Pedestrians are Not Safe in the City of Rancho Cordova…But Uninsured, Reckless Drivers Are…

It’s 2 pm on a warm, sunny day in Rancho Cordova, the 15th of March 2024. My ten year-old daughter and I arrive at the full-service Marriott Hotel, the same hotel we stayed in last year at this time in anticipation of my daughter’s participation in the “Pot O Gold” Acro invitational competition taking place less than a mile away. My daughter is so excited she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

I park the car, let my husband know of our safe arrival, and quickly realize our reservation is at the newly constructed Marriott Suites, a stone’s throw away, and not at the full-service Marriott. We walk into the Marriott Hotel hoping to switch our reservation. The attendant tells us only someone at the Marriott Suites can switch it for us.

“Walk across the way, go into the Marriott Suites and switch your reservation…you don’t need to move your car…here, I’ll walk with you.” The friendly, young Marriott employee escorts us halfway to the road connecting the two Marriott parking lots. He points and tells us to cross the “pathway.”

My daughter holds my hand and walks with me. I notice the crossing area pointed out to us is quite wide. I don’t feel comfortable. There are no cars to be seen, but I decide to walk a bit south and cross from a shorter distance. My daughter is holding my hand. She is at my left-hand side.

We look in both directions.

There are no vehicles coming in either direction.

We take a few steps to cross the road and from the corner of my eye I see two SPEEDING jets coming at us from the left. Where did they come from? Did they fall from the sky? OMG, they are headlights. I only see the headlights. I don’t see the vehicle they’re attached to. My daughter is standing between me and the speeding jets.

If I outrun the jets I might leave my daughter behind. I don’t have time to think or manage the escape for both of us and these speeding jets that want to kill us! What if she lets go of my hand? I have less than a second to decide what to do but in many ways it’s like a slow-motion movie. I step behind my daughter, grab her from the back and heave her forward with as much force I can muster. I don’t remember the rest.

THUD! I sometimes hear the sound of getting hit by the truck in my head but I honestly don’t know if it’s real or just what I assume the sound of getting pummeled by a truck sounds like.

I learn of everything that happened later. My daughter is left by herself. She watches her mother get propelled several feet in the air, landing unconscious on the cement with her head in a pool of blood. The man who almost killed us stops, gets out of the truck, and runs in her direction, cursing and yelling. She’s afraid and runs away from him.

The police arrive. Paramedics arrive. My daughter is scratched up and her wrist and hip hurt. She gives a full statement to the police and then calls her dad to come for us. She’s managing the crisis. Both her parents are retired FBI agents. She knows what to do.

I open my eyes and see multiple people surrounding me. I don’t know where I am and I can’t move. I have a neck brace on and am laying on a hard surface. Everything hurts. Too many people are talking to me at the same time. Someone is cutting my clothes away with scissors.

“You are at Mercy San Juan Hospital…you were hit by a truck.”

I instantly remember the speeding jets.

“Where is my daughter?” That’s all I care about.

No one will answer me. I go into panic mode until someone finally tells me she’s at UC Davis Hospital. I don’t believe them. They’re lying to me to keep me calm. Why has my daughter been separated from me? I refuse to calm down until someone confirms my daughter is okay and my husband is in route to be with her. He’s coming from San Jose, at least three hours away and is fighting Friday afternoon traffic. Hours later, after my husband arrives, she’s discharged from UC Davis. Thank you, Jesus!

I spend six days in the ICU wondering why I’m still alive. They cut my hair to staple the large laceration. It takes three nurses to wash the dried blood out of the rest of my hair. Everything on the left side of my body is broken. My hip socket is fractured. My pelvis is fractured in multiple locations. I have thirteen broken ribs. My ACL and MCL are completely torn. I have bruises, scrapes, and abrasions all over my body. Several times my blood pressure drops. It’s now 68/48. I feel better after the blood transfusion.

I sneeze. Don’t ever sneeze when you have thirteen broken ribs. Just don’t do it.

The ICU trauma nurses at Mercy San Juan are incredible. They are my angels. I will never forget them. On day six in the ICU, before a medical transport to an acute rehab near my home, a police officer comes to take my statement. I tell him what happened. He acts supportive.

He tells me I was propelled eight feet in the air.

He tells me there are two witnesses who confirm the driver who hit me was “distracted.”

He tells me that the Marriott Hotel should ask the City of Rancho Cordova to put in a crosswalk for pedestrians going back and forth from the hotels.

He tells me my daughter is incredible for her ability to stay calm and provide a statement at the scene.This I already know.

He tells me the driver who hit us will be referred to the District Attorney’s Office for reckless driving.

I feel a sense of relief but know focusing on anything other than my recovery will derail me. I trust the justice system will do its job.

After the ICU, I receive a medical transport to San Jose. The three hour ride from Rancho Cordova to San Jose in the ambulance is awful, but I look forward to being close to my family.

I spend two weeks at an in-patient acute rehab floor at Santa Clara County Hospital doing PT and OT all day, with breaks in between. I am in constant pain but I see incremental improvement in mobility and can’t wait to go home. After 21 days of hospitalization, I’m finally discharged.

I’m finally home, but temporarily disabled. By the grace of God I have no brain damage and no spinal cord injury. I feel unbelievably grateful for my friends, former colleagues, and all my well wishers who have proven to be more like family in times like this.

Four weeks post-accident, I’m finally reading the police report. I’m in complete disbelief at what I am reading.

“Cause: The cause of this collision is unknown due to conflicting statements and lack of physical evidence.”

The man who almost killed us, an uninsured driver, who is driving a vehicle that has not been registered since 2018 AND does not belong to him, is not going to be held to account. Meanwhile, my life is upended.

According to the police report:

The driver admits to the police that he was distracted as he makes the sharp left turn in our direction. He says he was only going “10–15 MPH.” I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at this statement. It defies common sense. If he were actually driving that slow, he would have seen us in time and been able to stop.

Witness #1 confirms the driver who hit us “wasn’t paying attention.” He tells the police he believes the driver was going 25 MPH. Again, that is the speed limit in a school zone. If truly driving at that speed, stopping to avoid a pedestrian is not a challenge- but your EYES MUST BE ON THE ROAD.

Witness #2 admits to being the driver’s friend. The witness sees the driver coming around the sharp corner and decides to exchange “peace signs” with him. The driver who hit us is not watching the road, but instead, watching his friend and busy making hand gestures. The witness tells the police his friend was driving 25 MPH and hit a woman “who came out of nowhere.” Again, do I laugh or cry at this ludicrous statement from a partisan witness who clearly understands he may be complicit in potentially killing a woman on the road. He doesn’t even mention my daughter, who was crossing the road with me.

The police “conclusion and opinion” reflects no accounting for the fact that the driver has a legal duty to lookout for pedestrians while driving. Apparently following the rules only applies to law abiding citizens who already follow the rules.

I am a retired FBI Agent. I have spent my entire adult life in the pursuit of justice for the innocent. Serving in this way has been the greatest honor of my life, especially when cases were challenging. When faced with so-called “conflicting” statements, I leaned into common sense. I leaned into diving deep and investigating further. That is where I would find the facts and the evidence. I leaned into asking more critical questions. That is where statements not tethered to the truth fell apart. Does it make sense that I would (with my ten year-old daughter) step out in front of a moving vehicle? Of course not! Only drug addicted individuals on a suicide mission do this.

Where is my justice? Where is justice for my daughter? Is there any doubt in anyone’s mind that this irresponsible, uninsured driver, who has a history of reckless driving behavior, is behind the wheel this very minute? Does he have to kill someone before the criminal justice system holds him to account?

I don’t want special treatment. But I demand a fair, competent response from the justice system. Let the jury decide whose version of events passes the smell test.

“Mom, what is going to happen to the guy who tried to run us over?”

“Nothing. Nothing is going to happen to that guy…but I will keep trying.”