GOOD, BAD, WHO KNOWS.....

Welcome aboard, everyone! Fasten those seatbelts tightly because you're about to embark on a rollercoaster ride through the adventure of a lifetime - my car accident! Prepare for a tale filled with transformation, resilience, and a sprinkling of the bizarre.

Before the accident, I was the poster child for low self-esteem, zero confidence, and shyness that made a hermit crab look like a social butterfly. But hey, I had an inner strength that was quietly simmering beneath the surface. Life had tossed me a mixed bag, from being born chronically ill and deaf to breaking my leg in three places at the tender age of four. Hospital visits? I practically had a VIP card. Bullied through most of my school days, I was like a magnet for challenges. School and sports? Well, let's just say they weren't my forte. Add a dash of family dysfunction to the mix, and you've got a recipe for a life that could've easily gone south.

But then, the accident happened. Oh boy, it turned my world upside down in ways I couldn't have imagined. The scars, both physical and emotional, are still my daily companions. Loss, pain, anger, and grief barged into my life unannounced. But guess what? They brought along some uninvited pals: love, compassion, growth, and strength.

Now, I wouldn't wish that period on my worst enemy, especially when you and your family are as ill-prepared as a penguin in the Sahara. It reshaped me inside out, and there was no going back.

On the surface, it looked like I had an army of support. But deep down, I was a lone wolf in a bustling forest. I had to play the role of the strong one, put on a brave face, and pretend all was sunshine and rainbows. Talking to people about what I was going through? It felt like explaining quantum physics to a cat. It wasn't that they didn't care; it was just that they couldn't grasp the enormity of it all. We all had our ways of coping with tough situations, trying to shield each other in our unique ways. We were known for our stoicism, keeping our emotions locked away and steering clear of sentimentality. So I soldiered on solo; I navigated through the challenges on my own, carving my path in my own distinctive fashion. That first year was the toughest, as I morphed into someone nobody recognised.

To make matters worse, my nana from my mother's side had just passed away the week before. Talk about lousy timing. I was driving back from her funeral with my boyfriend and some friends, cruising down the Himatangi Straights, a long, dimly lit road with more crossroads than you could shake a stick at. I'd fallen asleep in the passenger seat when, out of nowhere, I woke up in a blood-soaked nightmare. Apparently, we'd collided with another car from a side road.

In that other car was an 18-year-old dude showing off to his 14-year-old brother, thinking he could beat us through the intersection. Spoiler alert: he couldn't. We collided; their car did a wild dance and ended up in a ditch while ours sprawled across the road. I'd shattered the windshield with my face and left my mark on the dashboard with my knees.

I must have been out for a bit, but during that time, I felt a presence, a comforting one; it was my nana, assuring me it would all be alright.

When I finally came to, it was like I'd hosted a horror-themed party in my mouth, and my teeth decided to play the ultimate game of hide-and-seek. I was so terrified I thought my teeth were playing a sneaky game of hide-and-seek in my hand, But alas, my teeth had pulled off the great escape; they were off enjoying their own dental vacation somewhere else! I couldn't see a thing through the crimson curtain that covered my face. We found some nappies (yes, you

read that right) and used them as makeshift bandages until the medics arrived. We had to wait until they assessed and evacuated the boys from the other car.

Those boys had their share of injuries—one with a collapsed lung, the other with a busted spleen. The driver received but a slap on the wrist, a relatively light penalty in court. To be candid, considering the ordeal my family and I endured due to his arrogance and recklessness, it was quite disheartening. However, the choice not to pursue a legal battle was essentially made on my behalf. Fortunately, I received tremendous support from the police, who assured me they would assist me if I ever needed help. Now, here's the twist: I never felt anger toward them. Others around me did, but I sensed they were struggling too. Amid all the chaos, anger just wasn't something I could handle. Besides, I'm not the fiery type, and I needed to keep my emotions in check for my sake and everyone else's.

When I located the driver's name and found out his contact details, I contacted him to find out how his life had turned out. I learned that they've moved on with their lives, made recoveries, living happily in New Plymouth with their families, barely sparing me a thought. He expressed the guilt of nearly causing his brother's death, believing that the mere thought of almost losing his brother was punishment enough. He had never been made fully aware of the extent of the danger I had faced, the countless near-death experiences I endured due to his recklessness.

Meanwhile, my boyfriend had phoned my dad, downplaying the accident as a minor fender bender and suggesting I'd be home in no time. Little did they know, they'd beat us to the hospital.

While waiting for the medics and during the trip to the hospital, I cracked jokes. When I was wheeled into the emergency room, my father and sister were there, feeling pity for the poor girl who'd met with such a gruesome accident. Little did they know that girl was me. My face was a Picasso painting of blood and bruises. When they realised, it was a shocker. I knew I looked like a mess, and with the recent passing of my grandmother, I did my best to keep the mood light with humour, trying to protect those around me so they wouldn't worry. As for my sister, she went into full comandante of the third-rank interrogation mode, as if I'd committed the crime of the century. While I understood that this was her unique way of expressing concern, it was clear the timing and setting couldn't have been more inappropriate and not her place; I really didn't need that at the moment. The situation even made my dad shed a tear, a sight I'd never seen before (he was all about the "tough guy" act).

Next came the strip show. They had to cut my clothes off to examine me thoroughly, and I had a scan to check for hidden surprises. Everything seemed somewhat okay, so they stitched up my face, and off I went to a ward. I ended up with over 70 stitches. My sister stayed with me the night, and Dad took my boyfriend home. By the morning, my sister had calmed down enough; I was starving but wasn't allowed to eat in case I needed surgery. All she had on her were pebbles, and we figured one or two wouldn't hurt.

The next morning felt like an eternity of uncertainty. My dad called my mum, who had stayed with my granddad and broke the news. When I found out she was on her way, panic set in. I hadn't seen my reflection, and no one would hand me a mirror. I couldn't even walk on my own. There was a mirror in the bathroom, so I schemed my way into getting a nurse to help me there. Once I stood before that mirror, my life took an abrupt turn.

I stared at the stranger in the mirror, a creature you'd expect to see in a horror flick, searching for the familiar Nadine. But she was nowhere to be found. Could this really be me? It was as if I'd left my body as if the past week's events had thrust me into a parallel universe. I've never been able to look in a mirror or have my photo taken since that day without a subconscious reminder. I called for help to get back to my ward.

My brother was there, and I asked him how bad I looked. He casually said, "Not that bad." I told him I'd seen the horror show in the mirror, and he finally admitted, "Yeah, it was pretty bad Nad." I made him fetch the nurses and let them know I needed a shower, something to make myself presentable before Mum arrived. I knew she wouldn't handle my appearance very well.

The problem was I couldn't even stand in the shower, let alone clean myself. So, there I sat, butt naked, as two nurses tried their best to rid my face and hair of blood and shards of glass. I sat there in disbelief and completely vulnerable, like the main victim in a horror movie who had just stumbled out, zombie-like, in a state of shock, drenched in blood, with no one around, utterly alone.

The amount of blood and glass was surreal, and even today, more than three decades later, I still find bits of glass in my eye and head. They did their best and got me back to the ward, and that's when the real show began.

Given the circumstances, I summoned every ounce of courage when my mum arrived. To our astonishment, my mum held up remarkably well until everyone began to leave the ward, and that's when she fainted. The medical staff watched her throughout the day and into the night to ensure her well-being. Strangely, I couldn't help but feel a tinge of relief in her fainting as it shifted the focus away from me. We were all worried for her,

That's when I made a pact with myself. If I was going to survive this ordeal, I had to be my own support system. I had to protect my mum in the only way I knew how: through humour, laughter, showing my parents I was strong, I was all good and tears hidden away in the lonely nights.

And that, my friends, was just the beginning of a long, painful journey...