An Excerpt from Chapter One of Flashes of Light: How to reboot your life, your business or both when chaos strikes by Ann M. Babiarz, as told to Michael A. Babiarz
Creative Consultant: K. Lee — Editor: Annamaria Farbizio
©2015 by Ann M. Babiarz and Michael A. Babiarz, J.D., all rights reserved (see notice below)
Chapter 1: In the Beginning (part 2)
Minutes later, the doorbell rang, followed in milliseconds by an insistent knock. I looked over, and to my surprise entered not paramedics, but a sheriff’s deputy. After briefly introducing himself to my husband, he strode over to me, and attempted to converse. I say attempted, because although I understood his questioning, my answers were problematic. And comical. When asked my name, my first response came out as nonsense. The deputy, my license in his hand, repeated the question, and like a flashback to a Cheech and Chong movie, I responded to his second inquiry with a question — “um, doesn’t the license say?”
I noticed that the deputy alternated between a fixed gaze into my eyes and quick scans of the surrounding room. Was he looking for a crime scene? Fearful of a domestic violence situation? Simply doing his job? Hard to know, and I’m guessing he was only doing what his years of training taught him. He was professional and polite. Nevertheless, I found the experience unsettling to say the least.
Two paramedics arrived, and set up shop to get a quick check of the usual vitals. I think they continued to question me, although honestly at this point I felt as if I was in a daze.
I heard a muffled whimper. Carl and Willy, our two adopted greyhounds, found themselves imprisoned in the bedroom, away from the commotion and work of the first responders. From the beginning, what occurred impacted even my pets.
Several hospitals lie within a 50 minute drive, and somehow, between myself, my husband, and the paramedics, a choice was made. Strapped to the stretcher and wheeled down the driveway, EMS hoisted me into the back of the ambulance, and slammed the door shut. Despite what I have seen in movies and on TV, family are not allowed to ride with you; Michael followed behind.
We started the trek to the hospital. As we rolled along, the tech made further efforts to engage me in conversation. He tried again to get me to recite my name, or names of members of my family. I could manage my first name (but not my last), and the first name of my husband. Brothers, sisters, daughter, granddaughter? My brain knew them, but my lips wouldn’t cooperate.
The paramedic monitored my pulse, blood pressure, and maintained contact with the hospital to let them know I was on my way. He also did his best to start an IV. I am a notoriously bad “stick.” Not only are my veins apparently slippery and difficult to suck any blood out of, I have passed out on more than one occasion from the sight of a needle plunging into my body. He made several valiant tries, and while I understood this to be a necessity, it didn’t exactly add to my enjoyment of the pre-dawn hours.
Each stick failed, and as we moved along toward the hospital, I desperately tried to stay positive and engaging with my new companion. Little traffic and flashing yellows replacing the stop-and-go lights of norm made the journey efficient. As I gazed through the rear windows of the ambulance, I didn’t realize it, but the pair of headlights following were those of my husband.
Read more of Chapter One in our next posting — blog posts entered Mondays and Thursdays. For information on the book, please visit: Flashes of Light.
©2015 by Ann M. Babiarz and Michael A. Babiarz, J.D., all rights reserved
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