Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Rose #3 - The Original Unit

The searing pain that ripped through my knee birthed out a screech the likes of which I didn't even know I was capable. This was no playground yelp; this was a visceral, dirty, deep down in the gut, throaty howl - the kind that could only be motivated by something like buckets of ice and water being thrown onto raw flesh. Raw flesh exposing my knee cap.

"Your kids can hear you."

Guilt.

Tears.

Impaired judgment: "Can't you move them into another room further down the hall?"

More tears.

Lots of explaining that no, we're in the ER, remember? And won't I just let them put me under?

"No, what if they die? What if I die? No. No. Just give me a towel n' I'll fuckin' bite down on it."

My aunt holding my hand, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Suddenly I'm being rolled down the hallway, a doctor explaining to me that I no longer have the choice, it's not just about my knee anymore, my liver is bleeding and my spleen wants to fall apart. They need to open me up and "explore" to make sure my pancreas isn't crushed. Not to worry, my youngest will be in the O.R. next to mine.

I don't comprehend this.

The next thing I know I'm in a different bed with a belly full of stitches, a vacuum pump holding my knee together, and a tube up my nose. The room is dimly lit and I think I'm dreaming.

"All of you at once?" I ask not believing my eyes.

There before me stood my most original unit: my mom, my dad, and my older brother. A clan of people I hadn't been in the same room with at the same time since my parents' divorce - 28 years earlier.

"Are you all actually here?"

A rose...

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Rose #2 - A Familiar Face

"I'm sorry," my husband (Jason) croaked from the other side of the ambulance.

"No," was all I could muster through the elephant pressure sitting on my chest.

"Fine, then," he said in a husky voice, "I love you."

"I love you too," I squeaked, wondering if it was going to be the last thing I said to him, knowing an apology certainly wasn't the last thing I was willing to hear from him.

The following ride to the hospital could have been on a spaceship for all I can remember at this point, all I know is I spoke to my mom during the ride and I told her how much my head hurt. Once at the hospital there was a lot of hoopla about broken necks and broken knees, so I was put into a neck brace, and told I needed a CT scan.

In and out doctors and nurses hustled telling me over and over my kids were alright. I remember being relieved that I didn't need to worry about them since the likelihood of my having internal injuries seemed pretty great judging by the tone of the doctors' voices.

*I later found out my oldest was in ICU.*

Not much after this is reachable in my mind until the doctor leaned down to inform me that after getting all our scan results back both my girls and I were going to be med flighted to Maine Medical Center. Good news though, my neck wasn't broken!

**Hooray!**

I promptly refused said med flight because being in a state of shock left me with the good judgment to insist on a leisurely ride down via ambulance. Apparently since I'd already pressed my luck for risky vehicular behavior for the day, this was the way to go.

This ride again could have been taken on a space ship.

Once the three of us got to Maine Medical Center, the doctors informed me I was going to need yet another CT scan and a cleaning for my shredded knee. They told me I was going to have to be put under for the procedure.

I refused. I wanted to stay awake until I knew the state of my girls was stable.

"Just stick a fuckin' local in there and do it."

This is what I was quoted as saying by my aunt-in-law. My aunt-in-law who I didn't know worked as a nurse for Maine Medical Center. My aunt-in-law, Lynne, who just so happened to be working that night.

A rose...

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Rose #1 - Hooray, We're Alive!

Mother's Day, 2012.

Cruising down the road at 50 miles an hour, asleep in the passenger seat - without warning the piercing screech of skidding tires rips through my slumber. Before I can even make sense of what's happening my body heaves back into oblivion with one of the loudest, chest-punching smashes I've ever felt.

We made impact. With a car in the oncoming lane.

I remember before passing back out my eyes refusing to move from the dashboard fan while I yelled repeatedly, with what seemed to be someone else's vocal chords. 

*Trauma does weird things when you're not looking.*

The next thing I know my armpits are burning from being dragged out of my smoldering car by a fuzzy form, a pleasant scent and a gentle voice - a voice assuring me that I wasn't dreaming despite my garbled arguments to the contrary.

"Your kids are okay, they're over here."

On the ground, my knee wide open, I do what I can to turn my body enough to shield my two daughters from what I figure as an expert on car fires from one too many TV shows, that the car is destined to blow up. I can hear the strained voice of an older gentleman declaring, "Dad's in the worst shape, bleeding from the neck."

It was at this time I began asking over and over if I was going to die, and scared as hell, if my husband already had.

"Is he alive?"

"Yes."

A rose...