It felt like it took forever for the ambulance to arrive. I asked my mom how much longer. I thought I was going to wither away into a pool of blood and tears if the EMTs did not arrive soon. She told me that they were on their way.
Finally, they arrived. I saw the ambulance pull up, and I realized that they had come to help me. I had to remind myself that this was not a nightmare, this was real life, and little did I know about the a long journey I was about to embark on.
They wheeled in a gurney, and carried in a toolbox-looking thing with medical supplies. They asked me my name, they asked me what I remember last. They asked if I had eaten lunch that day, and what I had. I had eaten lunch--leftover soup and grilled cheese. Was I on any medication, what had I done earlier in the day. The questions were flying, and I was trying so hard to answer them with those five ghost-like people still just staring on.
I knew it was bad when the EMTs asked the employees a question about what they saw and they said they hadn't noticed me or seen anything. They asked what I had cut my face on. Crickets. I wanted to scream. How on earth had no one, not one person, noticed the sole patient at the office? What were they doing instead? How dare they pretend that nothing had happened, that they had done nothing wrong? If nothing had happened I would not be in this position. That was precisely what I would find out to be the issue. They had done nothing.
The EMTs were incredibly kind. They were patient, and they were helping me. To this day, I don't remember their names. I'd love to thank them for helping me when I was so vulnerable, but alas, they are anonymous in my mind, and I rather like it that way. I hope they know how truly grateful I am for their service.
They immediately applied gauze to my facial wound. They dampened it with distilled water so that the edges of the skin would not dry out. The doctors at the hospital would need the skin to be pliable, they explained. My blood pressure was taken, my bones were checked for breaks. They checked my mouth to make sure my teeth were still in place, and to make sure there were no internal injuries in my mouth. My teeth were still there, thank goodness.
The most comical thing that happened was when they needed to test my blood sugar. They went to prick my finger, and my mom stopped them and said "she has so much blood on her face, can't you use that?" They said no, and pricked my finger anyway. That would prove to be the least of my worries. The EMTs told me that it was a wound that could be fixed, that they had seen worse, and that I was tough and that they would get me to the hospital. One EMT drove the ambulance with my mom in the front seat, and the other EMT rode with me in the back. My mom told them which hospital to take me to, and the EMTs agreed that the bigger hospital associated with the medical school was the way to go. Off we went. They did not put the lights or sirens on.
The EMT riding with me in the back was funny. He was lighthearted and was making me laugh. I appreciated his effort, and that he was trying so hard to calm me down. He asked me to keep talking to him to ensure that I wasn't losing consciousness. I told him about college, about my friends, about what I was studying. I asked him how much longer until we got to the hospital. I asked him to give me fresh gauze with distilled water. He gave me Tylenol. I was terrified to move my face too much for fear my skin would rip more. He assured me that talking or drinking water would not make the cut worse. I leaned back and tried so hard not to cry. I was comforted knowing that my mom was in the front seat.
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