Chelsea Clarke (anotherleftturn) wrote in oblivionrp, @ 2009-03-30 22:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | chelsea |
This looks familiar... vaguely familiar...
Who: Chelsea (solo)
When: Let's say 4ish in the morning
Where: Medical Center
What: Bitter, angry language
Chelsea had been through this before, although she didn't remember it. July 1, 2005, the Winn-Dixie 250, at Daytona. It had been 4 and a half years since she'd been in a similar situation; strapped to a board, neck braced. There were differences, of course. At Daytona, she also had burn injuries and better medical care. She was also unconscious. Even though it had been 2 weeks later when she woke up, she'd seen the replay of the accident probably a thousand times.
And here comes Clarke in the number 45 Dodge, she's taking the turn a bit wide, but it's not... oh, and McClure's getting tight, they've swapped paint a little, he's really getting up in her and- oh God, she's going way too high, she's going to... oh, no... fans, we've got a situation here, Chelsea Clarke has gone too high and her car is coming down fast, the other drivers are getting out of her way, but it's a tough one, she's on fire and she's rolling... the crash crews are coming down to check on her and this does not look good at all for this youngster, her first Busch series race... folks, we're gonna send it to commercial, this is... this isn't good.
Then there had been the inevitable interviews, the "feel good" stories about Chelsea getting on with her life despite being permanently disabled... but eventually, they all stopped, and she was able to just be Chelsea again, to move on with her life.
Here, nearly 5 years later, she was wide awake, and while the staff here was more than adequate, they just weren't prepared for anything like what had happened tonight. She didn't know how long she'd spent here. Immobilized, her neck braced, all she could do was look up at the ceiling or occasionally to the left or right if she strained her eyes. They'd gotten her legs casted- the breaks weren't too serious, all things considered, and considering the shape her legs had been in before, it might actually be an improvement. They were also keeping constant tabs on her to make sure she didn't fall asleep, which now she was really starting to find annoying. Hadn't she had a long enough day without being forced to stay up longer?
Then there was the matter of her neck. It wasn't broken, they had determined. But they were very concerned that she had re-injured her spinal cord at the C5 or 6 level. They kept promising her that they were trying to contact a medical helicopter to get her out of there so she could receive proper care, but so far they hadn't had any luck. For her part, Chelsea had taken inventory of herself: her head was fine other than an ache, her neck hurt like hell but she could still feel that, her shoulders and upper arms seemed to be responding okay, she could feel her upper chest, kind of feel her boobs... and that's where things started going downhill. She only had vague realization that her arms existed below her elbows, and her hands might as well not even be there. She was having a hard time with this.
In rehab, she'd met several people who were quadriplegics. She felt so bad for herself for being glad she wasn't them: able to feed herself, drive her own wheelchair, do things for herself. But now when she thought about rehab, instead of those people, she saw herself being fed. Herself being pushed around in a wheelchair. Herself being dressed. She'd come so far since the injury, and now she was faced with the very real chance of it being taken away from her again. She closed her eyes, much to the chagrin of the very harried nurse who'd been assigned to her. The nurse began panicking until Chelsea told her she was nice and awake, just talking to God. She even spoke out loud to prove it, not caring who heard.
"Look. I know You and me? Haven't really talked in a while. But I figured we were cool, you know? You took my legs away, my dreams of racing away, but hey, you gave me the garage so it worked out, I guess. But now? What the fuck did I ever do to you? Is this some kind of game to you? Give the girl her dreams and keep taking them away? What kind of benevolent diety does that, huh? A sick one, that's who. People are running around here saying how wonderful it is that God saved them. Bull. Shit. Not me. Fuck you, God. You like fucking with me, I don't need you any more. I'm out. This is the last you're hearing from me." Tears were pouring from her eyes as she opened them and saw the horrified nurse in her periphery. "Fuck. You." She turned her eyes to face the nurse. "What? You heard me. I didn't fucking stutter."