Life’s Highway Nearly Cut Short by a Drunk Driver: I am the Lucky One

Arnie Gonzalez, Jr.
Pronto Insurance Marketing Department

07/15/2010
The turn tables spin, the music blasts from the five 20 foot tall speakers, and Lil’ Wayne is the poet of the night. Drinks are flowing, like there is no tomorrow, long lost friends have found each other, after what seems like a hundred years of searching, and your crush is at the party; the ambience is bliss. One drink turns into two, three, and then four and so on; you were able to be the life-line and the blood that brought oxygen to the party’s heart. On the brink of being completely sedated, the party is over; it’s time to go home. The only thing you can really remember to do, at this point, is how to reach in your pocket and grab your keys. Why is it that people can’t remember how to dial a phone to call a designated driver? Taxi? There are so many programs out there to provide a ride to people who have become just a little too happy during the night’s festivities (http://www.austinsoberride.com/news_releases.html); why aren’t those
the things people remember? It’s astounding. I understand the best decisions are never made when inebriated, so if you think you are one that falls in this category, take the necessary precautions; you can get a card with one of your local sober ride program’s number on it, or you can simply put your keys in the ‘key holder’s’ hands for the night. There are so many options, but sadly, many times, they are not considered.
The road literally becomes a video game and gamble with too many variables, but the down side to this game is that it does not give you any extra life when you die. The scary part is that the innocent drivers, on the road, with their families become variables as well.
Of the 3,382 traffic fatalities, in Texas, during 2009, a little over 1,400 were alcohol related; just over 1,260 of those, alcohol related incidents, were with people several times over the legal Blood Alcohol Concentration which is 0.08 or higher. How many people have to die for people to realize that this is not a game that can be won; eventually fate will catch up to you. This is not Las Vegas, where people lose cash; people lose parts of their families; lives can not be brought back. Is it worth it? I am not an advocate against drinking, just one against doing it carelessly, and especially one against getting behind the wheel after a night of it.
Not to get too personal, but I was one of the lucky ones. One night, while driving home from work, I was hit head on by a drunk driver; I was working at a local restaurant, on South Padre Island, Texas, at the time. I was travelling towards Brownsville, Texas, on Highway 48, at approximately 1:30 a.m., when I was struck. It was June 29th, 1997, three days after my twentieth birthday. I regained consciousness to an unusual sound that I could not really distinguish. It turned out to be the helicopter that was waiting to take me to my undetermined fate and its blades were cutting into the wind. A DPS officer was screaming questions at me, trying to keep me from going under again, and the jaws-of-life were trying to pry open the doors to my 1986 Volvo that had become a recycled can in a matter of milliseconds. I could not focus; the lights that were blaring through the shattered windshield were still puzzling. What happened? All I can remember seeing, before I passed out again, was red, white, and blue flashing lights; my head was resting on the steering wheel that had been bent into the shape of a taco shell with the force of the wreck. The front of the car was literally resting on my knees, and the back bumper had been severely smashed and resting on the back of my seat. There was a small life-bubble, as I call it, where I was; I was fortunate enough not to be, literally, a part of the shrapnel that was now my car. Everything around me, in the driver’s seat, was completely crushed. The passenger and back seats were all gone with out an inkling of a trace. When I came to once more, I remember one of the officers telling me that I had been in an accident, and they were trying to get me out of the car. I asked him if I was going to die; he replied “I don’t know.” The adrenaline was still flowing through my body, in abundance, so I didn’t freak out. I just went into a very deep sleep.
I regained consciousness again, being rolled on a gurney, into the hospital, radios blared, doctors were shouting bloody murder, to get a room ready for emergency surgery, I could hear my parents crying uncontrollably, and my sheets were red; as I recall hospitals had white sheets and were supposed to be clean; looking more closely, I realized it was my blood. One memory I will always have, is the doctor telling my parents to get my funeral arrangements in line, as I would more than likely not make it through the night. I remember looking at the doctor and not being able to speak. My jaw had been broken in six places. I wanted to scream and tell him that I was not gone yet. By only God’s grace I made it through the night. I had my jaw broken in six places, two shattered femurs, two shattered knees, missing teeth, and both my feet were facing the opposite direction that they should be facing; they were broken too.
I had never had a surgery in my life, and that morning had more than eight of them. I was in ICU for over two weeks and had pins through both my ankles and knees, to keep my legs in traction. I could not walk, or fend for myself; people had to help me shower, use the bathroom, and get in and out of bed – I had gone back to my infancy. It is amazing the simple things that we take for granted; believe me, I do not anymore. I had my jaw wired shut for eight and a half weeks, eating, really slurping, through a straw. It took me right under a year, of physical therapy, to learn to walk again, with out the use of any aid, but still walking in pain. The man, who hit me, by witness and police account, veered off into my lane, driving without his headlights on, and hit me head on at about 75 miles an hour. Later, after the man’s autopsy was performed, it was found that he was more than eight times over the legal Blood Alcohol Concentration limit. He had been drinking, at a local bar in Brownsville, and heading to the Island to get capped off. I wish I could have had the chance to ask this man if the drink was worth it. To all of you out there who have ever drank and drove, is it worth it? Even if you think you are totally in control of your abilities, ‘after a few’, is it worth the risk? I am telling you the first-hand story, as it happened; a lot of victims of those who drove drunk are not so fortunate.
I am the lucky one.



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