90 Minutes in Heaven_ A True Story of Death & Life - Don Piper [14]
Everyone leaped into action. They began trying to figure out how to get me out. They could have taken me out on one side, but it would have been without my left leg. There was no clearance from the dashboard between my left leg and the seat, so they would have had to amputate. My leg was barely hanging on to my body anyway. I’m not sure they could have gotten my right leg out either. The point is that even though they could have gotten me out without the equipment, they would have left some of me in the car. They decided to wait on the proper equipment. They got on the phone and ordered the Jaws of Life to hurry from Huntsville, which was at least thirty miles away. I’m sure they did whatever they could for me, but I remember nothing. I remained vaguely conscious of people moving around me, touching me, and talking. I heard voices, but I couldn’t make sense of anything they said. Dick refused to leave me. He got back inside the car, where he was able to kneel behind me, and he continued to pray until the Jaws of Life arrived. Only after they lifted me into the ambulance did he leave my side. When the EMTs lifted me out of the car, I remember that it involved a number of men—at least six or seven. As they moved me, I heard them talking about my leg. One of them said something about being careful so that my left leg didn’t come off.
My system was in shock, so I felt no pain—not then, anyway.
That came later.
They laid me on a gurney and started to roll me toward the ambulance. A light mist sprayed my face, and I saw nothing except the superstructure of the bridge above me. I was unable to move my head. I heard people walking around and glass crunching under their feet. They kept their voices low, so I had trouble following what they were saying.
I remember thinking, Something terrible has happened here, and I think it’s happened to me. Even when I knew they were moving me into the ambulance, I felt weightless.
I don’t remember anything about the ambulance ride, but later I learned that we went to two hospitals, both of which were little more than rural clinics.
“There’s nothing we can do for him,” I heard one doctor say as he examined me. “He’s not going to make it. You may have gotten him out of the car alive, but it won’t do any good. He’s past hope.”
They put me back inside the ambulance and drove away. I vaguely remember when they pulled up at the Huntsville Hospital, a fairly large regional medical center. It was about 2:30 p.m.
By then the authorities had notified my wife, Eva. She teaches school, and someone had called the school to tell her about the accident. Someone else called the schools where our three children attended. Church members picked up our children and took them to their homes to keep them until they heard from Eva.
No one knew then that I had died hours earlier. For the first hours after I returned to earth, they had no idea how extensive my injuries were. Even though they knew nothing specific, church people began to pray for my recovery. They called others to join with them.
Eva found out I had died from Dick Onerecker almost two weeks after the accident on one of Dick’s visits to see me in the hospital. It was only then that she understood just how bad it had been. Also, by that time our insurance agent, Ann Dillman, a member of South Park, had brought pictures of the wreckage after it had been moved from the bridge. Eva says it was quite some time before she really understood how bad it was. She says she probably didn’t pay attention to the bad news on purpose because she was trying to focus on immediate matters at hand.
Our children, other family members, and friends then began to piece together just how horrendous the accident was and how close I came to not surviving it.
One of the EMTs said, “We’re here now. You’re going to be all right.”
I was aware of being wheeled into the hospital. I stared uncomprehendingly at a large