‘I owe that knob my life’: My brush with death on the M1

2 weeks ago 10

Have you ever had a near-death experience? I’ve had a couple, most recently last year. It involved a nasty bout of COVID, a massive thunderstorm, and a small but significant black button.

I still can’t believe I survived.

I was on NSW’s Central Coast with my then 16-year-old, who was in the process of learning to drive. She had driven us up the previous morning, and we planned to stay for two nights.

Within seconds, the windscreen had completely clouded over. And in my dazed state of near delirium, I could not figure out how to fix it.

That day, however, I had begun to feel seriously unwell. I took some painkillers, but over the course of the morning I could feel my fever rising. I took a COVID test: positive. By then, my head was screaming, and I knew I had to get back home to my own bed.

We threw our stuff into the car, locked up the house, and began the 90-minute drive back to Sydney. My daughter was already a competent driver, but she was very inexperienced, and I became anxious as we headed on to the M1. I felt groggy, I was beginning to ache all over, and I was freezing cold despite the warmth of the car. I couldn’t pay attention to what my daughter was doing, and I just prayed she would get us home safely.

And then it started to rain. Sheets of rain swept the windscreen and the roof of the car.

“How do I turn the wipers on?” my daughter asked, and my fuzzy brain registered a hint of alarm. She had never before driven in pouring rain, let alone on a six-lane highway doing 90km/h.

Opening the door had let the cold air rush in, which caused the interior of the car to fog up. Within seconds, the windscreen had completely clouded over.

It got worse. There was a huge roar, followed by a clap of thunder, then an absolute deluge of rain. It pounded the car, engulfing us in a moving sea, reducing our visibility to almost zero. “Oh my god,” I said. It was unsafe for anyone, let alone a 16-year-old learner driver. I was going to have to take the wheel.

At the first available lay-by, my daughter pulled over. I ran out into the bucketing rain and climbed into the driver’s seat. It was far too dangerous to stay by the roadside, so I immediately pulled into the traffic.

I felt dire. I was woozy with fever, there were hot pokers behind my eyes, and I had started to shiver. We had no choice but to press on. I did my best to stay alert and maintain focus, and keep my eyes on … a white screen.

Opening the door had let the cold air rush in, which caused the interior of the car to fog up. Within seconds, the windscreen had completely clouded over. And in my dazed state of near delirium, I could not figure out how to fix it.

“Wipe the screen! Wipe the screen!” I yelled. My daughter leaned over and frantically wiped the glass in front of me, but it just fogged up again. I knew there was a way to blow air onto the windscreen, but the name and location of the defrost button escaped me. I could not see a thing and there was nothing I could do. I was driving blind – literally blind – on a busy highway in the middle of a storm.

Wow, I thought. This is it. This is how it ends.

And with that thought, I felt sudden peace. I looked at the windscreen and saw nothing but clear white light. It didn’t feel momentous, or even surprising. I was perfectly calm. It felt very much like a dream.

Then, abruptly, a blast of cold air hit my face. My daughter had reached over me and opened the window. Almost immediately, the mist on the windscreen evaporated, and I could see the road ahead. We were still a safe distance from the car in front. We were safe; we were not going to crash.

And just like that, I remembered the defrost button. It was right there, on the dashboard, with a little picture and everything! I pressed it, closed the window again, and continued the drive home.

In the week ahead, as I recovered from a truly awful bout of COVID, I thought about that drive. A few seconds more, and we may have both been snuffed out, and I would have been perfectly serene. Perhaps it was the fever, perhaps it was the mist, but it felt quite nice in the clouds.

Over the past year, I have ruminated on that near miss. People who have had near-death experiences re-evaluate their lives, take different paths, and find new priorities. To be honest, though, I was already pretty content, and I’ve just gone back to my old routine.

But my near-death experience has given me a new appreciation of my dashboard. Never again will I forget that beautiful defrost button. I owe that knob my life.

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