If Instagram is to be believed, and to a certain extent, it is, I have several friends who unbeknownst to me ended up at the Hollywood Bowl this Sunday evening for John Williams: Maestro of the Movies. On one of those friend’s posts, I commented “So crazy, I was ALMOST there! Looks like a fun night.” A true enough statement but not the whole story. 

I was in fact, 1.5 miles away from the Hollywood Bowl when the Uber I was riding in was hit by a car in an intersection. (Cahuenga and Santa Monica Boulevard for the locals who might be  curious.) I was on my phone in the car when the driver said something about a car coming at us, I did look up as the car made contact with the right rear passenger side, where I was sitting. I felt the impact, I screamed. Our car spun around and as soon as it stopped, I jumped out of the left rear side. The one thought that was clear in that moment was, if I can jump out, I’m not dead. I was stunned (understatement) and could not breathe. I found a curb and sat down. I asked strangers walking by if I was bleeding and they said I wasn’t. But again, I wasn’t able to breathe, it felt like my lung collapsed or, technically, how I  think a collapsed lung would feel. I called Eric who was at home less than a mile away. I also called and texted the friends I was meeting at the Bowl. (I was bringing salad for all of us from Mendocino Farms.) I’ve included a screenshot of that exchange but it’s crazy that at 5:31 I was texting “In the Uber now” and four minutes later, “I was hit by a car in the Uber.”

It was not long before the paramedics arrived. I had asked the Uber driver to get a bottle of water from my bag in the car. I did get up to take a few pictures of both cars but I felt lightheaded and again, I couldn’t not breathe well. A paramedic took my vitals but he couldn’t get a read for my oxygen. He tried both hands a few times and finally he was able to get a read of 97, which is better than 0. They asked if I wanted to go to the ER and I said definitely. By then Eric had arrived on the scene. In part because of the location, there were at least 50 people who were gathering and/or walking by and not one person asked if I was okay, not before the ambulance & police came or after. Is that significant to the story I am telling about my evening? I’m not sure. 

At 6:11, I texted the Hollywood Bowl friends, “sorry about the salads”. 

At 6:41, I texted the same friends, “At Hollywood Pres” abbreviating the Presbyterian like already we are old friends. 

The staff at Hollywood Pres was pretty nice. After I was admitted and more vitals were taken , I had to wait in the lobby with Eric. We could overhear a loud conversation between the intake nurse and a woman who was clearly a frequent flier. He was as caring as he was harsh with her and I thought, in a way, he was her best friend. Maybe her exchanges with this caustic yet kind man were the highlights of her life. After he spoke with her he came over to me. I asked him if he was going to be nicer to me than he was to the lady. He asked me if I was going to give him a reason to be spoken to like that. We laughed and I thought, ow, wow, I needed that laugh. He told me that Eric had come when I was in another part of the ER. “You should have seen him.” “Oh, I heard him, Shirley MacLaine, right?” The nurse, our new friend, I’ll call him Albert, laughed again. I impersonated Aurora Greenway (and Eric) with a precise enough to count, “Give my daughter her medicine!!” (The actual quote is “Give my daughter the shot.”) I can only imagine all of the Shirley MacLaine meltdowns Albert has seen working in ERs in Los Angeles for all these decades. He did tell us he’d worked at Cedars and he’d witnessed much. 

By 8:00, they had done the CT scan. I know this because my friend Sue texted to see if I wanted to have lunch or dinner with her son on Tuesday and I responded with the following screenshot.

The results of CT were relatively good, I was released with some prescriptions for pain management. Eric drove us through Astro Burger on the way home since the Mendocino Farms salads had been literally tossed throughout the backseat of my Uber. (Not sure if it’s a total or not, but the car will likely always smell like Caesar dressing now.) At Astro I ordered zucchini sticks and chicken tenders, like a five year old. 

When we got home, I started watching the new Faye Dunaway documentary which dropped on Sunday. During the day, I thought a funny FB post would be to say “Somewhere in LA, a gay is cancelling his Hollywood Bowl plans so he can stay home to watch the Faye doc.” I didn’t post it. I actually did not watch that much of the movie, my body was battered and my brain was beaten. I took to my bed and tried to watch TikTok videos and pondered all of the what ifs that accompanied the evening. The most obvious: if the other driver had been going even 10 miles an hour faster, I would probably be dead. But also, if the Uber driver had picked me up even 30 seconds sooner or later, the collision would not have occurred. I knew I should feel lucky to have not sustained worse injuries and I did (and do), but I also wondered how long until I’ll be breathing normally again. How long until the aches go away? Will my body be affected by the events of this day for the rest of my life? Well, yeah, it will. 

That was Sunday and today is Wednesday morning. Still in a lot of pain when I do certain things. Getting in and out of bed is the hardest. Turning onto my side to sleep is excruciating. I can’t watch tv for long because my attention span is shot. Oh, and neither of our dogs are good caretakers. Last night, I took Ricky’s face in mine before his evening walk. I said, “Ricky you have to be good on your walk, your father is not feeling well right now.” The outcome was unaffected by my plea. 

I find myself wondering how I might write about this experience when I have more perspective. As big as the event was, I can’t from this vantage point know all the ways that one day will color the rest of my days. 

If I’m smart, and perhaps I’m only a wee bit smart, but I must acknowledge all the things I’m grateful for. Like Eric, who was on the scene in 2 minutes, ready to get all the information I was too unsteady to get. And wait patiently with me at the ER. And not judge when I basically ordered a happy meal at Astro Burger. 

I’m grateful for my mom, who has shed more tears than anyone over this. She told me she wished she could be here. My mother is in a phase of her life where she needs a little help but she is still a caretaker. Perhaps sometimes the only thing she feels she can do to help those she loves when they are hurting is to pray. And while I don’t have the same relationship to prayer that she does, I can value that sacrifice and the intention and the love behind it. 

I’m grateful for friends who have checked on me.

I’m grateful for Ricky and Veronica, budding Florence Nightingales they are not, but nobody’s perfect, not even dogs. 

Also, in no particular order, I’m grateful for chocolate cake, nice walks, cool evenings, water, a good baguette, sandwiches, chips with French onion dip, audiobooks (even though the one I’m listening to right now is a dud), California, art, time capsule estate sales, driving Mulholland, martinis, a perfect chocolate chip cookie, See’s California brittle, and sunsets. 

And coffee, which I’m going to make a pot of soon, as soon as I wrap this up. It’s been a hard few days, I won’t lie, but there have been beautiful moments in the midst of all of it. And with luck, I hope there will be more.