age |
In that moment time actually stopped. The burgeoning wave was silent. I remember thinking, "Ok... this is gonna suck". Took a deep breath. And fell.
Head
over
heels.
Thirty.
Feet.
Down.
I landed on my back. It was like a reverse bellyflop. The force of impact punched wind from my lungs. The wave crashed
just in front of me. Trapped in tumultuous silence I was flung around like a rag doll. Feeling the ground under me I pushed off and broke the surface, fighting to take in air. Safe. But for only a moment.
Time moved sluggishly and, as I tried to find the shore, the riptide peeled away my surroundings. Standing in two feet of water, I stared up at the final wave in the set. "OH S***, HOW AM I -" With no time or the strength to dive under it, countless tons of water hit me square in the face.
It flung my feet out from under me and my neck was piledriven into the sand. I choked on foam, water, sand, fish? Tumbled. Whipped sideways and backwards. Upwards? Down? Each stroke an aimless search to find the sand, the surface, air. Everything was light and then dark. Roiling then still. I was now a part of the dynamics of the ocean. You can't retch when you're imbued in water or hold your breath when your lungs are full of fluid.
The waters began to recede again. "Swim away, away from the riptide". My hands scraped sand. I planted my feet and hands firmly into it, pushed into the direction I thought was up. I moved forward, broke the surface, and found myself fifty yards from the shore. I struggled to take breaths. I had to keep moving lest I get caught in another set. I most likely would've drowned were I hit again.
I kept moving until I could stand with water below my waist and then I puked. It's rather difficult to puke when you are fighting for air. By the time I made it to shore I was somehow breathing normally and trying to get sand out of my nose and ears and crotch. The thing you may or may not know about lady swimsuits is that they have a fine mesh layer in the crotchal-area that is generally sewn in on all sides. It's like a friggin kangaroo pouch designed specifically to create sand joeys and it's damned near impossible to get the sand out. My crotch had so much sand in it... it looked like I grew my own pair of brass balls. But... I was alive.
"Man, that one was crazy, huh?" My dad asked. He had no idea. I nodded. He handed me a towel. We headed back to the house. We got a boogie board for Christmas. I went out every day until I got a really bad sunburn. Neither of my parents have ever heard that story.
The second brush with near death is not nearly that exciting, maybe only a half a near-death experience (hence the cat-self with the slanty eyes and "deceased?"). It was a near-miss near-lethal car accident in which my friend did, probably, save our lives. He definitely saved my car, so now has the dubious honor of being the only person I trust to drive my car, ever.
We were run off the road into a depressed median by a semi at 80 mph and
somehow managed to not roll the car, get a flat, head into oncoming traffic, hit anyone, anything, or even get a single scratch or dent on the car. It was a goddamned miracle. I don't know how I didn't overreact and grab the wheel and I don't know how he managed to bring the car to a stop after such madness. All I can remember hearing was a high pitched squeal in between chanted "OH GOD. OH GOD. OH GOD." Neither vocalization came from me. I was somewhere else completely, almost like I was watching it on TV.
But we stopped. We sighed. We had our WTF moment and were fine. Though we almost weren't. The worst part about it was the stupid driver didn't have a HOW IS MY DRIVING? sticker affixed to his rig. We totally might have flipped him off in passing him later but he also totally might have killed us and there was no one we could report him to but the highway patrol and they did nothing, so we'll call it car karma favoring us forever.
Except, to this day, both my friend and I have pretty much the worst car karma (Car-ma?) ever.
Case in point:
I had been rear ended trying to back out of the parking lot at work. Some jugbutt misogynist was too engaged in ogling sports bra-clad joggers to pay attention to the fact that I was literally waiting in the middle of the street for him to pass. The jogging ladies were actually directing me out since I had no visibility and insisted I wait while Captain Courteous drove by. Instead, he drove right into the corner of my car and knocked out my taillight. Though it honestly wasn't my fault and the jogging ladies came to my defense, my insurance still held me 60% responsible since my car was in reverse (even though I wasn't moving). One week later I was scheduled to get an estimate on the damage.
That morning I was on my way to work, trying to get in relatively early as I had to leave at midday in order to make it to my estimate on time. It was a remarkably smog-free spring day and I was caught up in the sluggish early morning rush hour. Axl Rose was whistling D, G, C chords of "Patience" as I readied myself to merge off the 405 into faster traffic.
My exit to work was the slow right lane which took an upward slope as it broke from the freeway, headed uphill, and ended in a stoplight. Nearing it I suddenly noticed traffic was stopped dead. 30-40 cars snaked up the hill to the light, stuck bumper to bumper. I slowed and stopped with a good six feet between my car and the car in front of me. Then my spider sense tingled.
I checked my rearview.
A black Mitsubishi SUV was coming up fast.
Really fast.
Time nearly stopped.
"That guy's going to hit me," I thought calmly.
I looked at the traffic in front of me and rationalized, "if that guy hits me, I hit everyone in front of me."
My internal monologue continued. "I do not want to be hit. If I am hit, I might be crushed. I could be seriously hurt if I was crushed. I should move. I have space to move. There's like... six feet between my car and the one in front of me. If I move, that guy will have time to stop and not hit me or all those people in front of me."
I was being very sensible and, because time was hardly moving, I got a lot of thoughts in.
I checked my sideview mirror. The lane to my left was clear. I pulled left. Just as I was about even with the car in front of me -
BAM!
His front bumper met my trailer hitch square on.
I honestly wasn't expecting it. I didn't think he was
actually going to hit me. But he did. Hard. At an (estimated) 80-90 miles an hour. My front and side impact airbags never deployed. My laptop slammed into the windshield. Books and papers flew everywhere. My ipod dislodged from the dock, turning Axl's whine into blaring radio static. Both my flip flops flew off my feet (one of them somehow ended up in the trunk). My forehead grazed the windshield before being whipped back by the seatbelt safety catching then locking into place.
The impact sent me shooting clear across 5 lanes of traffic. Another car clipped me in the driver's side rear, but I hardly felt it. A cacophonous opera of crunches and wailing tires scored the cars as they jockeyed around each other with tremendous force, the accentuating notes of safety glass shimmering and tinkling on the pavement. All around me, cars pirouetted, spiraled, and reeled. I managed to regain control before slamming into the median and guided my car straight, attempting to dodge the miserable dance going on behind and beside me, then over to the emergency lane on the other side of the exit. I pulled to a stop. Put the car in park. Turned on my hazard lights. Turned off the ignition. A hobbled BMW came to rest against my rear door. The symphony ended with the screams of stuck horns. Time ticked by in real time seconds and I settled into shock.
Called 9-1-1. Highway Patrol answered. I don't remember what I said but they came quickly. They were very nice. Nicer than I expected. I told them that. I wouldn't let them tow my car. I was too far from home, and somehow, of the 14-some-odd cars involved in the accident, mine was the only one that was drivable. They wrote up 12 different accident reports. 2 of them were mine.
Called someone to cover for me at work and began crying and babbling incoherently before suddenly stopping, pausing, then hanging up. She probably thought I was crazy because I cried around her a lot, but it was really that she was always around when I cried. I don't really cry that much.
Firemen came. They were very cute and very nice. One of them helped me take my shirt off in order to take my blood pressure. I think I asked him out. I think he said no because he thought I was joking. I think I was serious, but maybe imagined it all. I wouldn't let them take me to the hospital.
Went to work, picked up my adapter for my laptop. People asked if I saw the accident, you could watch the clean up from the windows. Cried when someone tried to comfort me. Stopped. Went outside. Looked at car. Agreed with coworker that damage was surprisingly not that bad. Said I'd be in on Monday. I wasn't.
Called my insurance agent who told me to get my estimate anyway because that location was booked for the next week. He belched on the phone. He got laid off or quit that week. He never followed up on my claim. He was a worldclass asshat.
Called my friend, went to her house. She's a doctor. She was not on call that day. We were supposed to go camping the next day. "I'll be fine tomorrow," I said. Whiplash, concussion, shock. All possibilities. I promised to go to the hospital if it got worse. "Camping tomorrow, I'll call you." We never go.
Went to estimate. One dude worked in the shop. I think he had a facial birthmark. I explained what happened. He glanced at damage. Shrugged. I sat down. He examined the damage. Whistled low. "Look at this," he said, pointed to my trailer hitch. It was bent nearly 90 degrees towards the ground. "This saved your life. If you didn't have this, you would be dead. You would be so dead. Do you know how much force it takes to bend this? This is the strongest piece of your car and look at it! You lucky."
I bought the car in November the year before. The trailer hitch and side curtain airbags were optional features that came with on that particular car. I only got them because the car was the only one in the color I wanted that had a compass in the rearview. At least one of the features worked out.
I went to the ER that night. They gave me Vicodin. I didn't fill the prescription because Vicodin makes me feel like poopy crap.
I couldn't get out of bed for three days. I couldn't even get up to use the restroom. Moving was miserable. I had nightmares.
My roommate drove me everywhere and his driving was atrocious. Every stop and turn was painful.
I didn't go back to work until two weeks later, then my contract expired. The first time on the freeway again was horrifying, but I did it. The nightmares stopped.
Let's bring it back to the beginning now. Take into account our hosts' discussion in the conclusion of the NPR excerpt. "How [would you] feel if you remembered that stuff all the time?" "You'd be totally consumed by memories-" "You wouldn't be able to forget it".
While in all of these near-death situations my spider sense kicked in and gave me incredible insight to recall every tiny detail, even to this day, I have no fear of these memories. Occasionally, I have car accident dreams, but I don't dream of
my accident. It's simply
an accident in my dreams. Sure, that's scary and all, but it's not nearly as scary as recalling my accident over and over again and being terrified of it. I don't ever relive my accidents. Though these instances may have been a few of the worst moments of my life, I came out okay, and I am at peace with them. I'm lucky in more ways than one. I'm alive, safe, and of sound mind.
Now think about anyone you've ever known that's served in combat, witnessed or been subject to a horrible tragedy, violence, or abuse, and then think about
PTSD. Think about living the worst moments of your life over and over again, recalling every detail, and
not being able to forget it.
Our brains are magical little mothers, except when they're monsters.
That's a rather somber end to this post, but it's something I've been fretting about. I cannot even begin to imagine being tormented every day by horrifying minutiae. My heart goes out to people who suffer it and I would encourage everyone to support causes, loved ones, and friends in order to ensure that those who need it receive necessary treatment and care.
