Brush with Death- this is a story of irony and my brush with death and an unlikly saviour.

Essay by kelliCollege, UndergraduateB+, October 2002

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I was born in a small country town in Oklahoma so intially the move to NYC was quite the shocker. I went from a 200 person class to a 2,000 person class in the matter of days. Every morning I found myself disgusted with the traffic and overall hustle and bustle of "the big city". Finally I decided I needed to experience the city.

January third is a day I will never forget. I was headed to a local cafe that I was told had the "best cup of coffee in the city". Everyone in the city drinks coffee. After taking a wrong turn and walking about 6 blocks out of my way I decided I should double back and try again a different day. Just as soon as I turned around there was a loud noise and I felt like I had been hit by a NFL line backer.

I thought that a cabbie had finally gone completly insane, hopped the cab on the sidewalk and run me over. The only problem with that was I never saw a car. Once I finally realized I had been shot I thought, this is how I am going to die? I always thought it was going to be a more dramatic death. You know the type where you die saving an elderly couple that has been married 60 years from a burning building. No, not me, I was shot from behind, I didn't even get to see the person that I thought was taking my life. Coward.

Finally, someone came over to me and said everything was going to be alright. When I looked up I saw this little elderly couple standing there, cell phones in hand, saving my life.

I was taken to the hospital and underwent four major surgeries...