First Person is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at tgam.ca/essayguide.
Illustration by Marley Allen-Ash
There are many forms of luck in this world.
There is the straight-up, winning-the-lottery kind of luck and there is luck that comes as a result of misfortune. It seems there is always someone spared from a plane crash because they missed their flight. There is even luck when you get injured – it could always have been far, far worse. Most people encounter these incidents of luck at some point in their lifetime; I encountered them all in one day.
Two years ago, just as the pandemic was about to arrive on our doorstep, that day dawned bright and cold. I was six days away from leaving Toronto to take up my first international job posting in New York city. My overall feeling of anxiety and apprehension was compounded by the fact that my family would not be joining me for several months. We would sell the only home my children had ever known, sell our car, donate all our stuff and start fresh in a foreign land. I was excited to spend as much time as possible with them before I departed. That day, my 9-year-old son was flush with money from his grandparents and suggested a walk to the mall to find a new Lego set. I am not much of a mall shopper, but the side benefit was a 20-minute walk along the ravine, so I agreed.
As we walked down our street, he spotted a crumpled-up dollar bill by the curb. A closer look revealed it to be US$10. He was thrilled. “I can spend it when we move to New York … this is our lucky day!” Later, walking alongside the ravine, we heard a noise in the trees. Where the forest opened to a path ahead, we saw two deer emerge from the bush and cross over to the creek. Another lucky encounter.
We were soon at the mall, walking on the sidewalk adjacent to the parking lot. My son was a step behind me when I heard a screeching of tires and suddenly a car appeared from around the corner. Before I knew what was happening, the car jumped the curb and streaked across the sidewalk, striking me head-on and hitting my son with a glancing blow. I was flipped up onto the hood of the car and landed with a thud on the pavement. Looking back in fear for my son, I saw him on the ground, too. I asked if he was hurt and he whimpered back that he was okay. I told him not to get up. My husband, a former firefighter, had – on many occasions – told me that injuries can be worsened by attempts to move after an accident. A passerby called 911, and soon we were in the capable hands of first responders. By this time, my body was coursing with adrenalin and I really did not feel any pain, but I knew something had to be wrong when I could not walk to the ambulance.
My husband and daughter met us at the hospital, as did police officers. The police informed us that the young driver had crashed into two other cars after hitting us, and other people had been hurt, but our injuries were by far the most serious since we were pedestrians. By now, I was in a wheelchair, waiting for X-rays and treatment.
The waiting time in the ER was lengthy. By the time I saw a doctor, my shoulder was aching in addition to my swelling knee. My son, thankfully, only appeared to have a large bruise and ripped pants. All four of us gathered in the examination room and the doctor declared that my son would be fine. The relief in the room was palpable. But then, the doctor delivered my diagnosis in a sympathetic tone, and the news was not good. My clavicle (shoulder) was broken, as was my leg in two places (tibia and fibula).
I was stunned and too shocked to cry. My thoughts went to how I was going to tell my new employer (who had waited patiently for six months for my arrival) that I was not going to be on a plane in six days, and in fact my arrival was extremely difficult to predict. The doctor went on to explain the multiple follow-up visits and physiotherapy that awaited me. I must have looked discouraged because he turned to me and said, “I know this is overwhelming for you right now, but I want you to know something. I have worked in the ER for five years, and I have seen an increase in the number of innocent pedestrians being hit by careless drivers. The outcome is usually much worse, including serious head injuries or fatalities. Your bones will heal. You were lucky.”
I sure didn’t feel lucky, but he was right.
That night, I kept replaying the events of the day in my mind. There was a part of the ordeal that I couldn’t stop dwelling on. What if, by chance, my son had been standing where I’d been? At his age and size, the blow would likely have been fatal. That simple twist of fate – or luck – haunts me still today.
It took many months for me to recover enough to board a plane. But in another bit of luck, that meant I missed being in New York for the start of the pandemic. In that period, COVID-19 brought New York to its knees, with hospitals and morgues overflowing, and people losing their loved ones and neighbours.
Today, my family is well settled in our new city and loving the experience despite the pandemic. A friend of mine asked me recently, “How do you like New York?”
I smiled and said, “I feel lucky to be here.”
Rosemarie McClean lives in New York.
Sign up for the weekly Parenting & Relationships newsletter for news and advice to help you be a better parent, partner, friend, family member or colleague.