There was a red light at 24th Avenue, so I found myself in little rush to speed up to the stop as I headed northbound on 142 Street in South Surrey around 4:30pm this afternoon. I was heading to the Safeway to try to find a good green pepper for my elderly Mum and some cream of wheat cereal as I noticed a large grey Dodge Ram weaving back and forth directly behind me.
Two males were in the truck, in my rear view mirror I could see the driver angrily mouthing his frustration at not rushing toward the red light. His frustration became mine to a degree as I wondered what his rush was. He then tried passing me on my right, had he not been so impatient I would have gone right into the left turn lane, instead I stayed centred between both lanes as I came to a stop for the red. I could see his truck’s right side rise up onto the sidewalk as he kept moving forward, turning his vehicle towards and in front of me as his front right tire returned to the roadway, and the rear side door of his truck came into contact with the right side corner of my SUV. He opened his door, glaring at me and saying firmly, “Look what you did.” I don’t remember a lot of what he said as he approached my drivers window, as I just looked ahead, refusing to make eye contact with him. Refusing to get out of my car as he goaded me on to do. Eventually I yelled back at him, and reversed my car so it was no longer in contact with his. “Look at that! Are you going to pay for that?” He asked. I felt the lingering tingling sensation in my right arm and shoulder tense up as he kept goading me on, remaining relatively calm all the while.
“What I did?!” I shouted back. “You’re the one who was swerving around behind me. You’re the one who was so impatient, wanting to race to a fucking red!” By this time I had rolled my window down so he could clearly hear what I was shouting shakily. A long line of vehicles was now behind us. “Your impatience drove you to hump over the sidewalk, who the fuck does that?!”
A second driver had come up to us, yelling at me, as if I was the one to blame for everything. The first driver asked his passenger if he’d taken photos and video of all of this, he responded in the affirmative action, “I got his plate number and called the police.” I heard his passenger friend say. I kept yelling at the driver of the Dodge and the new driver trying to play the role of negotiator, but eventually he gave up and left.
I continued to reiterate to the driver that this was his fucking fault, even pointing at him as if that would make my truth somehow stand firmer. Part of me wanted to break down in tears but I held that back, letting it simmer with the tingly tension in my right arm and shoulder. The driver threatened, “Point at me again and I’ll fucking break your finger!”
“Break them, go ahead and break all of them!” I yelled back, and kept pointing my left hand’s middle finger. “Break them off and fucking suck on them!” At this point he was returning to his truck, and he started it up, turning right onto 24th before pulling into the small empty parking lot of a realty office. He got out of the car and joined his passenger friend on the corner as vehicles passed around me on each side of my SUV.
Both hands clenched my steering wheel. I stared ahead, tears in my eyes, refusing to engage with his impatience any longer. Eventually I saw a police SUV a few clicks behind me, and I decided to also turn onto 24th, turning into the parking lot of the Evergreen Pharmacy and South Surrey’s only movie theatre, the Caprice. I pulled into a shady spot, so I wouldn’t have to worry about the late afternoon sun bearing down on me, turning my vehicle into an immobile oven. Two SPD police cars parked next to me, walking up to the driver of the truck who was still out of truck, which sat directly in the middle of that mini-parking lot.
I could hear a bit to what he told the officer, and knowing he was bull-shitting, I yelled “His impatience led to this! Make sure he tells you about driving up over the sidewalk!” Eventually the officers came to my side of my car and we talked. He could tell I didn’t look well, and I did say how my blood sugar levels had been through the roof that week, leaving me feeling sick a lot of the time. Thankfully the lunch I had an hour earlier had left me feeling more grounded, with a higher level of energy, leaving me hopeful for the weekend. I showed him my blood glucose readings from the last few days, the highest being from Tuesday. He was concerned about my levels, and said I might want to get checked out at the hospital.
Ultimately, the first Surrey Police Department officer said they really didn’t care who was at fault, “We just wanted to help insure a smooth information exchange and get everyone on their way.” It was then that I realized my insurance may or may be expired, but he wasn’t worried about that either, saying that I should be able to renew that online right there and be on my way. I appreciated his kindness and calm demeanour.
Eventually he said I should come look at the front corner of my car, so I complied, getting out of my vehicle, walking to the front, seeing white marks on the front right corner of my baby, which I was actually able to rub off with my hand. There was no indentation. But it was then that my legs gave way, and I fell forward onto the left side of my body, my right arm involuntarily shaking as I tried using it to keep myself upright, but failing that, letting it just fall to my side. The stress of the moment had got to me.
I heard the other officer calling it in, asking for someone out there to dispatch a bus. Ok, he didn’t say bus, that’s the Law & Order term used in New York. He used the acronym common to Surrey, British Columbia. Three letters I can’t remember. The first officer asked how I was, and helped me up, suggesting I sit in the shade, and then just in my car while we wait for the ambulance. Eventually they came and the male attendant took my blood sugar: 25 point something. The female attendant asked if I knew my name: “Steven Lee.” And the year? “2, 2, 2024.” I stuttered. I saw the blood pool on top of my skin as the male attendant wrapped a bandage over my freshly picked finger.
Before leaving my locked car, one of the officers kindly agreed to take the groceries I had gotten my Mum to her, and the female ambulance attendant took my backpack which had a few journals in it and my iPad.
In the ambulance they pulled over at one point to setup a new IV, so I could be started on a bag of 0.9% Sodium Chloride Injection. It’s cliche, but the emergency personnel guy said I was looking as pale as a ghost, and indeed I was. A pale shade of white, bringing me close to the skin colour of an albino. I felt super nauseous so he also administered an injection of gravol. “This will make you sleepy though.” And I was okay with that. “We’re done!” He said with a louder voice and the female attendant started up the bus again, turning on the sirens to ease us back into the rush hour traffic of 156th street.
So here I am, almost three hours since the guy had lost his patience, and I forgot to be mindful to just let him pass. But I needed to come in. I was in the same spot of the inside of the ambulance bay that I was after my stroke sixteen months ago. Snapchat showed me my life a year ago today: I had lunch at Montgomery’s Cottage Lunch. A one piece fish and chips, with a vanilla milkshake and a side of delicious homemade coleslaw. My messages were clearly recorded for one person and one person only: Alanna Millar. I miss her so much. Later that day I was power washing the backyard seating area concrete, removing the grime and muck that had stained the concrete during the fall and winter of 2022-2023.
But I’ve been putting this off and spirit brought the hammer down to get me in here, to be tested and looked at. Mum got the vegetables from officer. I’m feeling dizzy again. I don’t know if it’s from the blood sugar or the gravol. I want to pee and fuck, I’m feeling thirsty. A young kid has been crying in pain since I go here. My heart aches for him, and I ask spirit to ease his suffering. May he be happy. May he be healthy. May he live a long life with ease.
May I be happy. May I be healthy. May I live a long life with ease.
The boy’s crying has eased. His family is singing to him, to soothe and comfort him. It seems to be working. Poor little guy.
This was originally posted on Flickr and Instagram.
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