So, I’m sure a lot of you are asking yourselves, “how do I become a campus celeb AND rack up thousands of dollars at the hospital?”
You know what sister friend? Your girl Caroline is going to tell you exactly how to accomplish overnight fame.
When I was in high school, my parents were pretty strict so I spent a lot of time grounded. I drank a little bit but I didn’t really discover the party scene until I was in college.
Once I left home for Tuscaloosa, I went nucking futs. I joined a sorority, learned how to shotgun a beer, and realized that boys = life. This crazy college lifestyle resulted in an extra 20 pounds and 3 trips to the emergency room.
The first time I seriously injured myself, I had fallen off of a table and my hand made its way to a large shard of broken glass. I cut my artery and ulnar nerve in half and I still have very little feeling in my left hand.
My second visit to the hospital was due to a beer bottle being thrown at my head. No, I did not instigate it. I was at a bar with my friends and was maybe 2 beers deep when a fight broke out across the room. I barely got the words “what’s going on?” out of my mouth when I felt something slam into the side of my noggin. Once the blood started streaming down my face, I realized that I was in deep shit. The glass had hit my temple and, you guessed it, sliced another artery. I have a super cool scar now right below my hairline.
My third ER adventure was by far the craziest. It was game day at Bama which, if you didn’t know, is like Mardi Gras for rednecks. My friends and I were having a grand ol’ time and decided that it was a good idea to get into an F-150 with a drunk driver. After he hit 125 mph, we begged him to slow down. Being the generous human that he is, the driver reduced his speed to a leisurely 100 mph and we all felt super safe. The last thing I remember was someone screaming “slow down” and then my head slammed into the windshield.
I woke up in a ditch with my legs in a 90-degree angle straight behind me. I thought I was paralyzed and I was told that my best friend since 7th grade was dead. She was not responding and her head was dripping with blood. Once she regained consciousness, we were rushed to the hospital where my best friend and I were told that we needed to be transferred to a hospital an hour away. The nurse explained that I would need surgery and would most likely be bed-ridden for 8 months.
Me: “8 months are you fucking kidding me?”
Nurse: “Stop crying. Do you have any family? You’re the only one here without a visitor.”
Me: “Thank you for your stellar bedside manner. I feel like we’re really connecting on a personal level.”
Once I arrived at the next hospital, I could hear my best friend screaming as the doctors sewed up her face. The glass had torn open her right cheek and the impact of the crash had ripped open her eyelid. She was begging for them to stop but she knew that they couldn’t. Have you ever listened to a loved one cry out in pain for an hour? It was as if I was watching a horror movie with no way of telling the main characters that the killer was hiding in the closet.
I remember how claustrophobic I felt with my neck brace suffocating me and the metal table accentuating the pain radiating from my lower body. I was alone in an operating room that resembled a scene out of Saw. The nurses had cut my clothes off and I was covered by only a thin white sheet as if my next stop was the morgue. Were the doctors just going to throw in the towel? “Hey, I think we should pull the plug. She keeps telling us that her friend is allergic to penicillin and it’s annoying AF.”
The next few days were a blur. I was in and out of consciousness with copious amounts of pain meds. As my Father so lovingly reminded me, I apparently rolled my head over one day after being given the morphine pump and said “this shit is awesome.”
This entire experience was quickly followed by intense PTSD. I couldn’t drive at night for about a year and I didn’t dare get in the car when it was raining. Every turn reminded me of the screeching tires that rang in my head and every car surrounding me was considered a weapon. This is a really fun way to live, I highly recommend it.
So, the moral of the story is, you too can be this cool in college if you flush your values down the toilet, 100% care about what others think of you, and set 0 goals for your future. If you DO find yourself in this situation though, I suggest getting the chicken quesadilla at UAB Hospital. It’s pretty bomb once you actually develop an appetite.