Roadside

By Moss

Scott is a blue-collar worker who is in charge of street illumination. One day he is up in the cherry picker and a semi-truck driver has a fatal heart attack and hits the back of his truck while he's 30 feet up in the air. He is thrown from the basket and is critically injured from the fall. Scott dies and is revived several times in the ambulan

• Language: English
• Publisher: swm publishing
• Release date: May 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869372437

Moss

Scott W. Moss was born and raised in Illinois in the United States. After graduating, Scott went into the medical field, spending the next four decades helping improve lives and unfortunately, seeing some slip away. His ingrained sense of care and compassion translates into all he does, making him an exceptional individual in many ways. Scott is the consummate family man. He had been married to the love of his life for almost as long as he worked in medicine. Together, they raised four children and now enjoy time with their grandchildren. This pride in family has opened his creativity and inspired him to write his first book.

Book preview

Roadside

by

Scott Moss

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to my

Strength in life

My wife Eileen

Edited by

Pamela Borvan

All Rights Reserved

Roadside

By Scott Moss

Chapter 1

At this moment I’m not sure why I’m writing all of this down. I’m pretty sure no one in their right mind, or even not so right mind, will believe anything I say. This so-called adventure, or nightmare, depending on how you look at it, it began December 4th, 1999.

I have worked for the Illinois Department of Transportation for 22 years. Not much of a job, but it pays the bills. Slowly working my way up the ladder, I became a supervisor in 1996. My crew is responsible for general maintenance and street illumination (a fancy word the CEO made up for lights). We use cherry pickers to change light bulbs, replace light poles that have been trashed in the latest drunk driving incident, and occasionally help with installation. I know what you’re thinking: How can he handle all that excitement? Most days are, at best, boring.

Waking up on December 4th of 1999 was no different than any other day. The routine was the same: shave, shower, brush the choppers, you know the basics. My bride and I have been married for 17 years, and every morning I spend a couple of moments just staring at her.

Eileen still is a beautiful girl. She’s all of 5’2" and 110 pounds. Her brown hair is shorter than the day I met her and even though it’s the same color it was then, I know she has a little help maintaining that shade. Eileen has become the poster child for aging with grace. She still gets looks from guys 15 years her junior. Although this should bother me, I actually get a kick out of it. After all, I get to go home with her. Her quick wit and laugh are what convinced me that a lifetime with her was the best gift I could get.

Eileen and I have 3 kids: John, Casey, and Dana. John is 14, Casey is 10, and Dana is 7. To make the Norman Rockwell picture complete, we also have a dog, a cat I rarely see, and a goldfish named Lincoln. Why Lincoln? That’s what happens when you let a 6-year-old name the fish. Lincoln and I don’t talk much. So, we’ll leave it at that.

I have wonderful children, a fantastic wife who I love dearly, and a job I can barely tolerate. That’s not a complaint. It’s just how things worked out.

That morning was hectic, as usual. Getting everyone out of the house and to their respective schools is a challenge, as it is for every parent. No one wants to go, including me. Eileen is a morning person. I hate that. I can barely maintain consciousness in the morning. It’s been a fight for me all my life. If I was left to get myself up in the morning, I’m sure by now I’d be standing in the unemployment line. Eileen has to practically shake me to get me to wake up, and then I lay there like a 4th grader who has a math test and didn’t study. I whine and complain, trying to remember some of the stellar excuses I was able to manufacture those mornings I didn’t want to go to school. My mom wouldn’t buy them then, and Eileen isn’t buying them now. Eventually the nudge becomes more of a punch, and I drag my sorry ass into the shower in hopes that life will again enter my body.

I remember very little after breakfast that day. I do remember that Dana was flipping out because she couldn’t find her library book and she was sure the penalty for a late library book was death. If there was some way to convince the library staff to avoid scaring the hell out of the kids, I’d be all over that. We did find the library book, under a pile of clothes in her bedroom. This was followed by lecture #23, regarding the neatness of her room. In the next few years, I should be able to just shout out a number that refers to the lecture needed at that moment. The child it is aimed at should know automatically what that lecture is and respond accordingly. Unfortunately, the lectures change rather rapidly. They go from clean up your room to put your dishes in the dishwasher. They respond accordingly, with the standard roll of the eyes.

It sounds goofy, but I remember having an eerie feeling as I was starting my car that day. Not a premonition, but more of a feeling that change was coming. I had been considering going back to school to become a teacher. I love history. Always have. Dreaming about a career change was a pretty common thought as of late, due to my boredom with my current job. I had applied for entry into a college program and had been waiting to get a reply outlining how I would go about completing the program.

So, the thought that things were going to change was not a new one. But this feeling was different. I remember sitting in the car and feeling almost disconnected with the world around me. The radio was on, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. The car seemed to be moving, but not in a forward and reverse type of motion. More like an up-and-down, side-to-side movement. I started wondering if I was getting dizzy or sick, but the feeling disappeared as quickly as it came. When I backed out of the garage, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. It was in and out of view in a split second but had a startling effect on me. It looked like a person walking around the side of the garage. I remember seeing gray hair and suspenders, in almost a fog, moving without a walking motion, more of a floating movement. I stopped the car, got out and slowly moved to the side of the garage to confirm what I had seen. Nothing. The side of the garage was filled with the normal sights. Bikes, big wheels, broken hockey nets, but definitely no floating old people. I spotted my wife as I was walking back to my car, and she seemed amused by my sudden trip to the side of the garage. She had been watching me through the screen door the whole time this was happening. Deciding to inquire about my sudden insanity, she asked if I had hit my head or was having a flashback from my touring rock band days.

You sat in the car for 5 minutes before you pulled out, she said. I thought you were on the phone until I found this on the counter. She handed me my phone, something that had become a part of me right after they made me a supervisor. It’s like someone sewed it to my body and no matter how hard I try; I can’t get away from it. For me to forget my phone was way out of the ordinary. Eileen asked, Why the sudden sprint to the side of the garage? I figured she had already convinced herself that I was losing it and attributed my actions to my usual morning fog.

I thought I saw someone walking towards the side of the garage, I said, still wondering what the hell was going on.

Eileen handed me my phone, gave me a kiss, and said I’ll call Tinley Park and see if your room is ready. Tinley Park Mental Institution was a nearby respite for people who see elderly floating men on the side of the garage. At that moment Tinley Park sounded appealing. I was thinking a nice long rest might be good for me.

The last thing I remember was laughing as I pulled out of the driveway as my wife did her best impression of a floating elderly woman heading towards the side of the garage.

From this point out, I only have bits and pieces of my memory of that day. I vaguely remember getting an assignment from my administrative director regarding the annual Christmas decorations to be placed down Route 30 on the light poles. I also remember trying to get the cherry picker stable enough to put a man up there to start the decorating. I wish I could remember the annual laugh fest we usually have as all of us put on our store-bought Santa suits and proceed to put up the decorations. We still wore our neon vests over the suits, but it was always good for a laugh as the motorists went by. That was the part we all loved. Some little kid pointing out the window of the standard issue minivan yelling Mommy, Santa’s putting up the decorations! Kids and Christmas are two of my favorite things. I heard we were quite the hit that day. The local newspaper even came out to take some photos of us in our Santa suits. Most of us don’t need a pillow in our costume belly; the beer has made that unnecessary. When we started dressing like Santa years ago, we all needed a pillow to fill out the costume. My crew had been together now for 15 years, so we’ve had time to develop our own Santa bellies.

From what they told me in the hospital, things were going as planned without any difficulties until a semi-truck driver going down Route 30 had a massive heart attack while driving. The truck veered toward our trucks, and being the lucky fellow I am, I was three stories above ground in the cherry picker when the truck lost control. All of the crew members were able to get out of the way except for Sully, who slipped during his attempt to escape. The back end of the semi ran over his right foot, breaking his ankle in several places. His leg was still in the grass when the truck ran it over. The doc told him if he had been on the pavement, he would have lost his lower leg. The coroner later found out that the truck driver was probably dead before he hit us.

I (from what I was told) did my best impression of Santa flying without his sleigh as the semi completely destroyed the cherry picker. My left leg was severely broken, probably before I hit the ground. I caught it on the control panel on the way out which sent me into a spin as I was being launched. I cleared all the wreckage and other vehicles we had brought to the job that day. My buddies started kidding me about it when they were sure I would make a full recovery. Sully, even on crutches, said I would have had a perfect 10 for my dismount from the basket but the French judge gave me a 9.5 because my legs came apart on the landing. Funny bastards.  Jackson was the first to find me. He’s about a 6’5 275 pound African American teddy bear. He thinks it’s funny to make us uncomfortable around the supervisors. He refers to himself as Spot because he’s the only black guy on the crew. He’ll say things like Pickin’ up the tools here, boss or he’ll start singing Jump down, turn around pick a bale of cotton! Jump down, turn around, pick a bale of hay!" Then he watches us squirm as the administrators start looking at their cell phone contacts to see if they still have their lawyers’ numbers somewhere on the speed dial.

Jackson tells me I was semi-conscious when he found me. I was saying something very bizarre, which at first, made no sense to me or anyone else. I kept say Grandpa’s here, he’s by the side! I guess I said it multiple times and Jackson said later that I seemed to be looking right through him while I was yelling. Not long after that I passed out.

Jackson dragged me out of the water-filled ditch I was lying in and was able to cover me with a rain slicker he had in the truck. Several ambulances and fire rescue trucks arrived, and Jackson helped them load me and Sully into different ambulances. He then tried to get in the driver’s seat to assist the fire department with their duties. Now, I’ve been trying to picture this scene for quite some time. Imagine the chaos of a multi-vehicle accident with fatalities and critical injuries, and to top it all off, a near 300-pound black Santa trying to get behind the wheel of an ambulance to get his buddies to the hospital. You couldn’t make this shit up if you wanted to. 

As it turns out, Jackson found out later that he had a 2-inch piece of glass in his leg and the sock and boot on his left foot were soaked with blood. The adrenaline of the situation masked the pain until things settled down. He ended up with12 stitches. Sully gave him a Mickey Mouse sticker that he stole from the pediatric section of the supply cart at the hospital.

Chapter 2

I’ve heard my trip to the hospital was pretty eventful. They worked on trying to stabilize me in the ambulance with little to no luck. I woke up once, told the two paramedics they were blocking the light, and quickly passed out again. I was later told my blood pressure bottomed out as we were pulling into the emergency room at the hospital. I coded just inside the emergency room. Jackson told me later that they were beatin’ the hell out of my chest, and he was sure I wasn’t going to make it. He said for some reason, I seemed ok with that because of the (and these are Jacksons’ words) …Shit kickin’ grin on my face. It appears that wherever I was going at that minute wasn’t bad at all. I wish I could say I remember a pearly gate, or an old man dressed in a flowing white robe with a long beard holding a sign that said Welcome to Heaven! Please exit the cloud and file off to the right where Saint Peter will give you your red Ferrari, supermodel, and a bag full of gold. We will discuss your sins tomorrow at 7:00 am. Purgatory will begin at 8:00. Until then enjoy yourself!

The truth is it’s all blank to me. The next two weeks are completely gone. I didn’t even get to enjoy the helicopter ride to the Rush Presbyterian-St. Luke’s Hospital in nearby Chicago. It was something I always wanted to do; take a ride over the Chicago skyline in a helicopter. I could never talk my bride into it. I could have gone it alone, but it would have been a lot more fun with her by my side holding on to me with a death grip. As it turns out, the paramedics in the air transport helicopter were doing that to me. I coded in the air too. I seemed to be pretty good at this coding thing. All told, I did it four times. Can’t believe I came back every time. I figured I probably had four Ferrari’s, four super models, and four bags of gold waiting for me. I’m sure God and Saint Peter were whispering back and forth I wish he’d make up his mind!

They figured out in the first emergency room that I definitely had a closed head injury. I was bleeding into the space around the brain. My wife later told me she wasn’t worried about that because I had a lot of free space up there. I quickly told her about the supermodels, and she quit with the comedy routine. As bad as that was, along with the broken bones, the real problem was a torn aorta. When I hit the ground, I tore the upper part of my aorta near the heart and I was bleeding pretty severely. The tear wasn’t big enough to kill me immediately, but it was trying hard to finish the job. They were waiting for me at Rush University Medical Center on the helipad and took me right into surgery. I coded there right after they put me under. They quickly got me on the bypass machine and fixed my aorta as quickly as possible. I made it through the surgery for the aorta but got to make a return trip to the operating room for a subdural hematoma. In the hospital I quickly found out that anything that ends in oma is not good at all. Hematoma, Coma, Myeloma, they all suck. Two weeks later they started taking me out of my drug-induced coma. I had some experience with drug-induced comas during my college years, though they were all self-inflicted. This was the mother of all comas though. It seemed to take forever to come out of the fog I was in. I was healing well, but the pain I had was excruciating. A cough of any kind was a new experience in pain. My chest had been cut open the same way they open up a deer after a kill. My head hurt like hell. I experienced the most pain after a sneeze. I grabbed my chest and head and wished I had another hand to grab my leg. I was ready to give it all up at that point. Fortunately for me, that was also the first day I saw the kids after the accident. They had been there off and on for the first two weeks, but I wasn’t aware of their presence. Seeing those beautiful faces brought the good kind of tears to my eyes. My wife joined me in a good cry, and I knew from that point I was going to be alright.

The rehab in the hospital for the broken leg and fractured collar bone was nasty. The leg was a mess. The doctor told me at one point they considered amputating it because of the damage. There was a good chance I would need a follow up surgery to further repair the damage and scarring around the lower part of the leg. The collar bone break was just painful. They didn’t find that until someone noticed every time, I tried to move my left arm I would moan or make a face. Whenever I tried to pull myself up in bed it hurt. Holding on to the walker while trying to balance the cast and navigate the hallways of the hospital was a bitch. It started off slow. I’d walk with the physical therapist and my friend Silver (not many people name their walker, but being we were becoming such close friends…). With time I progressed to a high speed of approximately 1 mph, dragging my leg in its designer cast (a red and white checkerboard pattern) and enough metal in my lower leg to set off detectors at the airport. Some of the metal could come out at a later date, but I’ll probably leave it there just to enjoy future frisking’s at all TSA security checkpoints.

I knew the recovery would be long and hard with plenty of setbacks and a whole hell of a lot of anger. I would also be visited by every other emotion you can probably think of.

I did have this sense of being given a second chance. Right at that moment I wouldn’t go as far as calling it a gift. But I guess in the long run it was. I don’t know why the sense was so strong, or why it lingered with every emotion I experienced. It was like the neon sign that never went off. You know the one, it’s in the bar window and no matter what time of day it is, it’s flashing. That’s how this thought kept creeping into my head. One bright flash at a time.

Eileen and I decided that as soon as the ok was given, I would return home and continue my physical therapy there. The physical therapist would come to my house, which made a great deal of sense to me. I would need to learn how to walk up and down my stairs, not the cold stairwells at the hospital. There were no toys or sporting equipment to navigate around in the hospital like there were at home. I’m sure the kids would set up some fine slalom courses for me. After all, rehab starts at home…or something like that.

The discharge date was in sight at this point. My staples had been removed. That is one thing you don’t see coming when you wake up from a traumatic injury. They don’t use stitches to sew up large wounds or surgical incisions anymore. They staple them closed. Now when I woke up from all this and saw the staples in my head and in my chest, I couldn’t help but wonder what the stapler looked like. Was it shaped the same as the one on my desk? Did the same thing that happens to me every time I reach for the stapler on my desk also happen to the surgeon? You know, you put the first staple in and then nothing. You spend the next 5 minutes rummaging around your desk to find the box of staples, and when you finally locate them there’s nothing, but those tiny little pieces of staple rows left. You try to drop them in the stapler, and they fall in two or three different directions. I could envision him dropping a couple of extra staple refills in my chest cavity. Great, now my lungs are stapled to my liver and my spleen is stapled to my pancreas. I believe this is how people are affected by anesthesia long term. You find yourself going off on these long thought excursions that lead to nowhere. It could also just be related to being bored out of my mind sitting on my ass for the last three weeks here in the hospital.

I had also become so sick of daytime TV. I was just hours away from pulling an Elvis Presley and shooting the TV. Jerry, the judge shows, soap operas, and yes, even Oprah. Although I must say, Oprah’s show was by far the most tolerable. At least she would occasionally put together a show that a guy could watch. Jerry Springer’s show makes you realize that no matter how crazy you think your family is, there is always one on Jerry’s show that makes your family look like the Brady Bunch. After a while I couldn’t watch it anymore. Just a little hint to anyone out there who’s interested…if Jerry Springer ever calls your house and asks to speak to you, just assume that nothing good will come of it and hang up. No matter how tempting it is, you’ll end up seeing or hearing something you don’t want. An example of this is the wife I saw on Springer finding out that her husband was a transvestite and was stealing her clothes and selling them to his cross-dressing friends. Time to change your name and move out of state.

Day to day we waited for the magic word. Finally, they told me I could go home on Saturday. The only words I had ever heard more beautiful than, We’re discharging you, in my life were Yes I’ll marry you, and Congratulations, you’re going to be a dad! Both very special, these words were on the same level. Hearing those words started the tears flowing. My own bed, my own clothes, my own food. I had lost 22 pounds during my stay. I had needed to lose some weight, but I surely don’t recommend the tear your aorta diet. Keep the extra weight. In the long run it will be less painful than the diet. My muscles had atrophied so much that everything was a chore. Getting out of bed, walking with the walker, physical therapy’s weightlifting program, it all hurt. It’s not that I didn’t want to do it, it just seemed like everything sucked the life out of me. I was sleeping so much I was making the elderly people in the hospital jealous. When you hear an 85-year-old say, That guy sure sleeps a lot! you know it’s making an impression on everyone. This is what you do though with a head injury. You sleep. That’s the body’s way of healing you and you just have to go with it.

Chapter 3

As Saturday approached my excitement was uncontainable. I was dressed at 8:00 am waiting for the discharge papers to be delivered to me on a ceremonial silver platter. Eileen showed up at 9:00 and told me to settle down. You’ve waited this long, one more hour won’t matter, she sternly told me. At that point the daggers I shot her from across the room hit their mark and she treaded lightly about waiting from that point on.

My doctor showed up at about 9:30 and went over the standard things with me regarding my discharge. You know, don’t go water skiing, sky diving, or play tackle football. I agreed and laughed at the bad jokes he was spilling out in hopes it would get me out of there sooner. He said I would be off work for some time. I asked if he could give me a rough idea how long that would be. He explained that I had eight more weeks with the leg cast, and at the six-week mark they’d remove the external hardware and see how I was doing. He had some words of wisdom for me. After the leg is healed, it’s up to you. The faster you progress in physical therapy, the quicker you’ll get back to work. The main thing is not to rush it and do any extra damage. It will take time to heal, so let it.

I don’t know why I was anxious to get back to work. The truck driver’s insurance company was paying for everything in hopes I would not sue them. They were paying my salary, expenses, and hospital costs. They had offered me a generous settlement if I promised not to pursue a lawsuit. I felt bad enough for the poor truck driver and his family; I don’t think I could put them through a trial. I would get over my injuries as long as they took care of the medical expenses. I’d probably take the settlement they offered me, just in case I had significant problems later on that prevented me from working. I figured I’d stash that away for our retirement, just in case.

By 10:00 am, I had signed all the discharge papers. I was sitting in my exit ride wheelchair giving out hugs to the fantastic nurses who get none of the credit and yet do all of the work. They called me the miracle man and also had constantly checked on me as if they expected that any moment could be my last. What’s amazing is the way they cheered me on, and once they knew I was on my way to recovery they encouraged me all the time. Fantastic people. No other way to describe them.

I got a round of applause from everyone at the front desk which was surrounded by employees from the ER, ICU, 3rd floor and several of the doctors who had worked on me. I stood up slowly and offered my true thanks to them. I meant every word of it. Without these people, I’d be worm food by now.

As the power sliding doors opened and the sunlight hit me, the tears started again. Not a major crying fit, just happy to be the hell out of there tears. After a near-death experience, I noticed that one of the only things that continues to work, no matter what, are the tear ducts. Strong emotions about my experience were not going to die easy and neither would I. The sun had struck me as a victory tape at a marathon. Having the warm sun hit me had been everything I thought it would be. I may not have won the race…but I finished.

Although the warmth of the sunshine felt good, it hurt my head at the same time. I realized that my eyes had not been exposed to the sun in quite some time. The brightness of the sun was almost painful. I still had an annoying headache, which should not have been that surprising, knowing that I had a subdural hematoma and surgery on my brain to remove it. I guess I was entitled to a headache. I found that if I looked through the windshield, even with the visor and the sunglasses, it was still difficult. I decided that it was easier to keep my head turned to the side and look out the side window for the ride home. The ride home took about 40 minutes. It was uneventful until we reached the area where there is a forest preserve, some old farmhouses, a kind of country setting that people wanted to sustain. I often thought that maybe a family owned the area years ago and never sold it, who knows? I had been past the area so many times that I never really gave it a second thought. What really drew my attention to the area was a guy standing on the side of the road. He had a blank stare and was looking down at a roadside memorial. I’ve become familiar with roadside memorials over the years because of my job. The memorials are often near the light poles that we have to pick up off the ground and put back up or replace completely. The memorials are very heartfelt; you see a picture of the person, the date, and how badly they are missed. God, I can’t tell you how many teddy bears I have picked up over the years. It’s sad, but it is more of a healing factor for the family than anything else. It is an attempt to let the world know that this is where their loved one left this earth. I also feel like even though the city wants them removed, I sometimes just leave them there. I figure when the memorial is worn out and doesn’t look like it has been attended to, then maybe it will be ok to take it apart. I like to give the family a little more time than most people would.

The gentleman that was looking at the memorial looked a little disheveled and out of place. I turned to my beautiful bride and said Boy, that guy looked kind of out of it, no car near him. Do you think he walked all the way to that memorial area?

She quickly responded What guy? What are you talking about? I pointed to the side of the road.

That guy standing right over there by the cross.

She said There wasn’t a guy by the cross. Are you sure that’s what you saw?

That’s what I thought I saw, I responded slowly. Maybe my head is playing tricks on me. Maybe the sunlight is too bright for me, I don’t know.

My wife kind of blew it off as being part of my recovery process. She didn’t pay much attention as she was just glad, I could walk and talk and wasn’t in some kind of vegetative state. I didn’t give it too much thought after that. I just attributed it to my being on too many medications like morphine and the other fun things they put you on after such trauma. Maybe I was just spacing out, or even seeing things.

Before I knew it, I was home in my own bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows. I had an unofficial prescription for milk shakes whenever I wanted them, which is the next best thing to heaven, I think. There’s nothing better than having your beautiful wife bring you a milk shake and having your children around you. The kids were just as thrilled to have me home as I was to be there with them. I realized something else I’d missed greatly, and that was my remote control. It was easy to use and there were plenty of channels. Let’s face it guys, there’s nothing better than your own remote. I turned on the television and was fast asleep in about 15 minutes.

I started thinking back to the day of the accident and something kept popping into my head. I didn’t understand why, but I couldn’t shake it. I went back to when I was backing out of the garage onto the driveway and saw that shadow that I swore was an old man. I’m still confused as to why he was there. I know that if this was truly an old man who was confused and walking around the house, by the time I got out of the car he wouldn’t have been gone. The guy looked like he was 104 and wasn’t going to be moving very fast. I started thinking that maybe I was just seeing something. They say there are little angels around, guardians that keep an eye on us, and maybe he was one of those. Or maybe he was in the vicinity because he knew what was going to happen to me.

I had the most bizarre dream during my two-hour nap. Bizarre dreams are common while under the influence of morphine, but this one was very vivid. My mind replayed the incident when I backed out of the garage on the day of my accident and saw the old man standing next to the driveway. During the dream,