England  
Stone Hedge or Jerry
Stone Hedge or Jerry, That is the Question!
Subtitle: A Yank in King Arthur's Hospital! (10/24/94)

To appreciate that this car crash was a one in a million chance of occurring, I have to start the tale from the day before I left.

The night before I left, my son Donald had watched Unsolved Mysteries that portrayed Stone Hedge in England.  My son asked me if I was going to see Stone Hedge while in England.  I told him that I only had a 3 hour layover, so I didn't have any time, not to mention that I didn't know where Stone Hedge was from the airport; whether I could get there in one day.  My wife also told me she had a very bad feeling about this trip.

I visited the Smithsonian Aerospace Museum, where I almost missed seeing a miniature replica of Stone Hedge on display.  It showed the nearby city (Amsbury), and a larger nearby city (Salisbury, yes like the steak), but no relationship to the airport or country.

On the flight to JFK, I was listening to the music, when all of a sudden I felt myself in a bad car accident in England.  I dismissed this premonition since I wasn't planning on renting a car, I only had a 3 hour layover in England.

My flight from DC to JFK was early, which allowed me to catch the earlier flight to London.  That flight also arrived early (4:30), leaving me with a 7 hour layover instead of 3 hour (I was originally going to land at 10:30 and leave at 1:30).  After fumbling around the airport, I found a taxi dispatcher.  He had never heard of Stone Hedge.  He couldn't find Amsbury on a map, but was able to find Salisbury.  I estimated that Stone Hedge was only 1 1/2 hours away, so I decided to rent a car and go see it.

I first started with Budget rent-a-car.  After an hour of missing their shuttle, going back inside to call for another shuttle, I decided to take the next rent-a-car shuttle, which was Avis.  As I approached the rental car area, I could see Avis, then Hertz, and lastly Budget, each separated by about 300 feet.

The Avis rental agency didn't have any economy cars left, only big luxury models.  At the Hertz agency I was able to get a sub-compact and directions to Stone Hedge.  Remember, when you rent a car, be sure it hurts (Hertz).

There are three things that I never do; take out insurance on a rental car, use my seat belt, or drive the posted limits.  At the rental agency, I remembered the premonition and decided to take out insurance, used my seat belt religiously, and never went over the speed limit.

In England, there are turning circles (which they called turnabouts), instead of major intersections.  The directions would say "take the second turnabout" which I now know means take the second exit inside the turnabout, not the second turnabout.  This was my first lesson in getting lost, and I wasn't even out of the airport.  To complicate matters, the English do not have many street signs, so it's difficult to know where you are.  Since I was heading into the rising sun, and I knew I had to go west to find Stone Hedge, I knew I was lost.  After finding a "petro" station (gas station), I got a better map and better directions.

In England, besides driving on the opposite side of the road, there are only 2 speed limits, 70 MPH for freeways and 40 MPH for everything else.  I was very cautious about driving due to being on the opposite side of the road, and that the stick shift was on the left instead of the right.  After awhile it didn't seem so un-natural.

I arrived at Stone Hedge an hour before the first tour (about 8:30), but the guard let me in close enough to see as much as I would have been able to in the tour (even in the tour you can't walk through the center anymore).  The guard told me of another interesting place to visit about 20 miles away.  This was called the Avery; the same stones like the ones at Stone Hedge were placed in a circle around a town.  I originally planned to head south and follow the Thames river back to London for some sight seeing.  I decided to go north and check out this Avery place.

On my way to Avery, I tried circling back to get a photo of a horse drawn brewery delivery wagon.  Of course I got lost again in this small rural town, and found my way back to the main road.

The Avery was so-so, it was an old English town that was semi restored.  Most of the Stone Hedge type of stones were missing.  There was a neat old cemetery with interesting writings on the tombstones.  There were about five other "historic" sites to see, but most were not exactly what I considered monumental.  The best example, was a place called the "Silt Mountain".  It was a mount of earth about 75 feet tall and about 100 feet in diameter.  Whoopee!

After my stop in Avery, I kept going north to pick up another "motorway" (freeway) to get back to London.  As usual, the signs were poorly posted, and again I found myself driving with the sun to my back (westerly) instead of the sun to my right (north).  It took some time before I found a side road that I could turn around on and get back to the main highway.  This was my third time at getting lost.

On the way to the freeway, I saw a sign for Blanchury Castle.  I decided to go check out the castle since I hadn't seen a castle yet.  The road keep going and going (about 5 miles), with no further sign or castle.  I was just about to turn around and head back when I finally saw one last sign pointing down a road that eventually headed up a rather large hill (the largest one in the area).  This road went past a military base, and started getting narrower, first a one lane divided road, to a undivided country road, down to what I thought might be a one way road on the hill; two cars could not pass each other.

The road made a small gully at the bottom of the hill, where there were cattle nearby.  I made it up the hill and onto the castle grounds.  I was driving very cautiously, since this road up the hill was so narrow, even my subcompact was almost brushing the brush on each side.  I thought I was on a one-way road, but there was no other way to the top of the hill.  There were a few farm houses up this road.

At the top of the hill, I saw a parking lot to the right.  It was another 300 foot hike (in a light rain) to the castle.  To my amazement, the only thing left of the castle was the moat; not one brick.  One picture of the moat, and back to the car.

At the top of the hill I looked at my odometer to see how far I had traveled, since it was only about 10:00.  By now, I have put on over 110 miles driving on the opposite side, both highways and one lane roads, through several towns.

I could see to the bottom where the gully in road is (approximately 1/4 mile), and about the same distance past the gully .  I was very careful about this country road because of it's narrowness.  This is the last thing I remember. 

The following is a logical sequence of events that I reconstructed with the help of the local Police:

I believe that at bottom of the hill (in the gully) I moved over to the far right hand side of the road due to an obstacle, possibly the cattle in the area.  About 20 feet later (1/3 of a second at 40 MPH) I would be out of this small gully, which is where I collided head-on into the other car.  I was doing 40 MPH, the other driver was doing 60 MPH, or a combined crash speed of 100 MPH.  Evidently the other driver got out of the car and walked to his home nearby to call the police.

I estimated that I was unconscious for about 30 minutes, until the police revived me (I don't know how they did it).  From when I last remembered looking down the hill, my next conscious recollection was talking to a Bobbie (it was the police woman's real first name), asking me what was I doing near the right hand side of the road (at this point the road was about 1 1/2 cars wide).

I looked at her, heard her English accent, looked at my broken steering wheel, broken front windshield, and asked where I was.  She of course said "You're in England.  What were you doing driving near the wrong side of the road?"    The only thing in my mind was a satellite view of Southern California.  My mind was blank.

I told her that she looked real enough, had an English accent, the steering wheel was located correctly for England, but I was expecting to see a large white rabbit with a little girl chasing it, because I'm from Southern California, and I don't have a clue as to why I'm in England, let alone why I'm on the right hand side of the road!  My memory was completely blank; total amnesia.

It's kind of funny, but at this point in time, even though my memory is completely blank, I know I have amnesia because I've had it before and this is what is like (even though I didn't remember my plane crash).  It didn't bother me not to remember.  The only thing in my mind was a satellite view of Southern California, which is why I told her I was from Southern California.

I asked the Police to be sure everyone in the other car was all right.  The driver was out in front of his car, yelling at me.  His two kids were standing near the side of his car.  I could hear a lady walking up from behind me saying, "what did you do to my car".

When I tried to get out of the car, my back was completely paralyzed, with excruciating pain.  My chest also hurt, but nothing compared to my back. 

As it turned out, I broke my seal belt, then broke the steering wheel with my right arm, and finished by also breaking the windshield with my head (hence the amnesia).

Both cars were subcompacts, and now they were sub sub compacts.  The cars were only about 5 feet apart, still head to head, perfectly in alignment.  I could smell gasoline and saw it pouring out of the other car.  I told Bobbie that it would be a wise idea for everyone to get as far away from the cars as possible, including me.  She didn't want to move me unless it was absolutely necessary, until the paramedics arrived with a back board.  Everyone else left the area.  She stayed with me.  We kept talking trying to regain my memory, which did not come back.

Luckily the military hospital was nearby.  Normally they do not take civilians, but since my injuries were considered major, they took me immediately.  The local hospital was at least 30 minutes further.  During the ambulance ride, I kept passing out.  Everyone kept talking to me to try and keep me awake.  All I wanted to do was sleep.  I was put into the Intensive Care Ward.  After a preliminary examination, I was taken to the X-ray Lab for my back.

No broken bones, just extensive chest and back muscle spasms.  I had black and blue bruises from the seat beat and steering wheel.  A temporary kidney problem (blood and protein in my urine) cleared up the next day.  Evidently, the cells in the kidney opened up under the slap of the crash, which allowed the blood and protein to get into the urine.  This would be similar to taking a cut of steak, slapping it on a table top, and seeing some blood come out.

The similarities between this and my plane crash were too coincidental;  on a Wednesday, breaking my seat belt, amnesia, not a lot of outward signs of being in an accident.  Not my time to go.

The rest of my body felt like I had just run a million mile marathon.  Every muscle in my body was sore.  I felt that I was depleted of my life energy.  I also had an incredible sensation of dehydration.  I can only guess, that the slap of the impact opened my body cells and let water out.  I surmise that my chest and back muscles were over extended as I attempted to hold myself back with the steering wheel.  This would be like doing a push up with 60 times your weight.

To understand the forces involved (without writing out the equations), even though I was doing 40 MPH, my injuries would be the same if I was doing 60 MPH into a wall. 

If you estimate that both vehicles and occupants were the same weight, hence the same mass, both colliding at 40 MPH would yield the same amount of energy to be dissipated by each car, and essentially each car stops, with the car frame and occupants dissipating the energy (which is what brakes do; dissipate the energy of your moving mass; which is why brakes heat up). 
 If one car is doing 60 MPH, that additional energy of 20 MPH is transferred to the other car; as if the other car (me) was going in reverse at 20 MPH.  So, I pick up the extra 20 MPH.  The best example of this is a cue ball; the greater energy force (cue ball) transfers the additional energy to the object with the lower energy (stationary 8 ball).   So the other car (me) ends up with the additional 20 MPH, or 60 MPH of the 100 MPH combined crash speed.

Since the majority of my pain was in the back, they did not X-ray my chest, or they would have found the cracked ribs.  The doctor on duty told me that since the X-rays were negative, the back pain must be muscular in nature.  He said that he didn't know whether to apply heat or cold, but the physiotherapists would take care of that later on. 

"Didn't know whether to apply heat or cold?" Of course you apply heat, I thought.  I had my first serious thoughts that I was in trouble if the doctor didn't know whether to apply heat or cold.  Right after this is when I regained my memory.  Maybe his shocking treatment knowledge shocked my memory back.

As soon as a nurse came up, I remembered who I was, how I got there and where I was suppose to be (about this time I should have been landing in Saudi Arabia).  I asked her to call my boss and tell him I would be a little bit late, and to call my wife and be sure that if she only relays one sentence, it is that I am OK.  After my plane crash, someone called my Mom and told her one person was dead, and one was alive, and they didn't know which was which.  I didn't want anything like this happening to my wife.

It was like going back in time being in an RAF (Royal Air Force) hospital.  Each Ward has a name, I was in Ward 3; the Andover Ward.  Each Ward has a Ward Sister; mine was Anita Garber, a mongrel of a women.  Instead of asking my name, she asked what was my Christian name.  The sisters (nurses) rank could be seen hundreds of feet away.  Commissioned nurses (officers) wore large white diamond shaped (over 1 foot square) head gear, while the non-com's wore very small (3 inches in diameter) lace head sets.  They kept waking me every hour due to my amnesia.

I asked them what town I was in.  With their accents, it sounded like rotten, but is spelled Wroughton.  Little did I know how rotten things were going to get.

The British were very very polite.  Since there was no war, the only other patients were mostly elderly, hospitalized for gall bladders, heart attacks, etc.  One gentlemen that was hooked up to dozens of tubes and wires, who coughed and wheezed all night long, was my first introduction to the British politeness.  He woke up, looked over at me and said in his quaint British accent "And how is our young American friend doing this morning?"  They all told me their tales of WWII, Rommel, etc.  It was a very interesting experience.

I still couldn't even sit up in bed without two nurses helping me up.  Their "pain pills" had no effect on me that I was able to feel.  Their strongest shot also had no effects that I was aware of.

Later this next day (Thursday), my two physiotherapists came to help fix my back.  I later termed them my psycho-therapists.  This guy and girl couldn't agree on what was wrong with my back, let alone what therapy to use, only to find out that the only piece of equipment they had left in their inventory, was made out of tubes.  Not to mention that it did nothing for my back.

Now I definitely wanted to escape the RAF of yester-year.  I asked the head nurse what would it take for me to be released.  She said two things; I needed to pass a urine test, and I had to show them I was mobile enough to leave on my own.

Since I felt dehydrated, I had been drinking gallons of water, but no urge to purge.  Later this second night, I finally went into my bed pan, and failed my urine test.  This was the blood and protein in the urine from the temporary kidney failure.  I kept downing buckets of water.  I also tried to get up so I could walk, but it was no hope, I couldn't even sit up in bed on my own.  Later that night I finally passed the piss test.

The next morning I decided this was it.  I forced myself up and out of bed.  I stayed on my feet until the doctor made his morning rounds, which wasn't until 9:00.  I walked like a zombie, since I had to keep my back motionless and not use any muscles associated with the back.  I fooled them all and got my release.

Don't get me wrong about the British, they were very polite and caring, but they have not been trained in the States, and it's a social system, hence no motivating factors to be the best.

Just before I did leave the RAF Hospital, the Chief of Wroughton Police came to interrogate me.  At first he was pretty mad at me; a Yank driving on the wrong side of the road, hitting one of the Queens subjects.  I told him about the amnesia and he calmed down.  After the interrogation, he said he wouldn't hold me in England for three reasons; (1) I wasn't speeding (our speedometers were frozen at our speeds), (2) the Police determined that there was no malice involved (based on the story we reconstructed), and (3) that I was fully insured.  The other driver complained of stomach aches, one boy was fine, the other wore a neck brace for a sore neck.

Now for the next problem; how do I get back to the airport.  I asked the head nurse again if there was a bus or taxi service in town.  She said her husband was in the motor pool, and they usually make a run into London for supplies on Friday.  She would see if I could get a ride on the military supply transport.  She pulled off a good one since I was a civilian, and not even British.  When the time came for the transport to arrive, they told me that the supply trip was canceled, but they were going to take me to the airport anyway.  Talk about nice people. 

If any of the events up to this had changed only slightly (e.g., flights on time instead of early, if the other driver was doing anything less than 60 MPH, etc.) this would have never of occurred.  Not too mention my seat belt, not speeding, and being insured.

My driver was quiet.  Even though we were only an hour from the airport, and I had two hours before the next plane left, I found my driver zipping down the motorway at 95 MPH.  I quizzed him about the possibility of getting a ticket.  He said that as long as you don't go over 100 MPH, the police will let you be.  I forgot to mention that we were being passed a lot.  British do love to get to where they are going. 

I finally get to Saudi Arabia.  Even the expansion joints in the bridges were enough of a jolt to send lightning bolts of pain up my back.

Since every muscle associated with a push up is in shock, I have to sleep on my back.  I normally sleep on my stomach, so I have the natural urge to flip over.  The trick to get out of bed, which I now call the Turtle Syndrome, is that I have to inch my way to the right side of the bed (for some reason I can't do it to the left), use my legs and arms to roll myself off the bed to get to my legs.  This is extremely painful and looks real stupid.

It's even harder to get dressed.  It takes about 5 minutes just to put one sock on, about 30 minutes to put a shirt, pants and shoes on.  Even pulling my zipper up hurts, but I'm not going to ask someone to help me do that!

After my experience with non-States trained doctors and medicine, I tried to get into the USAF hospital for treatment, but it was to no avail.  I then went to the Clinic used by our program.  I saw an Egyptian doctor who came up with the right answers I was expecting to hear about my problems.  He gave me two things I desperately needed; how long it would take me to heal (one week for the acute pain and three weeks for the constant dull pain), and drugs that would let me forget the pain, but put me into lalaland (you walk around going la la la, la la, la la).

This Jordanian drug has just kicked my butt.  The next morning I
tried my new drugs at 7:00 AM.  I made the mistake of laying down to rest.  I woke up 5 hours later after the drugs wore off.  It was made up of 30 mg of Codeine and 500 mg of something that is unknown in the USA.  The FDA probably would not have approved this, but it worked!
 
 
 

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