ONE / Sometimes, words fail even experienced and award-winning writers of the first order. My catastrophic truck fire 6 September produced one of those times.
Now, post-trauma and post-post-traumatic-stress disorder (which hit Thursday or four-five days following that unforgettable Saturday. I had elected to take advantage of the lovely weather and surprise my friend, ValGal, who had taken lodgings in Sundridge because she wanted to reconnect with others she knew from her years living in the Magnificent Almaguin Highlands).
What happened? I cruised along 522 through to Trout Creek and merged with traffic on Highway 11 South intending to exit at South River in order to visit my friends at the Pharmacy on Marie Street (which I did; but, natch, I had forgotten it closed at 3 PM on Saturdays. Drats, drats, double drats). I hopped back into AMT (Adam My Truck, my trusty hardly rusty Dodge Dakota borned August 1990 with 366,250 kms on 'im.)
I was paralysed on the right side, BTW, a transient injury caused by an attack 2 June 2002 that also induced ARDS when I nearly did die. Radial Nerve Palsy. I had the cell in my left hand (since I am a southpaw); but, I had no use of my right hand because of the paralysis. I could not unbuckle the seatbelt. I started seeing flames shoot from AMT and was dialling 911 for help and the good Lord, watching over me, brought quick help from Caitlin who works at the South River Kwik-Way and who also works in a volunteer capacity for the fire department in South River.
