Chatty Female – Issues #3

I could hear the voice of the first paramedic on the scene now above and behind me as I lay on the gurney, though I couldn’t see his face.  His voice was now familiar in the darkness.  He asked me how I was doing, then he asked me if I knew the telephone numbers of my closest relative or friend I wanted him to call, and he wanted to know if I was allergic to any drugs.  I was aware of the other paramedic next to me who remained silent.

I recited my mom and dad’s telephone number in Indiana and also my best friend, Patti’s telephone number; both from memory.  I couldn’t think of any drugs I was allergic to.  I briefly wondered how my mom would feel being awakened in the middle of the night to hear the news of my accident.

Though it was about a 20-minute ride, the time quickly passed as he attempted to make small talk.  It was as if he was trying to keep me awake on the way to the emergency room.  Through his words, however, my mind again drifted back to the girl in the other car and the pit deep in my stomach returned.  I tried to focus on what he was saying, but I still heard the words of the trooper over and over in my mind through the whine of the ambulance’s siren.  “You’re going to be in trouble for killing that girl.”

As we pulled in to the emergency entrance of the hospital, the ambulance came to a stop in front of the sliding glass doors and they both jumped out and quickly removed the gurney.  I could hear the voice of the now familiar paramedic, who was now briefing the doctor on duty.  “…34-year old, chatty female…” Who, me?  And the rest of that conversation faded away as they quickly wheeled me to a free cubicle.   Doctors and nurses were rushing around me, which was right about the time my eyes finally closed, though I could still hear their voices.  A few words here and there penetrated my brain fog.  I was vaguely aware of being poked, prodded and a blood pressure cuff being wrapped around my arm.  “Her blood pressure is really low and it is dropping.”  My ears were buzzing, my eyes were heavy, and I was really out of it now.

The next thing I remember was what I now know was a dream.  I was with my friend, Patti, in Key West.  I wondered how I had gotten there and what had happened for me to be out of the hospital without a scratch on me.  There were a string of morphine-induced dreams that I would remember to this day as they were so vivid.  I know I lost the definition between reality and these dreams for about two weeks after being admitted the morning of May 9th to the emergency room.

My friend, Patti, received the telephone call and rushed to the hospital as quickly as she could.  It was the middle of the night, but it didn’t matter.  As she ran out the door, she had the presence of mind to grab a yellow legal tablet and pencil on which she would write down everything the doctors said until my parents could be there with me.  This is what a true friend does without thinking.

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