This story picks up where the first part left off. You can read the previous story here.
After the teens in the accident were taken care of, the firemen came to check on me. I also realized I needed to call my wife, Donna, to let her know about the accident. We were directing a melodrama, and I told her she would need to run it without me. I explained what had happened, but told her I was all right and she could pick me up later. A fireman said they could give me a ride to the fire station.
“I’ll get someone else to run the practice and come get you,” she said.
“Just do the play practice, then come to the fire station,” I said. “I’ll meet you there.” 
She started to say more, but one of the firemen said, “You’re bleeding profusely, and we need to take care of your wounds and remove the glass, so I need you to hang up.”
That was the first time I realized the right side of my body, including my hand, arm, and neck, was covered in blood. My left hand was also covered in blood. Apparently, it was from the shards of glass hitting me. I looked at my arm and hands, and they glittered in the sunlight.
“You look like a disco ball,” one fireman joked.
They rolled a slightly sticky gauze down my arm, then rolled it up again, picking up lots of glass. They then tried carefully to wipe away the blood. As they continued to work, Donna felt she had waited long enough and called back.
“How do I get to you?” she asked.
“Just go to the fire station,” I told her, repeating what I said before.
“I’m not waiting to see you until you get there,” she replied. “I’m already in this traffic jam approaching the overpass.”
“Get off at the exit, go under the overpass, then pull back on in the south direction and pull to the side of the road,” I said. “You’ll see me sitting on the guardrail at the top. But you should have just gone to the fire station. Now I won’t get to ride on the fire truck.”
It wasn’t too long before she came, and as she approached, running up the embankment to the top of the overpass, she put out her arms to hug me. One of the firemen, who was still wiping blood and glass from my arm and neck, very forcefully said, “Don’t touch him!” bringing her to an abrupt stop. He then explained that if she hugged me, she could embed glass into my skin and cause me to bleed more.
They removed as much glass as possible, then a fireman said, “When you go home, shower in the coldest water you can. If you shower in cold water, your pores will close and keep out the glass. If you shower in
warm water, your pores could open and absorb it.”
Two tow trucks came to take the cars. We retrieved our belongings from our car and watched as they tipped the teens’ car over, then loaded both of them. Firemen used big brooms to sweep the debris to the side of the road. The lanes were being reopened as we headed to our car. Once I got home, I took a cold
shower and felt dizzy, so I went to bed.
Over the next few days, the police let us know they had been able to trace the license plate from the video the person had taken of the car being driven erratically before it hit the teens’ car. Officially, the owners of that car were responsible. However, that car had no insurance, and when they sent an officer to the address to which it was registered, it was an abandoned home.
There would be no insurance to help us, and we only had liability on our car. The first thing we did when we found out was to call the towing company and arrange to pick up our car to avoid additional costs in the tow lot.
As I considered everything, I thought about how, without the insurance of the person responsible, we had to cover the towing charge, and I didn’t have my commuting car anymore. I also hoped my back, neck, and leg pain from the collision wouldn’t be prolonged problems.
But then I considered how the two teens and I lived through that horrific wreck. Many miracles had occurred, and I was grateful. Yes, I was truly grateful… even if I didn’t get to ride in the fire truck.
