The Crash, Near-Death Experience And First Hospital
I was the second son of three children, an older brother, and a younger sister; leaving me as, the spare child, always in my older brother's shadow. This was cool with me, and I was alright. My most famous quote was, "Me-2-TB," referring to my older brother, Steve, of whom I wanted to be just like. But that would never happen, I was number two. When Steve was old enough, Mom and Dad bought him an Allstate Mo-Ped from Sears & Roebuck. I wanted one too, but reminded of my supposed, "irresponsibility," was discouraged. But one day, I was riding my friend, Don's, Honda 50 around the curve in front of my house. My Mom saw me, said I was racing and took my motorcycle privilege from me, until I was eighteen. And the day I turned eighteen, I was given Baxter's Kawasaki Mack III; holding current speed records, a dangerous motorcycle. Me, I had absolutely no experience riding motor-bikes, and got on that thing, thinking I'm a fast learner, but found, the hard way. This is where my story begins.
I am the middle child of three children with an older brother, Steve, and a younger sister, Susan. Me, I'm the spare child. I was caught by Mother, racing around Druid Dr. on my friend's Honda 50. I lost the privilege to ride motorcycles until I was 18, at which time I was given a Kawasaki Mach III. I soon upgraded to a "candy-apple blue," 1972 Harley-Davidson XLCH Sportster, and took it with me to Knoxville, for school at UT.
Living in Knoxville, Tennessee with my new factory blue Sportster; it was several days before the crash, I crossed the Henley Street Bridge and ran that red light at East Blount Ave. The police saw me, pursued and I was forced to take Martin Mill Pike to lose him in a high speed chase on the back roads off Chapman Highway. I circled the block to come back on Martin Mill, finding him stationed in the middle of an intersection, watching me pass by him, so close I could have reached out and touched him. I did this and went to the house where I was staying, left the bike in the back yard, and stood in the kitchen; smoking cigarettes, glad to be home.
The day before the crash, I had run that red light again, with that same police officer nearby. He came after me with the blue lights flashing, Thinking he didn't see at the light, I pulled over at my turn onto West Moody Ave., not knowing I had been identified. I planned to lie about the high speed chase of the other night and hoped to go free. Sitting in the back seat of a Police Cruiser, the policeman told me that we were waiting for the Police Commissioner to come talk to me. I got ready to plead my case, but found that they were not interested in anything I had to say. Without a word, they took me downtown and directly to jail; where I spent the night, thinking about tomorrow.
The next day, the day of the crash, I found the police had scratched my gas tank on my bike; so naturally, I got mad and decided to fix everything by taking that dangerous bike ride, on the side of Cherokee Bluff. After crossing the bridge over the Tennessee River I took that first left off Alcoa Highway, onto what was then Cherokee Trail, but now Medical Center Drive. At that time, it was connected directly to the highway.
I powered it on and poured it on, just loving the sound from those stagger dual tail-pipes coming out of that grumbling Harley-Davidson V-Twin. I accelerated up the road towards that S curve just a little too fast. Oblivious to the danger ahead. the road led me softly to the left, but coming in too fast, I drifted into the other lane. Nothing was coming, so a little bolder; I hurried on through the S, finding the second curve to be tighter, even too tight, and I was going to drift into the other lane again. But this time, there was a car coming from the other direction, and I was going to crash straight into it; damn, ain't that a bitch!
Upon seeing the car, I imagined standing up on the foot-pegs, and thrown over the car would deal with the trees down the hill by the road. Or, I dreamt of making the curve in the inside lane to miss the car, completely, but there was no way, it was coming to me and I couldn't stop it! I had come into the S curve too fast, and when I leaned the bike hard to the right; my front whell at the end of those extended forks slide from the road and those stagger-dual tail-pipes dragged the pavement, with my right leg pinned between the bike and the blacktop, sliding directly towards the oncoming car, head first. The front-wheel lagged behind, bringing the rear of the bike around to throw me over the handlebars where that four foot tall sissy-bar hammered me into the side of the car. Those four flimsy clamps holding the sissy-bar to the rear-fender didn't work, allowing it to sway back with the tip of that iron rod headed straight for my right rump. And there it hit, squarely; piercing my flesh, through the bone, at the tip of that half-inch iron rod, deep in the flesh of my right butt.
When the bike hit, the pressure was tremendous. I don't remember any pain, or fear; just the force of the bike driving that half-inch iron rod deep into my butt. And the force was increasing; me, hoping it would relent before it mashed me into "oblivion." But it did relent after piercing the flesh of my right rump, chipping my pelvis bone; compressing two vertebrae and pushing my brain stem up and into my brain, sending me into that other place, one of another dimension. Laying there by the side of the road; where the motorcycle left me.
I had a near-death experience there; which at first, was all a mystery. I found myself by a large monolith, dark and tall with a presence, someone there. Me; I was crawling around on the ground, searching for anything familiar. I impatiently wanted to know how to end what seemed to be an endless search, to find myself suspended in the air, next to a dark vertical plane, with a mysterious surface; strangely familiar to me. I was anxious about what was to come. After what seemed to be a long time, I was no longer there. In agreement, I began to hear angels singing about Jesus. They were there to wake me, and tell me about Jesus. He was there, and had two questions for me. What physical injuries could I bare, thereafter; and did I want to do anything for Him.
I thought about it and told Him that I wanted to survive without any injury that would cause me to have to rely on someone else and, because of Creation vs Evolution; I wanted to discover the truth about the Creation, by the Word of God. Jesus gave me the KJV Bible and with my faith, would let me understand His interpretation, in the King James Version of the Bible. And in the fear of the LORD, was introduced to HIS six Wives of the Holy Spirits of God. I then knew I would be Ok. I would work for Jesus Christ in the KJV Bible, He would let me understand, mysteries within. Elated; I was confident, and did not worry.
Back at the crash-site, slumped over; I felt as though I was being scrutinized to determine if I was a viable choice. All spoke against me, and my person. There was not one consideration in my favor, except for Christ Jesus; He saw me and He saved me! Thank you, LORD Jesus!
Coming to; I found a woman there, comforting me after the crash. She had been riding in a car not involved in the crash, also I there were two men there, who were riding in the car I hit.
It seemed as though it took a very long time for the ambulance to arrive, when it did; I found the people to have very poor bedside manner, with very little interest of concern for me. I wanted to demonstrate my alertness and make sure they knew to dress the wound in my butt. The wound was dressed, and forgotten about, and I worried about that.
I wanted to sit up straight, but I found that to do so, I would have to balance myself on the stub left there by the two malfunctioning vertebrae, compressed just below my shoulder blades. I found that it took some attention and concentration for me to balance there. Every time I tried, I would eventually fall off; leaving me in a slump, strange and abnormal that I could not hide. I would then have to lay back and wait for someone to pick me back up and position me on my perch, there by the side of the road; waiting for the ambulance. Hell; the hospital was only a football field away or so; what were they waiting for? I believed they were waiting on me to die, but not! Jesus said I would not die, so I will not. I never really even considered death as an option. I believe Jesus and was going to live. Anyway, I was too busy trying to sit up straight, to try and demonstrate I looked "normal," or something. But I had been severely changed, both in heart and in mind; and I knew it! I knew also that things I would have and want to say, would be difficult to address and hard to be believed. I was at peace with the LORD. The experience continued in the ambulance and was at the hospital when I arrived; beginning another experience, I wanted to know why.
I would see animated progressions of the development of man, deeply concerned about the open wound in my butt. I believed the wound in my butt would not get the proper attention and could cause me much pain and suffering. I considered myself a prisoner of war; I could blame no-one. I relied on Jesus to fix it for me and had faith that he would do just that. This faith came from what Jesus told me in the experience I had with him after the crash. I tried not to worry about what was going on around me, however, I was not encouraged, remembering the people at the site seemed to be unaware, even conspirators in the horror I was contemplating. Lovingly, I trusted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, and was comforted by the woman from the "experience," after the crash; who knew the reason for all this.
The scene was very heavy on my soul, I always looked for opportunity to break out of the isolation and tell someone, anyone; anything!?! But the opportunity never arose; there was just no one, of this earth, to tell; and I knew it. It was as though I alone was the focus of this process for my, "final solution?"!? Pain and Death~! They all seemed to be willingly ignorant of my issues, which was their method in which to accomplish this evil deed, and there seemed to be nothing I could do about it. Nevertheless, Jesus was there with me, and I felt purpose for all this. In flack, it was Jesus who told me what to do to get out of that deadly ICU, alive. Thank you, LORD Jesus!
After admitted into the UT Hospital, I remained hopeful that an opportunity would arise for me to tell someone about the wound in my butt. Sadly, the opportunity never arose, and the wound remained unattended. All I could do was, listen to the conversations and watch the people around me. It appeared as though everyone was willingly ignorant of the wound in my rear, it was not mentioned.
After a few days, the wound got infected and began to hurt. I would then put myself in what the doctor called, "a spasticated movement," to try and take the weight off my butt, hoping to ease the pain. Using my left shoulder and right heel, I would attempt to raise my rump up off the table, while struggling to balance myself on those two points. I would often fall off, but what was worse was that a bed-sore had developed on my heel, taking me to a whole new level of suffering. In fact, the pain from my heel became every bit as bad as the pain from my rump, and I would have to trade off on which place to use to assume my, "movement." But more often than not, I would have to lay there on my butt, using, "micro movements," to find a position that would ease the pain.
I remember being left alone, for what seemed like hours and the pain was excruciating; intense, unrelenting and unmitigated. However, what was worse was that the doctor could then say that I was having a seizure. The head injury had caused pressure to increase on my brain and needed to be vented off with open head surgery.
I was horrified! First, I couldn't understand why they could didn't find that gaping hole in my butt,. But it enabled him call my, conscious effort to ease my pain, a seizure; and prescribe some ridiculous procedure to earn the money from the Insurance Companies. I could see no way to stop this procedure. I thought he wanted access to my brain to change things, even me! by which, I would be lost. At my wit's end, I asked Jesus what to do and He gave me what I needed, a bullet to bite on. I was reminded of a movie I had seen in which a cowboy was losing his leg in a barn. He was given, a bullet to bite on and I thought, that's it! I must bite on a bullet, right there on the place Jesus had provided for me; from birth, my lower left rear molar. Hallelujah!!!
I started biting on that molar, looking for the best way to use it and found that it was perfect. That tooth was just a little higher than the other teeth around it, and I could apply a tremendous amount of pressure, biting down on that tooth. It was a miracle, when I got the position right, with enough pressure; all pain would cease. It put me in a euphoric state so intense that I didn't care what they did. All I wanted to do was to bite down on that tooth. Then I heard it crack, and I knew it would break off and reveal my issue, their ignorance. It broke off and I held it in my mouth until I could let someone I trusted, find it.
Later, my mother was with me and I started moving that tooth around in my mouth, banging against other teeth to see if I could get Mom to notice it. She did, the wound was dressed and the rest of my time in the UT Hospital was like party, friends from school would come to visit me and we had the best time!
The doctor said that I had too much congestion and needed to cough it up. My memory had been adversely affected and I didn't remember how to cough it up. The doctor then said I could not breathe and gave me a tracheotomy for me to breathe, but I did not need it.
He would come in daily, to see if I could cough, but I couldn't cough and he would leave it in and leave. One day, I looked up and discovered that it would narrow my trachea and help me cough. I saved that cough for the doctor, tomorrow.
The net day, he came in and asked me to cough. I couldn't and he was going to leave. Then, one of the nurses reminded me of my discovery of the day before. The doctor came back in and stood right in front of me; I looked up, coughed and covered that doctor with congestion from my lungs. Vindicated, the tracheotomy was removed, and I could speak. I never saw that doctor again and I could talk. However; when I got to the Erlanger Hospital in Chattanooga Tennessee; I found that my troubles were not over.