Editor’s Note: This blog post discusses a personal experience with a car accident and medical procedures, with accompanying x-ray imagery. Names have been changed for privacy.

We talk to students and parents affected by distracted driving constantly - how they’ve been affected by it firsthand, how teens and college students are at the greatest risk, and the aftermath of split-second decisions.

How often do we stop to think about the small decisions we make before getting into a car—like buckling up, silencing a phone, or waiting until we’re calm to drive? These choices can make all the difference. I thought it might be appropriate to share my personal experience with distracted driving that informs the decisions I make in the car to this day.

In 2008, I was in a life-altering car accident as a passenger. I was 17 at the time, with a whole year of high school still ahead. I spent most of my summers with my then best friend, Anna. She drove us EVERYWHERE - from my house to hers, to the mall, to the movies, and most frequently, to her boyfriend’s house.

On this particular day, she and her boyfriend had a huge fight - about something silly that 17-year-olds might fight about on a hot summer day. In a huff, she told me to get my things, and we got in the car to leave. Anna was already a pretty distracted driver - she constantly played with the radio, fumbled with CDs, or texted our other friends - but today she was distracted by her anger at her boyfriend. The roads were wet from a summer storm, and she was speeding to relieve some of that anger.

In our haste to leave Anna’s boyfriend’s house, I forgot to put on my seatbelt.

I remember laughing about Anna speeding to relieve her frustration - even encouraging her behavior - when she lost control of the car.

That day changed everything for me. 

Sixteen years later, I can still recall the feeling of hydroplaning, the spinning before the backwards impact into a drainage ditch, and the moment of weightlessness I felt being thrown from the front passenger seat into the back windshield.

I don’t know how many minutes passed before I opened my eyes and saw the bleak, blurry sky. I realized as I slid from the trunk back into the car, down into the back passenger seat, that my mouth was full of glass and I had lost my glasses.

Anna turned around in the driver’s seat to look at me, her face streaked with blood (later, at the hospital, we learned that the car hit the ditch with such force that the radio dislodged from the console, striking her in the face and causing a concussion). Shocked and dazed, she said:
“My mom is going to kill us” (she didn’t. But we almost had).

Neighbors nearby heard the accident and helped us out of the car, out of the muddy ditch, and onto the street.

The paramedics that arrived seemed more concerned about Anna, getting her onto a stretcher first, until I realized that I couldn’t turn my head. A second ambulance arrived shortly after for me.

For nearly 18 hours, I stared at the ceiling in the emergency room, a too-small neck brace cutting into my chin. MRIs, x-rays, scans, and intrusive questions happened in a blur. My parents arrived, more worried than angry (bless them), and we finally got an update.

I was walking around after the accident. I had a headache and I couldn’t turn my head but I was going to be fine, right?

I had broken my neck in three places.

What?

Anna would go on to make a quick recovery, after her concussion was monitored and a gash down her chin was stitched up.

But I was scheduled for surgery. Six screws, two plates and cadaver bone was the cost for encouraging my best friend to drive distracted. 

Today, I still have a little pain when it storms, and I’ve lost a little range of motion. But I think my behavior then has informed my behavior now. I never drive anywhere without wearing my seatbelt or putting my phone in its holder. I make informed decisions to keep myself safe and to keep others safe behind the wheel.

I also learned the importance of speaking up as a passenger. If I had said something about Anna’s distractions—or even insisted on putting on my seatbelt—I might have prevented some of what happened. Today, I don’t hesitate to speak up if I feel unsafe in a car.

I’m grateful all the time that Anna and I survived the decisions we made driving distracted.

Whenever I work on something for Hunter’s Fund, especially during Safe Driving Weeks, I think about those girls in the car in 2008. Sharing my story isn’t about revisiting old pain—it’s about encouraging everyone to make safer choices on the road.

If my story inspires just one person to buckle up, stay off their phone, and slow down, it’s worth it. I hope you’ll join me in taking Hunter’s Pledge to drive safely and encourage others to do the same. Together, we can create safer roads and a brighter future.