I have often been asked about the accident I had while walking to school. The truth is, I do not remember it. I was in a coma for three weeks, and I also lost memory of the months leading up to it. Everything I know about the accident comes from what others later told me.
At the time, there was no crosswalk, no stoplight, and no crossing guard in front of my school. It faced a residential street, and students crossed when traffic appeared clear. That morning, a car driving at about 45 miles per hour struck my friend and me. The driver later said he had been blinded by the sun and did not see us. I was told my body was thrown upward and forward with such force that I landed far from the point of impact.
From here, I can share what I know through my friend Alan, who witnessed the entire incident. I wrote his observations in my life diary shortly afterward. When I was young, I kept diaries of my life, and I have kept them in a box ever since. For this blog, I went back and read the entry dated December 24, 1991, the day I was discharged from Loma Linda University Medical Center. The entry is a retelling from my dear friend Alan, who witnessed the entire incident.
Alan and I were teammates in the Odyssey of the Mind club. We won our district finals and went on to compete at the state level. He is still a very dear friend of mine.
When witnessing the incident, Alan first thought some kids were throwing backpacks into the air. It did not register as an accident. Then he saw someone lying on the ground, with their face covered in blood. He could not tell who it was. It looked like someone was wearing a bikini to school, not realizing the car bumper had torn their skirt. He immediately called for a blanket.
He still did not recognize me until he saw my name written on my notebook. That is when he broke down.
The friend who had been walking with me died thirty minutes after the accident. I was in a coma that lasted three weeks. This incident devastated the school. Counseling offices were filled with students in tears for many days. I then spent two more months in the hospital relearning how to walk and recovering enough to return home to continue my physical and occupational therapy.
My hospital stay was not easy. I was at an excellent medical center, but all I wanted was to go home. I remember my doctor telling me he would discharge me when I stopped asking to go home. I stopped asking for over a week, but I was still there. That trick did not work. In my diary, I referred to doctors and nurses as devils, which reflected how trapped and helpless I felt at the time.
What sustained me was faith.
I remain deeply grateful for the prayers of the Sangat and the community at the Gurudwara I attended. I used to sing there using a harmonium. During my recovery, the hospital allowed me to attend the Gurudwara for a few hours on Sundays. Those prayers, that support, and that sense of belonging carried me through a period I could not yet understand, but one that would quietly shape the rest of my life.
I came back home on Christmas Eve. Physical and occupational therapy were already lined up for me. I was advised to skip my sophomore year, but I could not accept that. I wanted to graduate in the same year as my friends. With the extra credits I earned in ninth grade and additional independent studies, I became eligible to start directly in eleventh grade.
