A young woman's thoughts after a mototcycle
accident. (Updated 3/24) |
A Dad’s Job It was one of those surreal moments that feels like a bad dream. Only this was real. My tongue felt like sandpaper and I couldn’t hold a coherent thought. I closed my eyes and drifted off. I remember waking to the sound of my father’s voice and a mind-numbing pain in my left arm. The memory of the accident was beginning to come back. The light turned green and I inched forward through the intersection. The driver of the blue sedan didn’t see the light turn red-or me for that matter. The next thing I know I’ve got two pins and a metal plate in my wrist. I know what you’re thinking: An ER nurse should know better. What can I say? I wouldn’t trade my motorcycle for a thousand blue sedans. “Tabitha, it’s not safe,” Dad sounded like a broken record. “It doesn't matter how good a driver you are, it’s the other people I worry about.” Oh yeah, you worry all right. You worry because I work third shift. You worry because I’m thirty- one and still single. Let’s face it, you worry. “Your mother and I are so thankful it was only your arm that was broken.” I can see Dad fighting back the tears. “I hate to think what could have happened.” What could have happened? I could be sitting at home watching life pass me by. I like working third shift. I like being single. And I like the fact I drive a motorcycle, very well I might add. “What’s Jake going to say?” Here we go again. “Do you think he’ll want you to keep the bike? You could sell it. You got such a great deal, you’d probably make money on it.” Jake. ‘The Boyfriend’. I know Dad thinks the bike was his idea in the first place. Actually, I’ve wanted one for years. Jake’s a police officer and rides himself. He taught me the basics and helped me practice for my road test. “Tabby, you were lucky this time. Next time you might not be.” “Dad, I wish you could understand how much this means to me. I know it’s a risk, but it makes me feel special. Everyone I know has their safe little cars and their safe little jobs and their safe little families. I know a motorcycle isn’t the safest thing in the world, but when I ride, I’m alive. How do you think the people who take the ‘safe’ way every day feel.” “I just worry about you, Tabitha. I’m your dad. That’s my job.” “Hey sleepy head, how are you feeling?” I blinked my eyes as they adjusted the light in the hospital room. “The operation went great.” A nurse reached for my good wrist to take my pulse. “Your dad’s here, wants to see you as soon as you’re ready. I can tell he really loves you.” |