ER – part 1

vitals monitorUrgent voices are calling out. I try to open my eyes. The sun. I’m not dead.

Can’t keep my eyes open, too bright. The heat… Something is wrong with my head, the pain blots out everything.

I am lying on the tarmac, it’s so hot already. The pain. I can’t feel the back of my head. Am I crying? The car, the shock. I’m scared. The kids.

Voices. People telling me to stay with them, not to worry, emergency services are on their way. What’s my name, I whisper back. I’m fine, I didn’t get run over by the car. Something’s wrong. I’m so scared, I cry, someone’s hand holds mine. An explosion of pain has replaced the back of my head, the rest of me feels sort of fine. I’m not gonna make it to that meeting.  I should go home to the children.

The shock. Terrifying. I flew up like a leaf, a dustmote. We are so insignificant against cars. They’re so heavy. Something about kinetic energy… I’m not dead. I’m scared. The pain is out of this world. The children are alone at home. Someone is crying in the background.

I feel so tired, the pain, I can’t go on like this. Why is the ambulance taking so long? Could they please find a cushion for my head? Urgent whispering above, I guess they’re worried about moving my neck. I lift my head and place my left hand under it in desperation. I cannot touch the right side. Someone hands me a cushion. The pain. I am crying, this can’t go on. Must call someone for the children.

The ambulance is here, I didn’t hear it come. What’s my name, today’s date, please don’t move me, can I look at the light, look up, frown, smile with teeth. They are focused and efficient: This is their daily life. Not mine. How’s the pain on a scale of 1 to 10: I say 8 because I want to be brave but really I can’t go on like this.

A catheter is in, please make the pain go away. They’re going to move me, the pain, I’m scared, I need to sleep. They keep asking me to stay with them, it’s like an episode of ER except we’re not in the 1990s in snow-struck Chicago. This is July 1st 2018, in the heatwave-struck French Alps. George Clooney is nowhere to be seen, and even if he was I would probably not care.

We’re in the ambulance, it’s cool and shady at last. I’m not going to die, I’m on my way to the hospital. The pain killers kick in, the doctor has my phone. I give him the code and tell him to go into Favourites to find Liz’s number. Answerphone. Mr Xmas: Praise the Lord I don’t believe in, he picks up. I’ve had a bike accident, I’m in an ambulance on my way to the university hospital. The kids are alone at home, can he go look after them. The teenager needs to be on a train to my parents’ tomorrow morning. The tickets and his railcard are in my bedside drawer. He should call Liz, she always knows what to do. Ok, I’m back, cool and collected in emergencies.

The doctor hangs up. No, wait, something is wrong, I can’t keep it up, every movement of the ambulance is pain, I’m scared, I need to sleep. The doctor lets me close my eyes. I hear the siren.

To be continued.

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13 thoughts on “ER – part 1

    • Hi Judith, sadly this is not fiction… I did have an accident almost three months ago. But I am hear to tell the tale… 🙂
      Glad to see you’re still as sharp and active as ever. x

      • I had a similar accident two years ago only I fell over my own feet. Skull fractured in two places, brain damage, didn’t know who I was or who anyone else was for a couple of days. I had to learn to sit up on my own, learn to walk and do things for myself. As you say, I am here to tell the tale.
        I am glad you are surrounded by good friends to help you get over this. BTW if you have brain injury here they suspend your licence for six months or until it is decided you are recovered. So added to the other things, I had to learn to ask for help in getting around. Ugh!

    • I wish it was fiction too… I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been through a similar sort of accident: Not fun. Anyway, we’re both here to tell the tale, isn’t it great? 🙂

      • We are lucky. When I was in rehab and saw how bad some people were compared to me, I thanked my lucky stars every day.
        Take care and take each day as it comes. JX

        • I know. I’m not losing that from sight, so lucky to be alive, and recovering well… I’ve a long road ahead to having my life back, still, but it’s definitely worth it. So glad to hear that you’re completely back on tracks…x

  1. Goodness me! Surprised to see a post but saddened when I read it. I do hope you are recovered now. x

  2. How is this possible?! I’m on edge reading this but so happy that you are we enough to write. Please continue your story. I truly wish you the speediest recovery as it seems you will need plenty of time to fully recover. (This was almost 3 months ago?!)

    I felt you to the bone when your first thoughts were the kids and getting ahold of someone to get to them. It’s incredible that even in the face of this, mama bear still prevails. You are amazing. 😘❤️

    • Thanks for your kind words Athena. You’re right, it has nearly been 3 months, and it’s likely to take another 9-15 before I’m fully recovered. I am well enough to write though, which is a blessing.
      I thought about blogging very soon after it happened but it took me a few months to actually get around to it. Glad I did. It’s as therapeutic as I remember…
      Yes, isn’t it funny what parenting does to our minds: In my head, sorting the kids out was the truly urgent issue, dying was sort of secondary concern… 😉

      • I hope you continue to write. I love your style and hope it gives you as much release as it gives your friends enjoyment to read! (Not your pain, obviously, but you know what I mean, lol)

  3. Pingback: Yes, It’s Me, Back Again | I choose how I will spend the rest of my life

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