a real-life adventure
Read Part X here.
Now available in ebook format!
Having covered a few mock disasters in my Clark Kent days, I instinctively knew my injuries were not the worst after all. Triage had placed me at the bottom of the list, which translated into a diagnosis of "just fine." It meant I was going to be left holding four worthless baseball tickets by the time the evening was over.
I wondered if my children were hungry. I wondered if they'd ever get in a car again. I tried picturing them with slings on their arms and bandages on their heads. Everyone kept saying they were fine, but I still didn't know for sure because I hadn't seen them.
I hoped someone would offer to take them to the hospital cafeteria. I had enough money in my purse to cover their meals. If my purse could be found. I sure didn't have it. It had been removed from my car, or at least I thought it had, but it wasn't handed to me, probably for good reason. The cheerful, witty paramedic wouldn't have been too happy with me if I'd been digging through my purse while he was trying to redesign my clothing. Especially if I'd come across my embroidery scissors or a knitting needle to even the odds... I've often wondered if a crochet hook can be used to decoratively place permanent knots in a human mane. Craft tools aren't considered lethal weapons, right?
Three hours into my hospital stay, a state police officer wandered into my examination room. It was the first time since my arrival that anyone had addressed me more than in passing.
"I've talked to your children," he said, building an air of humor. "They told me what happened. But I thought I'd get your version just in case they left anything out."
I couldn't help but smile, even though I really didn't feel like doing anything with my facial muscles but scowl.
"I never know if humor is appropriate when I come in here," he said. "I hope your smile means you're feeling better than you look."
"I don't know how I look," I responded, hoping to maintain the cheerful mood, at least for the moment.
He chuckled, shaking his head, then cut to the chase.
"Do you feel up to talking about the accident?"
"I'll have to sooner or later. Might as well get it over with." I tried to snicker, but the dried blood caked all over my face pulled my skin too tight for aggressive movement.
"Do you remember what happened?"
"I remember everything, but I'm not sure I know what happened."
Read Part XII here.
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Copyright 2013 by Deborah and Brett Atkinson