By Bruce Thrasher
Guest Columnist
Peachtree – It was a usual afternoon in the Murphy Medical Center Emergency Department on Flag Day – June 14, 2017. I was on my sixth straight shift in a row. I definitely had a case of the uzacktlys. You know, I felt exactly like I didn’t want to be there.
I was orienting a nurse who was transferring over from “Paisley Park,” a reference to our psych hold area. I had named the area that as a tribute to the musician Prince. We were working the fast track area, or “The Track.”
So far, it had been a really good day. The P.A. Audrey was also orienting a nurse practitioner named Tony. He had just come down from Indiana. We were all chit-chatting, making small talk. In fact, I was even getting a lesson from Tony about persimmons.
It was about 4 o’clock in the afternoon when an attractive middle-age woman was wheeled into Room 8 on a Cherokee County Emergency Medical Services stretcher. We made brief eye contact, and she provided a succinct but obviously forced smile. She did not appear to be seriously injured.
She was dressed as what I like to call a 99 percenter. This was alluding to the opposite of the 1 percenters, or the motorcycle riders who are criminals versus the 99 percent who are not.
She wore a black tank top and very nice-fitting jeans, of which I am sure she spent an afternoon in a fitting room to pick out. She also had polished boots, of which there was not a single scuff mark. EMS brought in her helmet which was a gloss black and pink combo. It was a half shell with the expected “H-D” logo on it.
I was always amused that “Milwaukee Iron” – Harley Davidson, a U.S. icon – had stooped to emblazoning their logo on a myriad of imported crap. I muttered
something to myself about a “$10 lid for a $10 head.”
Since I was working “The Track,” I was not directly involved in her care. This placed me in a rare position to observe events and behavior of patients and staff.
As the afternoon unfolded, I learned that there were three patients from this motorcycle wreck, which included the lady in Room 8. I connected her to a gentleman, her husband, who was in Room 2, and another lady in Room 6. The patient in 6 was attached to a long spine board from EMS.
Bits and pieces of their story came across my desk as the afternoon wore on. It turned out that there were four couples from the Midwest who were down here to ride the North Carolina mountains on their chrome ponies.
They were riding on N.C. 294 in Hiwassee Dam and were in the middle of a sharp curve. A large SUV was traveling in the opposite direction and crossed the center line. This operator of the SUV had impacted the front bike and couple who were on it.
Apparently, both the Harley and said couple became airborne. It was relayed via EMS that body and bike parts were scattered within view of Oak Grove Baptist Church. This unfortunate couple was what we in the business call DRT – dead right there.
The second couple evaded impact but went down, sustaining injuries. The third couple came to a complete stop, but in their panic the bike tipped over and the female passenger had a leg injury. The fourth couple was unscathed.
The patients were all treated and either released or transferred to a larger hospital. Of the eight riders, there were two dead, two who sustained fractures, two were released and two were not even patients.
In the aftermath of the results, I was left to process the day. Even though I was not assigned to the area that these riders were processed, I provided assistance to the other emergency personnel.
Later on in the shift, I meandered through the ambulance sally port. My mind was a jumble of thoughts. It seemed that the thunder rolling above the roof of the department and the tapping of the rain matched the mood. The rain sounded like the beat of a percussionist of a military formation.
When outside, one of the uninjured riders strode by, he seemed unsure of where to go or what to do. He was lost in the whirlwind of mental rewinds of the day’s events. Here was a man, a police officer who would normally be in command of chaos, coming to the realization that he could not direct or be in charge of the moments of this day.
I gazed toward the horizon; the steady rain was coming down. A large gray cloud was literally rolling in like an ocean wave. My good friend and coworker, John, came outside. We watched the influx of the weather.
There were lightning strikes nearby, but the bolts were obscured by the clouds and the rain. With this rain, which was in the form of undulating pulses, one could watch the lines of spray coming across the tarmac.
These showers were creating a fine mist. This mist was bouncing off the ground and reaching up under the canopy.
It felt as if heaven’s tears were upon our faces. There was a distant aroma of rain and lightning. When the lightning would flash. the thunder seemed like a few beats of a solo kettle drum. It was nearby, but you could not tell where the drum was hidden.
I was thankful the ER had this quiet moment, where I could have this time to reflect on the events of the day. I also thought about the uncertainty of life. John and I discussed the road where the trauma had occurred.
We attempted to rationalize the crash and render it unto scientific terms. Theorems of decreasing radius turns and motorcycle physics were postulated. We discussed our own motorcycle riding experiences. John and I came to the summation that this does not matter when an oncoming driver violates the center line, “two counts of vehicular manslaughter.”
Young Rachel came out and watched the storm with us for a moment. It was as if youthful hope was brought with her. She commented on two tiny birds fluttering about underneath some cars. They were staying out of line of the pelting of the rain. It was at this time that the sky seemed to lighten.
The rain decreased to a gentle drizzle. Rachel muttered, “My car needed washing anyway.”
I mused, “I think it’s our psyches that need washing.”
The lone uninjured motorcycle rider was joined in the adjacent covered entrance with the lone uninjured female. In addition, the injured, but alive, male driver came out, discharged with his arm in a sling.
This trio stood forlornly in an arc. They were talking quietly and their eyes were penetrating the rain. I felt as if these mortals were searching through their thoughts and emotions.
In my mind, I tried to imagine what they were going through. I knew I could only realize a small fraction of the anguish. I felt for these beings.
It was at this time I returned back to the Emergency Department to finish out my day’s work.
When I drove home, it was through intermittent rain. I was mentally visualizing the area where this loss of life occurred. My automobile navigated the turns and hills of this state road. The rain was continuing, and the sky was turning to dusk.
My old Lincoln rolled past the bait and tackle store on the right. I slowed down both physically and mentally. I could see Oak Grove Baptist Church ahead. My eyes swept the road from side to side. My first visualization of the crash scene were two lone water bottles standing on the shoulder.
They were arranged one right after the other. I thought of monuments of water in lieu of marble for the two souls. I then made out the orange spray paint marks on the pavement inscribed by the investigators. I pondered on when your life is rendered into spray paint symbols left by a can that probably cost $2.97.
What are the true costs in sorrow and anguish for the friends and family of these unfortunate folk?
The next morning, I awoke. My residence has a view of the same state road. There was a fog of light gray settled down upon the byway. I mentally drew a parallel of a shroud, placed by God upon this stretch of Earth.
I was off this morning and sipped on a cup of coffee. I watched this “shroud” slowly lift to be diffused by sunshine, blue sky and some intermittent white clouds.
My thoughts of the day will remain with these victims, these riders; and my compatriots of the emergency world. How lives and events can intertwine and link us all. In addition,how truly fragile life can be.
Our moments, shared together, at times may be indelible. More often than not, our experiences – as well as our lives – together can be fleeting.
Bruce Thrasher is a resident of Damascus, Va.,. and former resident of Murphy. He wrote this while he was working in the Emergency Department when it was still named Murphy Medical Center, as today it is Erlanger Western Carolina Hospital.