First, Trevor’s grandmother slipped and hit her head on a pew at church a week ago last Wednesday. The injury required stitches, and an overnight stay in the hospital. According to Trevor, his grandmother looks like she was in a bar fight – the wound extends from her upper cheek, around her eye and into the area just above her left eyebrow. How she wasn't more seriously hurt is a miracle.
Then, last Sunday, Palomo somehow acquired his giant laceration from wing to wing and up his neck. Palomo is still alive, by the way. He has been staying at the birdie vet since Wednesday morning. They are feeding him like a baby bird three times a day. The good news is that the tear is his crop seems to be very small, and the thick, brown mixture they are feeding him isn’t seeping into his chest like water does. Also, his x-rays came back clear of any tumors, and his blood work revealed…well, nothing. Other than the injury, Palomo is a very healthy little guy. Even the dying skin around the stitches on his neck may have a silver lining. The vet is waiting for the skin to turn black and slough off, before using the hole to insert a feeding tube and bypass Palomo’s crop. The feeding tube will be temporary and allow the crop to heal. Once it does, the vet will remove the tube and stitching the hole in the skin back together. Of course, Palomo isn’t out of the woods yet (by any means), but I’m daring to hope that even this might have a happy ending, after all. Palomo is a tough, little bird, and is putting up quite the fight. Keep thinking good thoughts for him.
On Thursday morning, I woke up at 6 AM to find a new text message on my phone. It had been sent by my sister on my father’s cell phone at 2:30 in the morning. This is what it said: “Been in ER with dad since 11:30 PM. He fell and has a huge rip in his shin…” And that was it. No additional text messages were sent, no follow up information supplied. No knowing what to do, I texted my father’s phone back, but got no response. I didn’t want to call the house phone for fear that I’d wake up my dad. I had no way of knowing if or when they had released him from the hospital, but figured both he and Amy would be fast asleep either way.
So, I got up, dressed and headed to the gym. I somehow managed to keep myself from calling my aunt (dad’s sister) until a little after 7 AM. I was hoping she might know what had happened, if/when my dad had been released or what hospital they had gone to. Unfortunately, though, my aunt hadn’t heard a thing. So, I got to break the news to her that there had been some sort of accident and Amy had taken my dad to the hospital late last night. We both figured that dad had most likely been released from the hospital – otherwise we would have heard something more from my sister. It was decided that I would wait until 10 AM before calling Amy (if she didn’t call me beforehand). That way, if she was asleep after a long, long night in the ER, I wouldn’t disturb her too early.
I called my sister at a little after 10 AM, and got a very sleepy, “Hello?” from the other end of the line. Although only half awake, Amy was gracious enough to fill me in on the details of the last twelve hours:
Apparently, she had just turned off her TV to go to bed when her phone beeped with a new message. It hadn’t rang, but she decided to check her voicemail anyway because my dad’s house is known for being a black hole when it comes to cell service.
[BRIEF PAUSE FOR SUPPLEMENTAL INFORMATION: Amy’s apartment lease ran out earlier this month, but she was unable to find a new place to move into that she could afford and took pets. Consequently, it was decided on Father’s Day that Amy would move her stuff temporarily into a storage unit and live with my dad for a month or two to save money and continue the apartment hunt.]
Anyway, Amy checked her voicemail and got a message from my father saying that he had fallen down in the garage and was badly injured. Immediately, Amy dashed through the house, and out into the garage. She found dad lying in the middle of the garage bleeding. He had a roll of paper towels and he was pressing them to his left shin. When he saw Amy, dad moved the paper towels out of the way long enough for Amy to see a huge gash. Something was poking out (later to be revealed as partially torn tendon), and the cut was so deep that my sister was sure she saw bone. Not wasting any time, Amy announced that they were going to the ER and ran back in the house to grab her purse and car keys.
Back out in the garage, Amy helped dad to his feet. Luckily, nothing seemed to be broken, but when dad stood up the wound in his leg gushed blood. Amy managed to get him over to the car, but dad won’t get in the car until Amy takes both a broken shredder and a bag of golf balls out to the corner for bulk trash pick up in the morning. Apparently, he would have continued to make her haul item after item out to the curb, if Amy finally hadn’t screamed something along the lines of, “Look! I am NOT going to clean out your garage at 11:30 at night, while you stand there and bleed to death in front of me. Now get in the damn car!”
Shocked back to his senses, dad complied.
Amy took dad to the ER at Presbyterian, and things were going pretty quickly until two victims of a knife fight were brought in for emergency treatment. The severity of their wounds took precedence (obviously), and Amy and dad were left alone to witness the resulting chaos.
Apparently, the male victim was the most severely wounded. The knife had opened an artery, and blood was literately squirting everywhere.
The male victim’s girlfriend wasn’t much better off, although she was conscious. Amy said she was all cut up and bleeding. She had to carried into the ER by an officer, and wouldn’t stop screaming.
The male victim was given a blood transfusion before both he and his girlfriend were medivaced to Parkland.
Somewhere in the middle of this scene, the police started to arrive with suspects in handcuffs. Amy said they were rough looking characters that kept yelling obscenities and giving the cops additude.
After everything calmed down, the doctors were able to return their attention back to my father. They numbed the wound before flushing and cleaning it out. To close it required 16 staples (not stitches – STAPLES). They discharged him around 4 AM with instructions to stay off of his leg, take it easy and see an orthopedist in the next several days (apparently, tendons generally don’t heal without surgical intervention).
Dad and Amy got back home around 4:30 or 5 AM. Both were exhausted, and – after hearing about all happened – I guess I can understand why Amy didn’t think to send a follow up text message.
While I like to think of myself as “good in a crisis”, this is definitely one situation where I am glad it was my sister that got the call instead of me. Amy used to work in a gynecologist office, has sat in on surgeries and used to dream of being a vet. She can watch things – like the doctor numbing my dad’s wound with a giant needle – without getting the slightest bit squeamish.
I, on the other hand, probably would have fainted or thrown up when I saw dad’s wound for the first time. And I definitely wouldn’t have been able to watch all the chaos in the ER. Stuff like that is fine when it happens on fictional primetime TV hospital dramas, but I don’t think I could have witnessed blood squirting out of a person in real life without completely losing it.
Even my dad told Amy, “Out of both of my daughters, I’m glad you were here instead of [Deals]. She would have passed out.”
Fair enough, dad. Fair enough.
All in all, it has been a hard week. Last night I found myself crying for no reason. At least, I had a place to go and was able to surround myself with friends. I guess I’m just stressed. Work hasn’t been a picnic, either, and I’ve noticed that my ability to “take a joke” lately is almost nonexistent. I just hope everyone can put up with me long enough to pull myself back together.
At least my two week summer vacation is coming up at the end of July. Maybe things will calm down a bit by then. Here's to hoping!
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