Jack was wakened sometime later by the paramedics. He was still seated in his truck and was now wearing an uncomfortable cervical collar around his neck. He was slumped forward somewhat and the paramedics were asking him his name, the date, who was the president.
God, I must be bad off, he thought.
The pain in his legs and hip was unreal and for a minute he thought he was going to vomit.
The firemen and paramedics gently eased him from the crumpled wreckage of his truck and onto a backboard. They strapped him down, carefully placing foam wedges around his shattered legs to help keep them still. Jack couldn't keep from crying out as they did though, the pain was just too much.
"Do you know your name, sir?" one of the medics asked him as he put in an IV.
"Jack," he whispered, "General Jack O'Neill"
"General O'Neill I know you are in a lot of pain, but I can't give you anything yet, just hold on and we'll have you at the hospital in a few minutes."
"Call my fiance, Samantha Carter," Jack muttered.
"We'll take care of all that, after we take care of you, ok?"
Jack could only manage the barest nod of his head, the medic was right, why worry Sam just yet.
The ride to the hospital was the longest of his life. To Jack it seemed that he felt every pebble and rock in the road, and all he could do was lie there and bite his lip. The pain in his legs and hip had not changed and he almost wished he'd pass out again just to relieve the pain. Luckily a few minutes later, with sirens blaring, they pulled into the bay at the trauma center.
They unloaded him from the ambulance and whisked him inside where he was met by a team of three doctors. They introduced themselves but Jack could give a rat's ass. The pain seemed to be creeping up his legs like a slow dark mist. Next thing he knew he was in an exam room and the doctors were looking at x-rays.
"Multiple tib fib fractures on both legs," one of the doctors said.
"Dislocation of the femoral head,"
"Speak in english, guys," Jack grumbled.
The female of the trio turned to him.
"Both shins are broken in a couple of places, and your hip is out of place. Now, the hip would be no problem to put back in place, if it weren't for the tib fib fractures. So we can't do anything about that, but you'll go into surgery within the hour. General O'Neill, you have at least two surgeries ahead of you plus the setting of your hip. The next few months will be difficult for you, but you can beat this. I get the impression you are a very strong man.
Jack didn't answer that. He simply didn't feel that strong right now.
"Can you call my fiance, please?" he asked.
"What's the number?"
Jack rattled off Sam's number at home and waited patiently while the doctor dialed it and stretched the wall phone over so he could speak into it.
It rang four times before she answered.
"Sam?" he said starting to feel groggy from some pain killer they must have given him.
"Jack? What is it, what's wrong?"
"Wrecked my truck. Hurt pretty bad. Both legs broken and my hip is out of place. Can you come?"
"I'll be there by morning, Jack. Let me talk to the doctor, ok?"
"She wants to talk to you," he said to the doctor, feeling himself start to drift into unconsciousness. He vaguely heard her answer some questions, but couldn't make them out too well. He closed his eyes and let the darkness claim him again.