february 4, 2008

i had a dream last night. in my dream i was re-living the day i almost died. in my dream though i did die. so much for the theory that if you die in your dreams you die for reals. (i think i heard that in a horror movie). anyways, i thought i would write about that day so that i could remember exactly what happened.

February 4, 2008 should have been the second date on my tombstone. It was a windy overcast day. The day before was the Superbowl. Against all odds the New York Giants had beat the perfect New England Patriots. My cousin, Jerry, was suffering from a severe cold that Monday. He never misses a day unless he is feeling pretty bad. Me and Jethro Wiggins were removing the cables underneath the bridge from a manlift. That morning Jethro dropped me off on the pier cap where i went ahead and un-tightened the cables. The pier cap is about 10 feet wide and about 90 feet up in the air. That morning whilst going from cable to cable I was tying off for some reason. Normally in the work I do, a 10 foot wide area to walk in is a walk in the park, so to say. But for some reason I kept tying off. I clearly remember thinking that morning how much it would suck to fall from that height. Maybe it was the strong wind or just a bad feeling. I loosened the clips i need to loosen and Jethro came to pick me up off the pier cap with the manlift. He told me to go ahead and "drive". We had one more cable to loosen before we could "drop" the cables we had loosened. As i tried to reach that last cable, I realized that the forklift was in the way of where i had to move the manlift in order to reach the last cable. I yelled down to Wendell Paddum to move the forklift out of the way. Wendell was a new recruit that was hired as a truck driver. He was there in the stead of my cousin. He just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. At first I thought he couldn't hear me. So I yelled louder and signaled to him what I wanted. Again, the same response.

"Move the forklift out of the way!" I yelled.

"I don't know how!" he yelled back.

"What kind of truck driver doesn't know how to drive a forklift?" I thought to myself.

I was mad. My cousin Jerry would have moved the damn thing without having had to be told. Now I had to ride the manlift down to move it myself. I remember wondering what kind of favors James Barnes, the project supervisor, was owed to get this guy hired. I also wondered why Manuel Crysakis, the owner, had hired James to run the job. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, I guess, and if you knew James, he was not only squeaky, but loud. He patterned his attitude like Mr. T.

These thoughts were running through my brain as I took the 90 foot ride on the manlift. I hate wasting time at work. Maybe its my work ethic, or maybe it is just my training from the Gialousis brothers.

Without a word to Wendell, I haphaszardly tossed my lanyard onto my left shoulder and hopped on the forklift, turned it on and proceeded to move it. Now this forklift is a piece of shit. It does not run well cold. It will stall on you if it is cold and and you do not give it the "gas" (it actually runs on diesel). I cut the wheels to the right as i floored it. Remember, all four wheels turn on the forklift to give it a better turning radius, so the back tires actually turned left while the front tires turned right. At that moment inertia forced my lanyard off my shoulder and onto the ground. (The lanyard is the line that hooks off to your safety harness. It consists of two hooks. One hook hooks to your back and the other to wherever you choose to tie off to). I did not notice. The back left tire ran over the lanyar. Before I could realize, I was being yanked out of the machine. Being yanked out was the scariest moment for me. Had i been wearing the seatbelt, i would have been torn in two.

I was dragged out of the seat, did an about turn, and landed face down on the dirt. I was still wondering what the fuck happened when i happened to raise my head up. Remember, this is a matter of split seconds. As I raised my head up i saw the back tire of the forklift running over my left hand. I tried to budge but i couldn't. i felt helpless. the only thing i could physically do was move my head to prevent it from being crushed.

"So this is it?" i clearly remember thinking. "February 4th, 2008."

i was getting a million thoughts per second. "I always wondered how I'm gonna die. And this is it?"

"February 4th 2008," I thought to myself. I also remember feeling compassion for dogs that get run over.

i helplessly watched as the machine climbed up my forearm, elbow, bicep and shoulder. It finally stopped on my shoulder blade. I distinctly remember hearing and feeling something inside my chest pop.

"So this is my death?" i thought again. i had always pondered how i was going to go since i was about 5 or 6. i remember also wondering how i was going to explain this one to kelsey.

My brain screamed out from somewhere, "fuck this shit! put it in reverse!"

Only it wasnt only my brain screaming. somehow my lips were moving and i was actually screaming it.

"PUT IT IN REVERSE. PUT IT IN FUCKING REVERSE!"

Wendell, was in shock. he was half hopping with both hands in his mouth. almost in the same posture on would take when biting his nails. he was glued to the spot. he couldnt move if he wanted to.

"PUT IT IN FUCKING REVERSE!" i screamed at him again. he finally broke out of his stupor and answered:

"i dont know how!"

Again i wondered at the type of idiot that James had hired.

"GO TO THE LEVER WHERE YOU SEE THE "R" AND PUT IT ON THAT!" i yelled at him.

By this time Jethro heard my hollering and came around to see what was going on.

"oh, shit, migueli! oh shit migueli!" he screamed. all's i could do was keep screaming put it in reverse. my life could not end like this. i wanted to reverse the situation. what would my kids think of me? dying a stupid death like this? would kelsey be mad at me? what would my mom think, and how would it affect her? she has so many problems already that i did not want to add to her burden. i thought of my girls growing up fatherless without knowing their dad. i jumped back to the run-over dog. a million thoughts were flooding my mind in that second.

Jethro did not panic but ran over and put it in reverse, but the machine would not go. now jethro is not a lithe, svelte, man. and as i mentioned before the forklift would not move cold unless you pressed the "gas". So all 300 plus pounds of Jethro climed up onto the 7 ton machine and drove it down the way it came up. what's 300 lbs more when you are talking about tons though?

when the machine was driven off me, i shot up like a bolt. i quickly removed my harness and my long-sleeve shirt to assess the damage. ironically, i was wearing the same shirt that i was wearing when Leyla was born. the cuff button had been torn off and my watch was stamped on my arm. Again i felt compassion for dogs that get run over. I felt this was my last wind and i was just "getting up off the road to find a place to die." I chose my spot. i reclined next to pier cap. (the same one i had a premonition i was going to fall off).

"how funny" i remember thinking, " i should have been hurt in the air. not the ground". since i had felt something pop in my chest, i thought i had internal bleeding. so i spit. unbeknowst to me i had split my lip when i hit the ground. i spit out blood.

"oh, shit" i thought, "in the movies when you spit out blood you are dead."

thinking i had only minutes to live, i reached into my pocket, got my cell phone and called kelsey. it was a long shot she would answer, but i would at least leave a message.

but lo and behold she answered. she was in the restroom and for some reason or other she had turned her phone on. One of her pet turtles (i hate using the phrase pet peeve) is people who leave their ringer on during class, but she somehow answered my call.

"kelse, i just had a bad accident. i got run over by a forklift and i dont think i'm gonna make it, but i want you to know that i love you."

"What?" she probably thought i was joking.

"look kels, i dont have much time but i got to let you go, i got to call 911. i love you."
poor girl. i probably freaked her out.

i never once lost consciousness or ever felt sorry for myself nor did i cry. i did have laments, but never did i feel sorry for myself. i would have died a good death. i was proud of myself. i was taking it pretty good. it was just like in the movies where the hero dies a brave death without tears; i just resigned myself to my fate.

i snapped out of my reverie when i saw Jethro on the phone.

"did you call 911?" i asked.

"no, i called james," he answered.

"fuck james!" i answered.

so i called 911 myself. it helped that the volunteer fire department is located at the foot of the bridge. they arrived about 5 minutes later.

i remember them putting on a neckbrace on me and me trying to take it off telling them my neck was alright.

they cut off my Rockport t-shirt as they layed me on a gurney. they were busy with a stethoscope monitoring something in my chest cavity.

"am i going to die?" i asked them.

"just hold still. dont talk."

the harsh, impersonal flourescent light in the ambulance was shining over me. i tried to take in every last visual image as i was convinced it was my last. one of the paramedics was really concerned, and the other was somewhat aloof, trying to keep his emotions out of it. i felt every bump on the road on my chest. i guess adrenaline prevented me from feeling pain the first few minutes. i was still greedily ingesting every stimulus to my senses, trying to grasp on to feeling being alive. the light, the smell of the paramedic's deodarant, the sound of the siren and the feel of every bump that caused a shot of pain to go through me. the taste of my blood in my mouth. again i was reminded of tv. those tv shows where the last view of the patient is being wheeled in a gurney as they reach the hospital.

needless to say i am still alive and "somewhat" well.