The bus I was riding in ran over a pothole. I was lifted off my seat and the fear I’d been feeling since I left my apartment intensified. My breathing came in shallow, choking gasps as I clutched my backpack close to my chest. I shoved my face into the comforting fabric as my heart beat erratically. The steady pressure of it came across as a powerful rushing sound in my ears. Every nerve ending seemed to tingle with fear. Every tremble in my gut was magnified and seemed like a devilish entity was sliding its hand into my skin to grip my insides and squeeze them mercilessly.
Tragedy. It’s a small word but it has huge meaning. I could see the effects of what that word could do in the summer of 2001 when tragedy struck my neighborhood. It infected and contaminated everything. The worst part was that tragedy came with a crap load of emotions. Sometimes devastating emotions.
April 2005. That's how long ago my injury happened.
I heard footsteps and looked up. A doctor in green scrubs was there looking at my wife and I with deep sadness.