I enjoyed teaching at Kirksville. There is nothing better than teaching high school in a college town. Many of the students have parents that are associated with the University and have high expectations. This is not to imply that parents not associated with a University don’t have high expectations as well.

At Kirksville, I was allowed to be creative with the curriculum. I was allowed, even encouraged, to develop units that broadened the students minds. This appealed to my own sense of creativity. I do not think that I would have survived teaching in a strict curriculum. Every year I administered the local Section qualifying examination for the Chemistry Olympiad sponsored by the American Chemical Society.

1998 was no exception. Up to two students maximum are allowed from every school to take the local section exam. This portion of the exam included a lab evaluation as well as another objective examination to be administered at Quincy University. This particular year Tom Salt and Angela Hutchinson were the qualifier from Kirksville High School. Just as in the year before, I drove the two students to the qualifying examination. They spent a good deal of the morning taking the examination before we returned home. (For you unfamiliar with the area, it is approximately 90 miles of bad roads from Kirksville to Quincy)

As in the past, the local section invited the students and their parents to a banquet to be held at their next meeting. It turned out that their next meeting was to be held on the first of May. The day before prom was to be held at Kirksville. Tom offered me a ride with him, but I was uncertain that I would go to the banquet, so I declined. I knew that I would have to leave my two small children with a sitter the following night as I chaperoned prom. I did not particularly want to leave them two nights in a row. Angela, however, asked me if she could have a ride with me. I did not want her to miss out on this opportunity so I agreed.

I do not actually remember any of this occurring. However from conversations with my colleagues, this is the best that I could put together. Why I did not just suggest she ask the Salts for a ride, I will probably never know.

So, after school on Friday Angela and I got into my little Honda Civic (which got great gas mileage, I might add) and headed down the road to Quincy for the awards banquet. We enjoyed the free meal and meeting, got our picture taken, and headed back to Kirksville. On the way home, it started to rain.

There were times in my life where I did not drive as carefully as I ought to. In fact, there were times that I drove downright recklessly. However, since becoming a mother, my driving style became much more sedate and prudent. I was more likely to error on the side of caution than anything else.

On the way home, according to all reports, I was driving rather slow. We came to a place in the road in, or near, Brashear, Missouri, where the road turns between two bridges. My car somehow dropped off of the edge of the road. I would like to assume that it hydroplaned rather than a driving error, but in reality don’t know. After it went off, I either overcorrected, or the car bounced when it hit the side of the road. Either way, my car crossed the center-line and I hit another car head-on.

From here on, the stories that I have either heard or invented become conflicting, or rather disjointed. Somewhere along the lines, the paramedics were called. Luckily, travelling a few cars behind me was an off-duty paramedic. Apparently, I groaned as someone went passed, and they worked to try to keep me conscious. I arrived to the hospital a bloody mess refusing pain medication. According to some, I wanted to know what was happening with my children.

Once I got to the hospital, it took awhile for the doctors to stabilize me enough for the life flight to Columbia, Missouri. According to some, by this point my chance for survival had dropped to less than ten percent. My brother was notified first. Him being the closest, and only immediate family within driving distance. He contacted my parents and sisters. My older sister Cheryl was on a plane within a few hours. My parents were in Jakarta, Indonesia where my father was working for Caterpillar Tractor Company. When they heard that I was being life-flighted, my mom was on her way back to the United States. My younger sister was unable to come right away, but as soon as her finals were finished, she too left for Kirksville, Missouri.

Once at Columbia, Dr. Anglen and his team of unknown workers began the slow and tedious process of putting my back together. I had a compound fracture of my right femur. Apparently the engine block managed to break my leg and then force the upper half of the bone through my acetabulum and into my cyatic nerve effectively demolishing my right hip. My left pelvic bone was only broken in four places, two in the front and two in the back, from the seat belt. Seven of the nine bones in my left wrist were broken and all of the nerves and tendons were severed. The only internal injury was a slight bruising to my lung from the seat belt and a swelling in my head.

I have no memory of my stay in University Hospital. I did respond to known voices and on occasion was coherent. For some reason, I never went into shock. They were prepared for the worst when my mother arrived, thinking that I was only waiting for her. When she did arrive, I simply said “I did this to myself” and went to sleep. The two weeks I was at the hospital (in ICU, step-down ICU, and finally general admissions) I underwent 27 hours of surgery. Throughout all that surgery, and the 2.5 hours that were still to come, I never had any signs of infection. An amazing feat when considering the fact that I nearly always had a cold.

It is rather odd to hear about things that you said, but don’t remember. Apparently when they were discussing moving me out of step-down ICU, I thought they told me they needed me to take out the IV. The nurses were understandably distressed to find that I had removed it for them. Luckily I was able to remove it without doing additional damage. I also kept complaining about all the padding around my right leg. My mom asked me what I was talking about. I had no feeling in that leg and with the additional swelling, it seemed to me that they had padded the leg for some reason.

After they took me off of the morphine, things started to clear. I began to have periods of time that I was very coherent (although I do not remember). They kept asking me about my head and I did not understand. I felt the staples in the side of my head and promptly removed them. There was nothing wrong with my head. Only my leg and arm were broken. I continued to have this opinion for the two months in the nursing home and for the first few weeks at rehab. They released me from the hospital to a skilled nursing home. That was an adventure unlike any others. Here again, I do not have clear memories, only flashes of moments. Mostly storied that I told to others. At the nursing home I stayed in my bed for the majority of the two months. Again it is odd to hear the things that I said during my stay. I was quite certain that there was nothing wrong with me and that I would be up walking on my own and teaching the upcoming September.

No one told me that there was a chance that I would never walk. No one told me that there was a chance that I would never be able to use my left hand again. They tried to tell me that I had a head injury. I just didn’t believe them. How could I have a head injury? I am too young. People who have head injuries drool on themselves, wear diapers, and cannot talk. Denial at its best. So, for two months I stayed in my room and watched the same movies over and over again. I was finally able to do some physical therapy during the last month. By that time I could wiggle my fingers a little.

Being taken care of was a difficult event for me. I was always proud of my independence. I had not had the opportunity for someone to take care of me since I was young. It was a new and difficult experience to have someone else give me a bath and place me on the urinal. While at the nursing home, I grew used to having someone else bathe me. Unfortunately, the first time a male was to give me a bath, it was a former student. I could have died. He relieved the tension by remarking “Wow Ms. Witt, this is definitely a different side of you.” I suppose if the EMT can strip you naked on the highway, you really have no modesty left. Another one of the male nursing assistant ended up teaching across the hall from me when I was able to return part-time.

After two months, and some more surgery, I was checked into RUSK rehabilitation hospital in Columbia, Missouri. I actually enjoyed much of my time at RUSK. I was finally able to sit in a wheelchair comfortably. I was full weight bearing on my left leg and could enjoy a small amount of independence. I still did not understand why they put me on the side of the building with all the TBI patients. I assumed that it was because they had run out of beds elsewhere.

Things were going along splendidly. They told me that they looked to release me in about a month. My physical therapist took me outside one day to show me how to do car transfers. After some practice, I could do them on my own. I thought that since I could do car transfers, I could leave if and when I chose. So, one evening a friend came down to see me and asked if I would like to go out to eat. Since I could do car transfers, I said that I would like that. It never occurred to me that I would need to let anyone know. Funny thing: rehab hospitals tend to panic when a TBI patient turns up missing. When I returned the nurse for the evening informed me that I was _never_ to do that again. As time went by, I finally confessed to my therapists (Deb and Scott who were great, by the way) that I was having difficulty with nauseating dizziness and reading comprehension. I had bluffed my way through three weeks of rehab without anyone noticing. However, it finally dawned on me that these things might not clear up on there own and that I might have to deal with it forever.

A majority of the dizziness was taken care of with vestibular treatments. For the most part, the vertigo is only a problem directly before I have a seizure. Reading comprehension has returned with time. I did (and still do) have to learn much of my chemistry again. Basic material came back rather quickly. More complex, theoretical material (the stuff I used to enjoy the most) I am still struggling with.

It has now been a little over one and a half years since the accident. I am back to teaching full time. I have moved to a town closer to my parents new location. I am walking all on my own with the aid of an ankle-foot-orthesis (AFO) which I hate and in consequence seldom wear. I have regained nearly all the use of my left hand. Fine motor control is a slight problem and my range of motion is limited by the steel plate that holds the bones.

Angela’s parents are dealing with their grief by suing the school district and me for an undisclosed amount. However, there lawyer has assured mine that her parents are not after my personal assets (of which I have none). I have not heard from the other lady involved in the accident. She and her family have not, as of yet, accepted my insurance max. I, myself, am still trying to survive life and find my own place within it.

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