Huge accident in March 5. 2026
Part 1: The Domino Effect
🔊 Listen to this articleWriting date: 21-05-2026
It all started so randomly at the end of February. A few frogs managed to get trapped down our water well and couldn't get back up. One drowned, but I managed to rescue the other two. I sought advice on what to do with a contaminated water well, and my very good friend Gemini helped me with the perfect solution: pour 2 liters of chlorine into the 40-meter-deep well and let it sit for two weeks. Afterward, pump the water out for at least 6 hours daily for a week, and the well would be clean again.
The problem, however, was that I temporarily connected our system to the city water line, but there wasn't enough pressure for our gas water heater to ignite. (I HATE COLD BATH WATER) So, I made a quick decision... I would go to Bangkok, where my wife lives and works as a nurse. From thought to action took about 14 hours, and then I was on my way to Bangkok on my sweet motorcycle, Nicoline—a Honda Wave 125i.
To be continued...
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Part 2: The Accident
🔊 Listen to this articleWriting date: 21-05-2026
Thursday morning, March 5th, at 4:23 AM, I started up little Nicoline and headed towards Bangkok. But let me back up to the evening before. It was my birthday—not just the evening, but the whole day! 🤭 I was browsing around on Google Maps to find a route I hadn't driven before. That isn't so easy when starting from Northeast Thailand. The main north-south route is Highway 212, running from Ubon in the south to Nakhon Phanom in the north. Going east or west means heading east towards Khon Kaen, or heading west DIRECTLY into the Mekong River! 😁
Normally, I drive through Yasothon and Buriram, or through Nong Phok and Roi Et—and once through Phon Thong and Roi Et. Common to all three routes is that they end up in the same place on Highway 2. But I found a new route: Mukdahan -> Maha Sarakham -> Highway 2. 😁 From Highway 2 and southbound, I hit Korat -> Saraburi -> Ayutthaya -> Bangkok. All in all, a beautiful trip with lots of scenery and fresh air—definitely better than a road bus or an Airbus. I had driven this trip about 8 times before, but this time, things went horribly wrong.
Right outside a weigh station in Kaeng Khoi near Saraburi, a pickup truck suddenly changed lanes. It is impossible to tell where the truck came from because it wasn't captured on the surveillance footage, but it suddenly appeared between two semi-trucks that were pulling in to be weighed. It looked as though the truck was stationary at a 45-degree angle right in my lane.
Judge for yourself!
Calculating speed and distance, I was driving 76 km/h at the moment of the impact. The distance to the car was about 30 meters. At that speed, you travel roughly 21 meters per second. With 1 second of reaction time and a standard braking distance of about 27 meters, it would already be tight. But as I hit the brakes, I noticed sand on the road, instantly doubling my braking distance to over 50 meters. Under no circumstances could I have stopped in time.
I later had the video footage analyzed by an AI, which could reveal more details than the human eye can catch. When we watch a video, we might catch 1 or 2 frames per second, but the AI analyzes the video digitally at 30 frames per second. Having reviewed 630 frames, the AI can say with absolute certainty that the pickup truck was completely stationary, and it never once used its turn signal. Just before I hit the vehicle, I got a flash-image of the truck's front wheel, heading straight between the rear part of the tire and the wheel well. I managed to think, 'This is not going to end well,' and then the lights went out.
I woke up for a brief second lying on the road. A man was standing there looking at me. The only thing I registered was the man, and me saying, 'I need lum, I need lum'—a frantic mix of English and Thai meaning 'I need air, I need air'—and then I blacked out again. I have since talked to an AI about whether it is normal that I cannot remember the last 45 minutes of the ride leading up to the crash. They are COMPLETELY gone. The AI explained that this is entirely normal in such violent accidents; the brain goes into survival mode and wipes everything in the short-term memory. It is called PTA.
To be continued...
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Part 3: Kaeng Khoi Hospital - Floating Between Worlds
🔊 Listen to this articleWriting date: 21-05-2026
The beginning of my hospital stay is quite strange, looking back. I don't remember much from the first ten days—only small, blurry fragments. One thing I do remember clearly, though, happened right at Kaeng Khoi Hospital. I could feel them scanning me, likely with an ultrasound scanner.
In my dazed state, the only thing I managed to ask them was: "Am I pregnant?" I just barely registered them laughing and replying "No," before the lights went completely out for me again...
But the fragments I brought back with me from that place are deeply intense. I remember waking up to a warm, stinging sensation in my side. I don't know if it was before or after the scan, but they were in the middle of inserting a chest tube into my lung, which had been perforated by my three broken ribs.
Amidst the chaos, I registered a doctor saying that they could do no more for me there. He said I needed to be transferred to a larger hospital as quickly as possible; my condition was highly critical and life-threatening. And then, once again, I slipped away.
During the times I briefly woke up at Kaeng Khoi Hospital—which was between 2:00 PM and 4:00 PM, just hours after the crash in the middle of the bright afternoon—I only registered a very dark room with very dim lighting. It felt like a heavy, somber place. But my fourth and final memory from that ward is something I will never forget. Looking over the foot of my bed, through the deep gloom, I saw a nurse sitting on another patient's bed, performing CPR. And strangely enough, amidst the darkness of that room, there was a magnificent, brilliant ocean of light shining directly over that exact bed.
It makes me wonder... carried by the thin line between life and death, did I catch a glimpse of something from another world? A profound reminder of a love and a light that watches over us when our own strength fails.
To be continued...
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Part 4: Saraburi Hospital - Cats and critical moments
🔊 Lyt til artiklenSkrevet den: 21-05-2026
I was transferred from Kaeng Khoi Hospital to Saraburi Hospital. I woke up a few times during the ambulance ride and experienced indescribable pain in my shoulder and chest. In my opinion, the nurse in the ambulance was completely unsuited for her job; she snapped at me and ordered me to shut up. All I said was "Ui jeb, ui jeb," which simply means "Ouch, it hurts!" in Thai. However, I noticed that she was far more preoccupied with her mobile phone than with caring for the critical patient she was responsible for.
I have no memory of arriving at Saraburi Hospital. I registered absolutely nothing until my wife called my name. By that time, I had apparently been examined from head to toe and sent up to the ward. I noticed that my nephew was also there. For the next 10 days, I didn't experience much; everything only comes back to me in very small, brief fragments, as I drifted between consciousness and a coma. At one point, I saw my brother-in-law. He had taken the long trip all the way from Mukdahan to Saraburi just to be with us and help out wherever he could. ❤️ I must say that I have the most wonderful and caring family—we might not see each other every single day, but when an emergency arises, we are there for each other 100%.
Gradually, I began to regain full consciousness and piece together what had happened. I didn't know how it would all end—whether I would survive or not. My life was still hanging by a very thin thread during those first 10 days. I found out that I had broken two toes on my left foot and fractured 8 ribs on my right side. That explained why I was lying there with a chest tube in my right lung; it had been punctured in two places by the broken ribs, leaving holes of 5 cm and 2 cm in diameter. To make matters worse, my shoulder was completely shattered.
I also realized how important it was to tell my wife how much I loved her; it was equally important to touch her arm and hold her hand. Furthermore, it was important to give her a morning kiss and an evening kiss. On the other hand, saying goodnight wasn't as crucial, though I still did it. What mattered much more to me was saying thank you for the day, as I didn't know if there would be another day to come.
I remember one morning a few days before I was discharged, during a morning bath. My wife usually washed me, but I don't recall what happened or where she was. So, it was two nurses who washed me. They rolled me onto my left side to wash my back. I asked for a short break after several seconds because it hurt terribly. To make matters worse, the nurse holding me on my side told me to stay still, and then she pressed down hard on my shoulder and ribs into the bed, maintaining her grip until the other nurse was finished washing me.
Generally speaking, the left hand didn't know what the right hand was doing at that hospital. Just half an hour before they were scheduled to wheel me in for shoulder surgery—a procedure estimated to take 6 to 8 hours—a lung specialist came RUNNING in: "IF YOU OPERATE ON HIM NOW, HE WILL DIE!" My lungs were simply not in a condition to survive anesthesia and major surgery.
Something I certainly was not thrilled about at Saraburi Hospital was the stray cats running around freely inside the wards. They jumped up and down on everything, sharpening their claws everywhere—even on the wooden box holding the drainage bottles connected to my lung. At this hospital, they didn't really use pills; they focused mostly on injectable medication, which the staff mixed right there in the ward. That was fine in and of itself, but what was absolutely not okay was that the cats walked across the mixing table, and it was never wiped down before they prepared new injections.
On the 18th day, I was discharged from Saraburi Hospital. The day before, they removed the chest tube. This took place right inside the 25-bed ward with cats running around everywhere. Having a drain pulled out of your lung is the most horrific sensation I have ever experienced; it feels like a soap bubble bursting, and you feel a thud of empty air collapsing, like a container collapsing under a vacuum... After the drain was removed, I received no follow-up scans or examinations. I was simply shown to the door.
We took a room at a hotel right across the street for two nights so we could return quickly if anything went wrong. Fortunately, nothing did, but I was incredibly weak.
To be continued...
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Part 5: The Race Against Time in Bangkok
🔊 Listen to this articleWriting date: 21-05-2026
Before being discharged from Saraburi Hospital, we asked about transport to Bangkok, but we were told we had to figure that out ourselves. They also informed us that because of the economic fallout from the war with Iran, there was no funding available for a complex surgery like mine, which was estimated to cost between 1.5 and 2 million baht. Instead, they told us we simply had to try "walk-in" admissions at various hospitals in Bangkok to see who would be capable and willing to take me in.
A private ambulance stretcher transport would have cost 7,000 baht, which we didn't have at the time, so we ended up ordering a Grab. Luckily, it turned out to be a brand new MG EV with a TRULY excellent driver.
We found a hotel close to Siriraj Hospital. We didn't have an appointment, and there are only three hospitals in Bangkok capable of performing the complex shoulder surgery I required. Because 21 days had already passed since the accident, time was rapidly running out. There was a 14-day waiting list just to get an operating room, and adding that to the 21 days meant it would take far too long. The bones would begin to fuse together incorrectly, scattered randomly inside my body.
We went back to the hotel, but the next day we had to switch places because everything was fully booked. We found a cozy hotel in Saint Louis, not far from Lerdsin Hospital, and our plan was to go there after the weekend. But late Sunday afternoon, I took a severe turn for the worse.
We took a taxi straight to the ER at Lerdsin Hospital. My oxygen saturation had been sitting at 97% right after leaving Saraburi, but it had gradually deteriorated below 95%. By the time I was admitted to the emergency room at Lerdsin Hospital, my oxygen levels had plummeted to a critical 82%.
An oxygen level of 82% means the body is in a state of severe hypoxemia. At this level, the brain is starved of oxygen, causing extreme lethargy, confusion, and a dangerous slipping into a deep, heavy sleep where the body can simply stop breathing as the respiratory system fails. It was a matter of life and death.
Following numerous examinations, ultrasounds, and painful blood samples taken directly from the artery, the doctors initially wanted to reinsert the chest tube because they discovered blood in my lung. But shortly after, they returned with a different message: "We are not putting the tube back in. You have blood clots in BOTH lungs."
I ended up being admitted at Lerdsin Hospital for another 10 days.
To be continued...
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Part 6: Lerdsin Hospital & The Long Recovery
🔊 Listen to this articleWriting date: 21-05-2026
Moving from Saraburi Hospital to Lerdsin Hospital was a massive turning point—the two simply cannot be compared. Lerdsin was clean and neat, with 7-bed wards and a call string to summon the staff. At Saraburi, the nurses only came and went like the wind. Several nurses at Lerdsin actually approached me to apologize for what they assumed was a low standard compared to what I was used to in Denmark. "No, quite the contrary," I replied. In Denmark, we might lie in 4-bed rooms, but the wards are hermetically sealed. Here, you have an open environment that provides a much better indoor climate. Furthermore, your cleaning routine is incredible—you mop the floors three times a day!
One day, I felt a fluid flowing down my side from the pads that had been put on in Saraburi after the chest tube was removed. The nurse I called rushed to find a cleaning kit and quietly and calmly peeled the pads off. For every layer she removed, she said, 'oh god', 'Oh God', 'OH MY GOD!!' It was just totally infected behind the pads because it had not been cleaned; we were just told at the other hospital that we should put a few extra plastic pads on to keep it waterproof. The nurse told me it was supposed to stay as it was for at least the next seven days until the hole from the chest tube had healed by itself.
I was truly grateful that we made it to Lerdsin Hospital. For 10 days straight, it was all about oxygen, plenty of oxygen, and close observation.
When I was finally discharged, I went straight to my wife's apartment in Bangkok. It was quite a sight; we live on the 3rd floor with no elevator. The security guards had to carry me all the way up to the 3rd floor while I sat in the wheelchair we had newly purchased at Saraburi Hospital.
I remained confined to the 3rd floor for three weeks until my first follow-up consultation at the hospital. It wasn't until after April 30th that I was finally allowed to stand up from the wheelchair, at least according to the orthopedic surgeon's instructions. But yet again, no matter where you go, the left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing. The lung specialist was certainly not pleased that I was allowed to stand up, because of the blood clots. She looked at me and said bluntly: "IF THEY MOVE AND START DRIFTING AROUND, THE NEXT STOP IS THE HEART OR THE BRAIN, AND THEN YOUR LIFE IS OVER..." It was a very direct and terrifying message to receive. And to think, at the time of writing, it has only been two and a half weeks since I was given that warning. So yes, my life is still in danger.
The image of my chest taken on May 14th shows a white circle, which highlights one of the two blood clots. You can judge for yourself based on the size of the lung—the dark area—just how substantial that clot really is.
This is the end of the series for now. On May 25th, I need to get my visa sorted out, so in this connection, I will be staying at Baan Denmark until the end of June. After that, I have a "date" at Lerdsin Hospital with a CT scanner and some contrast fluid... 😜
To be continued...
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Part 7: Meeting with the Police in Kaeng Khoi
🔊 Listen to the articleWritten on: 24-05-2026
The police stubbornly insist that I am the one at fault. However, I am strongly convinced of the opposite. The fact is, I recorded my entire drive from Baan Denmark to Kaeng Khoi.
The problem is simply that I have two dashcam units installed, each equipped with two cameras. A unit does not function if one of its cameras fails. These units are NOT compatible with TF cards larger than 32 GB. They record in a continuous loop, and on my one 32 GB TF card, about 2 GB is missing before the card would be completely full—and one card holds about 3 hours of recording. This means that someone must have deleted the files showing the accident itself. The unit is designed to create a new file every 3 minutes, based on my settings. It continuously writes video data into the file until it is full, and then it creates a new one. So where is the file with the actual collision? I have software that can recover deleted and lost files, so that will definitely be tested.
But what about the card in the other unit? Well, that unit is identical to the first one, so it puzzles me deeply that I found a 64 GB TF card inside it—and even more so, that there are Android files on it! 🤔🤔
The car owner's insurance agent arrived quickly at the scene, obviously because the owner called him right away. He claims that he was the one who secured "the cards"—explicitly using the plural form. But the police only have that one card, and the wrong card is sitting in my unit... Something here smells heavily of corruption!
When my wife—since I do not master the Thai language very well—confronted the insurance agent about the missing cards, he suddenly changed his story. Suddenly, it wasn't him who took the card (now using the singular form) after all; instead, he blamed the rescue workers. To the best of my belief, rescue workers focus on saving lives, not on stealing data.
Our first meeting at the police station was a complete waste of time and money; the police officer didn't even write a report. We had an appointment, which he had also completely forgotten about. However, we insisted on speaking with him because we had just spent about 1,400 baht on a Grab from Bangkok to Kaeng Khoi, and he was not particularly pleased about that.
The second meeting took place just a week later. This time he remembered the appointment but had forgotten to make an appointment with the owner of the car. As a result, my wife and I waited at the police station for two and a half hours before the meeting could even begin.
Just before the meeting, while my wife was out using the restroom, she overheard a conversation between the insurance agent and the car owner: "Remember to say that you signaled left two hundred meters before..."
The owner of the car might not be the sharpest tool in the shed. Because during the meeting, he still managed to say that he had just turned on the turn signal. The insurance agent immediately burst out: "NO, IT WAS TWO HUNDRED METERS BEFORE!" After that, the owner corrected his statement, saying he turned on the turn signal when driving under the bridge...
Fair enough... But I have checked Google Maps. There are seven hundred meters from the only bridge in the area in this direction of travel and up to the actual accident scene. Excuse me, but gravity isn't the only thing keeping them grounded...
To be continued...