"For me?" I ask somewhat taken aback.
"Yes, you can use that phone over on the far wall. It'll ring in a minute for you."
It rings. For me. In the emergency room. That's crazy.
"Hello?"
"Is Mike there, yet?"
"What?" (Oh no, here we go again...)
All I said was 'Hello' and already this conversation wasn't making any sense.
"Who is this?"
There is some hesitation on the other end of the line.
"It's Michelle."
Michelle? I don't think Mikey's ever mentioned someone named Michelle. Maybe I'm just a bit vengeful, but by golly if I could not have access to my own son when I am in person in the emergency room, this Michelle character is going to have to tell me who she is before I let her talk to my son lying bleeding on a gurney. Maybe she had something to do with this. I've never heard him - or any of his friends - mention anyone by the name of "Michelle". But, maybe I didn't hear her right.
"Michelle who?" I ask.
"Just....Michelle."
No; no, no, no! Look, I'm not one of those moms who has to know every little detail of my grown kids' lives, but because I have never heard him mention a Michelle ever, and because he is actively bleeding in this emergency room, and because I have no idea who shot him, why he was shot, or how he could be in a situation to even be shot...without a full name, she will not be talking to Mikey. I have decided.
"Well, ok Michelle, he's over on the other side of the room, and I just got here myself and haven't had a chance to talk to him, but his sisters are here..."
"No, Mike is on the way there -"
Mike is on the way? What is this girl talking about? I am not in any kind of mood to play games with these people who don't want to tell me who they are, and then say weird things to me.
"He went to the wrong hospital, but he's on his way."
Wait a minute. Mike is on his way? He got lost? This is not Mikey's friend...this is Mike's new wife. Oh geez...she didn't want to tell me her last name because it's the same as mine now. Seriously? My son could be dying not 10 feet away from me and we're going to go there? How shallow and hateful does she think I am? Why would she think that I would care that she would be giving me information? Wow. Just wow.
"Michelle! Oh my god, don't do that to me! You're talking about Mike not Mikey! What do you mean he went to the wrong hospital?"
And the conversation goes from there. I don't know whether to be glad or mad or what. So, I am relieved. Relieved because finally the conversation makes sense - sort of. At least it's understandable. I thank her and tell her to tell Mike we are in the emergency room and that he should just say that he talked to me and I told him to come. I don't want him to have to go through what I did. And, apparently, he's been trying to get hold of me, and my cell phone wouldn't ring - which explains why I got the phone call in the emergency room...well...no it doesn't, really, but I'm finding that as long as I don't try to think too hard, things will go better inside my head. I need something to go better somewhere.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Sunday, July 22, 2012
"It's for you..."
I am so confused. April is mad. Tabby is confused. I guess we were all madly confused. WHY aren't we being ushered back immediately? WHY do they keep asking me who called? WHY have I been given no information about my son?? I STILL don't know if he's even here or not because no one has confirmed that he is here, yet!
A thought occurs to me: Mikey must be dead. I've never been directly involved with the death of a relative in a hospital setting. In any setting, as a matter of fact. The nurses are being too weird with me. They are not really looking directly at me. They are conferring with each other in whispers; they are pointing at me; they are whispering some more. Oh my God...my son must be dead.
My terrible thoughts are interrupted.
"You are Mike's mom? Who are they, his sisters?"
"Yes."
"How old is this one?" (She is indicating Tabby.)
"She is 13."
Information Desk nurse confers with Intake Desk nurse in hushed tones, but the girls and I can hear her, "She's only 13; should we let her go back?"
Before they are finished, April and Tabitha both turn to me and ask questions simultaneously:
"Are they saying Tabby can't go back?"
"Mom! I'm going back, aren't I?"
But before I can answer, the two nurses make up their minds, "Well, I guess she can, the mom's here."
Good...because they would not have wanted to deal with April for sure. I don't know what I would have done, but April was ready to fight with someone. That would not have been pretty...there was a guard standing there...no, it would not have been pretty; I'm not sure for which party, though. Glad I didn't have to find out.
So, we were all motioned to follow Intake Desk nurse to the back. We went like little ducklings following their mamma duck.
We turned left down a white hall (everything was white back there...white and clean) and past a couple of empty beds to the right of us. There is a room at the end of this hallway. I'm pretty sure that is where Mikey is. As we get to that room, we are pulled past it.
"Ok, I have to tell you something."
OH NO! I WAS RIGHT!
That's my brain screaming at me. I KNEW something had been wrong! I KNEW they had been acting funny up front. My son is DEAD! A glance inside the room shows me a body covered up with a blue sheet on a gurney...it's Mikey! I recognize the soles of his feet! Oh My GOD....my son is lying dead on that gurney in that room and this nurse is choosing to tell me this away from the people in the emergency room waiting room....oh no, oh, no, oh, no...he had sounded so alive 30 minutes ago. His feet have dried blood on them...
The nurse is talking, "You are going to see a lot of blood in there...your son has been shot multiple times..."
REALLY!!!! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING TO ME AND MY FAMILY??? DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT YOU HAVE YET TO CONFIRM MY SON IS HERE; YET TO CONFIRM HE IS ALIVE; YET TO CALL ME TO TELL ME HE IS HERE??? AND NOW YOU ARE GOING TO TELL ME THAT HE IS COVERED IN BLOOD? REALLY???????
My daughters are not going to put up with this tomfoolery any more. They hear this piece of information from Nurse Obvious, and spin around and run into the room to see their brother. I am left outside for the rest of the speech about how much blood he has lost, how much blood I am going to see, etc, etc. Duh. I understand what happens when a person is punctured multiple times with an object or objects coming at them at a high velocity. Finally, she is done with her speech about that red body fluid, and I am released to go into the room. As I walk in, another nurse comes up behind me.
"We need some information from you about your son's medical history and any possible allergies..." Michael is conscious, he is over the age of consent, and at any other time, I would not be allowed to know about anything to do with his medical history. And now you are going to ask me this? I have just been on a roller coaster ride of emotions, and now you are going to get coherent information out of me? Do you really think so? Honestly?
"Of course," I hear myself say, "I can give you that information."
Because my brain has just flooded my body with relief. My son is alive, and they want to know how to keep him that way during the surgery that is imminent. Of course I am going to cooperate. I will tell you everything you want to know, starting with how long I was in labor if you want me to go that far back.
Before I can go into any sort of detail, though, I hear, "You're wanted on the phone." Oh, of course I can wait to give you this information. I will wait for you to take this call. I'll just wait for you right over here at my son's bedside - where I belong.
"The phone call is for you." She is looking at me. A phone call? For me? In the Emergency Dept of St. Francis Hospital?
A thought occurs to me: Mikey must be dead. I've never been directly involved with the death of a relative in a hospital setting. In any setting, as a matter of fact. The nurses are being too weird with me. They are not really looking directly at me. They are conferring with each other in whispers; they are pointing at me; they are whispering some more. Oh my God...my son must be dead.
My terrible thoughts are interrupted.
"You are Mike's mom? Who are they, his sisters?"
"Yes."
"How old is this one?" (She is indicating Tabby.)
"She is 13."
Information Desk nurse confers with Intake Desk nurse in hushed tones, but the girls and I can hear her, "She's only 13; should we let her go back?"
Before they are finished, April and Tabitha both turn to me and ask questions simultaneously:
"Are they saying Tabby can't go back?"
"Mom! I'm going back, aren't I?"
But before I can answer, the two nurses make up their minds, "Well, I guess she can, the mom's here."
Good...because they would not have wanted to deal with April for sure. I don't know what I would have done, but April was ready to fight with someone. That would not have been pretty...there was a guard standing there...no, it would not have been pretty; I'm not sure for which party, though. Glad I didn't have to find out.
So, we were all motioned to follow Intake Desk nurse to the back. We went like little ducklings following their mamma duck.
We turned left down a white hall (everything was white back there...white and clean) and past a couple of empty beds to the right of us. There is a room at the end of this hallway. I'm pretty sure that is where Mikey is. As we get to that room, we are pulled past it.
"Ok, I have to tell you something."
OH NO! I WAS RIGHT!
That's my brain screaming at me. I KNEW something had been wrong! I KNEW they had been acting funny up front. My son is DEAD! A glance inside the room shows me a body covered up with a blue sheet on a gurney...it's Mikey! I recognize the soles of his feet! Oh My GOD....my son is lying dead on that gurney in that room and this nurse is choosing to tell me this away from the people in the emergency room waiting room....oh no, oh, no, oh, no...he had sounded so alive 30 minutes ago. His feet have dried blood on them...
The nurse is talking, "You are going to see a lot of blood in there...your son has been shot multiple times..."
REALLY!!!! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING TO ME AND MY FAMILY??? DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT YOU HAVE YET TO CONFIRM MY SON IS HERE; YET TO CONFIRM HE IS ALIVE; YET TO CALL ME TO TELL ME HE IS HERE??? AND NOW YOU ARE GOING TO TELL ME THAT HE IS COVERED IN BLOOD? REALLY???????
My daughters are not going to put up with this tomfoolery any more. They hear this piece of information from Nurse Obvious, and spin around and run into the room to see their brother. I am left outside for the rest of the speech about how much blood he has lost, how much blood I am going to see, etc, etc. Duh. I understand what happens when a person is punctured multiple times with an object or objects coming at them at a high velocity. Finally, she is done with her speech about that red body fluid, and I am released to go into the room. As I walk in, another nurse comes up behind me.
"We need some information from you about your son's medical history and any possible allergies..." Michael is conscious, he is over the age of consent, and at any other time, I would not be allowed to know about anything to do with his medical history. And now you are going to ask me this? I have just been on a roller coaster ride of emotions, and now you are going to get coherent information out of me? Do you really think so? Honestly?
"Of course," I hear myself say, "I can give you that information."
Because my brain has just flooded my body with relief. My son is alive, and they want to know how to keep him that way during the surgery that is imminent. Of course I am going to cooperate. I will tell you everything you want to know, starting with how long I was in labor if you want me to go that far back.
Before I can go into any sort of detail, though, I hear, "You're wanted on the phone." Oh, of course I can wait to give you this information. I will wait for you to take this call. I'll just wait for you right over here at my son's bedside - where I belong.
"The phone call is for you." She is looking at me. A phone call? For me? In the Emergency Dept of St. Francis Hospital?
Intersections
While you were robbing the donut shop on Admiral and Garnett,
I was sleeping.
While you were running and being sought by the police,
I was turning over and getting comfy.
When you were shooting at the police,
My cell phone woke me up.
************************************************************
"Why is 21st and Garnett closed? I thought I'd call you so you could go to
work another way."
************************************************************
As I was searching KOTV, KJRH, and KTUL to see why 21st and Garnett was closed,
You were cornered in my neighborhood.
As I read about your exploits online,
Police were closing in on you.
As I listened to the helicopter overhead and posted on FB: "Hello Boss? I can't come to work until the police say I can: Think they'll believe me?"
You were raising the gun to your head.
As I looked for updates and rearranged my schedule thinking that I might not have to go to work for a while,
You were lying dead in the street.
When I got the text from my daughter telling me that you were dead,
I was getting in the car to drive to work.
*************************************************************
21st and Garnett was open.
*************************************************************
I was sleeping.
While you were running and being sought by the police,
I was turning over and getting comfy.
When you were shooting at the police,
My cell phone woke me up.
************************************************************
"Why is 21st and Garnett closed? I thought I'd call you so you could go to
work another way."
************************************************************
As I was searching KOTV, KJRH, and KTUL to see why 21st and Garnett was closed,
You were cornered in my neighborhood.
As I read about your exploits online,
Police were closing in on you.
As I listened to the helicopter overhead and posted on FB: "Hello Boss? I can't come to work until the police say I can: Think they'll believe me?"
You were raising the gun to your head.
As I looked for updates and rearranged my schedule thinking that I might not have to go to work for a while,
You were lying dead in the street.
When I got the text from my daughter telling me that you were dead,
I was getting in the car to drive to work.
*************************************************************
21st and Garnett was open.
*************************************************************
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Did you receive a call from us?
We arrive at the hospital and park by the emergency entrance. That's where I assume he is. I just cannot believe that the hospital hasn't called me. Why did the hospital call "Mike's roommate's mom" but not me? Is Mikey that out of it? No, he can't be. He was conscious and coherent in the background. And when he had said, "I've been shot...I'm gonna die," I heard unmistakably in his tone that he was joking. That is what I'm clinging to, actually; he is OK enough to joke about this - he must be ok. [No, I wasn't thinking about his "steel balls" joke not even a year previously; he had been "hours away" from death at that time...I'm glad I hadn't remembered that tidbit of information at that moment.]
The girls and I walk inside the doors. There is a semi-circular desk right there at the entryway with the word, "information" in big letters right on the front of it. There is a nurse and a guard sitting there.
"I'm here to see my son. He's been shot and I was told he was here." They both look up, startled.
"Who are you?"
"I'm his mother. These are his sisters."
"Did you receive a call from us?"
Something is not right, here. How come they didn't look at their list (there is a clipboard of names on the desk), see his name and take us back? Why are they looking at each other with those weird expressions? Why would they ask me if I had received a call? Even though I'm STILL not really believing all that is happening, I don't think that in the emergency room, the first question after, "Who are you?" should be "Did you receive a call from us?" What is going on?
I tell them that Mike's roommate's mom called me on her cell phone to tell me about my son. (In retrospect, I'm sure that sounded strange. I didn't say, "Sheri", or "Cindy", or "Marvella", but "Mike's roommate's mom" - you know what? I still don't know her name!) When I say this, the nurse leaves the desk, and hurries to a row of intake windows to the left. She confers quickly with another nurse and that nurse looks up at us with the same weird, startled look. Somebody had better start talking to me. Nurse number one looks at us and motions us to the window.
"Now, who did you say called you?" Really? REALLY?!
The girls and I walk inside the doors. There is a semi-circular desk right there at the entryway with the word, "information" in big letters right on the front of it. There is a nurse and a guard sitting there.
"I'm here to see my son. He's been shot and I was told he was here." They both look up, startled.
"Who are you?"
"I'm his mother. These are his sisters."
"Did you receive a call from us?"
Something is not right, here. How come they didn't look at their list (there is a clipboard of names on the desk), see his name and take us back? Why are they looking at each other with those weird expressions? Why would they ask me if I had received a call? Even though I'm STILL not really believing all that is happening, I don't think that in the emergency room, the first question after, "Who are you?" should be "Did you receive a call from us?" What is going on?
I tell them that Mike's roommate's mom called me on her cell phone to tell me about my son. (In retrospect, I'm sure that sounded strange. I didn't say, "Sheri", or "Cindy", or "Marvella", but "Mike's roommate's mom" - you know what? I still don't know her name!) When I say this, the nurse leaves the desk, and hurries to a row of intake windows to the left. She confers quickly with another nurse and that nurse looks up at us with the same weird, startled look. Somebody had better start talking to me. Nurse number one looks at us and motions us to the window.
"Now, who did you say called you?" Really? REALLY?!
Oh No!
Oh No! Oh NO! That's him! That's definitely Mikey's voice; what am I gonna do? What am I gonna DO?!
"Ok. Ok. What hospital did you say? St. Francis? Ok. Ok. I'll get there. Tell him I'll get there." I hang up.
"MIKEY'S BEEN SHOT!!"
So, that's how my girls learn about their brother. In a nice, calm, rational manner. The house phone rings. My recent graduate answers it. You guessed it - the dryer is on the way.
"Get dressed; April, you have to stay for the dryer. Tabby can stay here, too. I'm going to St. Francis, where Mikey is."
(Both girls together) "NO! I'm coming!"
Of course they're coming. What was I thinking? I have no idea what to think. I'm still stuck on, "Your son's been shot several times. You should come." "What??!??!"
"Ok, both of you get dressed. You're coming with me. I'll call grandma and grandpa to wait for the dryer. Hurry!"
Yep, my parents are still in town because of April's graduation 2 days before. This is good. I dial their cell phone number. My dad answers. Can you say, "instant replay"?
Me: "Dad. You and mom have to come now. The dryer is on the way and Mikey's been shot. We have to go to the hospital right now. Please can you just get here in 5 minutes??"
Dad: "What?"
He thinks he's put the phone to his bad ear. He puts mom on the phone. I repeat myself. Mom says, "What?" It's like PeeWee's Playhouse. "The word of the day is 'what'. Whenever you hear anyone say 'what', scream real loud!" And I want to. But I can't. I explain that they need to please come. Please. Now. I have to get to Mikey. Please. That is all I can say to them. After an eternally long 5 minutes, they understand and will be at my house within 10 minutes. Good. Because I still need to get dressed. Instead of doing that, however, I call my good friend, Charity.
"Hello?"
"Charity, this is Melissa. Mikey's been shot and he's at St. Francis hospital. WHERE IN THE HELL IS ST. FRANCIS HOSPITAL???"
That's right. I have forgotten the location of the hospital. I need someone with a calm voice to tell me how to get to the hospital. Now, I know very well where that hospital is. Everyone in Tulsa knows where the pink hospital on the hill is. I could have driven there practically with my eyes closed any other day of the week. Not today. She understands at once. (She does NOT say "what". I do not have to "scream real loud".) She tells me how to get there, and then asks me if Mike is still in town. Mike? Mike? Oh, Mike! My ex-husband. Mikey's dad.
"MIKE! He's still here! I have to call him!"
Can someone be rationally hysterical? I think maybe I was. I knew what I had to do. I'd logically thought out everything. I needed everyone to get dressed. I needed to inform everyone about where I was going, figure out how to get there and explain why things were urgent. I even needed to get someone here for the dryer delivery. Why think about the dryer? Because I had to. The phone call for the delivery had come in as my mind was in the process of shifting into "emergency" mode. It had become part of my emergency. What if my parents had not been available? I honestly don't know what I would have done. Everything was of equal importance in my mind at that time. Everything was an emergency. That sounds strange, but there were no number one priorities. Everything was equally important. I'm just glad my parents were around to help me solve the delivery problem. It would have taken me longer to get to the hospital because I would have had to take the time to sort out priorities; I was not in any condition to do that - obviously.
I hang up from Charity and call Mike. He says, "What?! Wait a minute. He was WHAT?" The word of the day.
I finally make him understand that he does NOT have time to take a shower (I had woken him up), that he needs to get to St. Francis hospital. Yes, he remembered St Francis hospital. No, he didn't need directions; he still knew where it was. He would go there right away. He would probably be there before I got there because he wouldn't have to wait for someone to show up to accept delivery of a dryer. Ok. Good. I go to the bedroom to get dressed.
The delivery van and my parents show up at the same moment about 5 minutes after my conversation with Mike. The van blocks me in - naturally. The desperation and panic must have immediately shown on my face. Mom says, "Take the car. Just go." The girls and I jump into my parents car. It's been 15 minutes.
"Ok. Ok. What hospital did you say? St. Francis? Ok. Ok. I'll get there. Tell him I'll get there." I hang up.
"MIKEY'S BEEN SHOT!!"
So, that's how my girls learn about their brother. In a nice, calm, rational manner. The house phone rings. My recent graduate answers it. You guessed it - the dryer is on the way.
"Get dressed; April, you have to stay for the dryer. Tabby can stay here, too. I'm going to St. Francis, where Mikey is."
(Both girls together) "NO! I'm coming!"
Of course they're coming. What was I thinking? I have no idea what to think. I'm still stuck on, "Your son's been shot several times. You should come." "What??!??!"
"Ok, both of you get dressed. You're coming with me. I'll call grandma and grandpa to wait for the dryer. Hurry!"
Yep, my parents are still in town because of April's graduation 2 days before. This is good. I dial their cell phone number. My dad answers. Can you say, "instant replay"?
Me: "Dad. You and mom have to come now. The dryer is on the way and Mikey's been shot. We have to go to the hospital right now. Please can you just get here in 5 minutes??"
Dad: "What?"
He thinks he's put the phone to his bad ear. He puts mom on the phone. I repeat myself. Mom says, "What?" It's like PeeWee's Playhouse. "The word of the day is 'what'. Whenever you hear anyone say 'what', scream real loud!" And I want to. But I can't. I explain that they need to please come. Please. Now. I have to get to Mikey. Please. That is all I can say to them. After an eternally long 5 minutes, they understand and will be at my house within 10 minutes. Good. Because I still need to get dressed. Instead of doing that, however, I call my good friend, Charity.
"Hello?"
"Charity, this is Melissa. Mikey's been shot and he's at St. Francis hospital. WHERE IN THE HELL IS ST. FRANCIS HOSPITAL???"
That's right. I have forgotten the location of the hospital. I need someone with a calm voice to tell me how to get to the hospital. Now, I know very well where that hospital is. Everyone in Tulsa knows where the pink hospital on the hill is. I could have driven there practically with my eyes closed any other day of the week. Not today. She understands at once. (She does NOT say "what". I do not have to "scream real loud".) She tells me how to get there, and then asks me if Mike is still in town. Mike? Mike? Oh, Mike! My ex-husband. Mikey's dad.
"MIKE! He's still here! I have to call him!"
Can someone be rationally hysterical? I think maybe I was. I knew what I had to do. I'd logically thought out everything. I needed everyone to get dressed. I needed to inform everyone about where I was going, figure out how to get there and explain why things were urgent. I even needed to get someone here for the dryer delivery. Why think about the dryer? Because I had to. The phone call for the delivery had come in as my mind was in the process of shifting into "emergency" mode. It had become part of my emergency. What if my parents had not been available? I honestly don't know what I would have done. Everything was of equal importance in my mind at that time. Everything was an emergency. That sounds strange, but there were no number one priorities. Everything was equally important. I'm just glad my parents were around to help me solve the delivery problem. It would have taken me longer to get to the hospital because I would have had to take the time to sort out priorities; I was not in any condition to do that - obviously.
I hang up from Charity and call Mike. He says, "What?! Wait a minute. He was WHAT?" The word of the day.
I finally make him understand that he does NOT have time to take a shower (I had woken him up), that he needs to get to St. Francis hospital. Yes, he remembered St Francis hospital. No, he didn't need directions; he still knew where it was. He would go there right away. He would probably be there before I got there because he wouldn't have to wait for someone to show up to accept delivery of a dryer. Ok. Good. I go to the bedroom to get dressed.
The delivery van and my parents show up at the same moment about 5 minutes after my conversation with Mike. The van blocks me in - naturally. The desperation and panic must have immediately shown on my face. Mom says, "Take the car. Just go." The girls and I jump into my parents car. It's been 15 minutes.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
More of the same...sort of.
It's been two years since I last posted. Maybe it's because the last two years have been a near repeat of the first several posts on this blog. It's like my life has been just like that movie "Groundhog Day".
Well...almost.
Involves the same kid, of course. Involves a life-threatening event, too - again, of course. However, the circumstances are definitely different. The repercussions have lasted until this day, and will continue to echo through our lives, well...for the rest of our lives.
How about if I just explain it to you?
Again, this involved household appliances. Whereas in 2009 it was plumbing and air conditionining that were troubling me and needing attention, in May of 2010 it was my dryer that had gone out. My parents had come to Tulsa to watch my middle child graduate from high school (a whole 'nuther story), and decided to buy me a dryer. I did not ask them to; I had been washing clothes and hanging them outside to dry. My daughters' complaints of "hard towels to dry off with" probably pushed their sympathy buttons and they decided to buy the dryer so that their precious little grandbabies (ages 13 and 18) would not have to scrape their skin off with the rock-hard towels I was forcing them to use. Yeah, that sounds about right. Oh, and my ex was in town, too, for the same reason. (To watch his daughter graduate, not to buy me a dryer.)
The graduation happened on the 20th of May. It was nice, there were plenty of pictures taken, and a good time was had by all. Two days later, I was waiting for my dryer to be delivered, when my cell phone rang. My cell phone? I could have sworn I'd given them my home phone. I didn't recognize the number, either. What time is it? 8am. Huh. Well, I must've given them my cell number because I was told it would be delivered between 8am and noon, and they would call before they delivered it. Here it is 8am. How pleasant! For once, I am the first one on the delivery list. Yay! So, I guess I should answer my cell. Still, it's strange that I gave them my cell number. I never give out my cell number for stuff like -"Hello?"
"Hello. Is this Mike's mom?" Not at all what I expected to hear from the delivery guys.
"What? Who is this?"
"This is Mike's roommate's mom. Mike's here in the hospital, he's been shot several times, you should get here as soon as you can."
"What?!"
"It happened at about 5 this morning. You should come to the hospital."
"What?! Who is this!!"
"He's at Saint Francis hospital, he asked me to call you. I don't know why nobody's called you. You should come right now."
"Wait a minute....what?!"
Don't be frustrated with me. I thought it was the dryer people calling me. It's ridiculous. My son can't be shot. This woman has the wrong "Mike's mom". Mike is a pretty common name, after all. How did she get my number? This does not make any sense whatsoever. I thought it was the dryer people calling me. What is this woman talking about?? And not shot once, or just "shot", but "shot several times." No, my son would not be shot any times. There is definitely some sort of mistake. I need to find out who this lady is trying to call.
(Background) "Mom...I've been shot ... I'm gonna die."
Oh my God, that's my son's voice! This is real. I am the right "Mike's mom". Oh, no!
Well...almost.
Involves the same kid, of course. Involves a life-threatening event, too - again, of course. However, the circumstances are definitely different. The repercussions have lasted until this day, and will continue to echo through our lives, well...for the rest of our lives.
How about if I just explain it to you?
Again, this involved household appliances. Whereas in 2009 it was plumbing and air conditionining that were troubling me and needing attention, in May of 2010 it was my dryer that had gone out. My parents had come to Tulsa to watch my middle child graduate from high school (a whole 'nuther story), and decided to buy me a dryer. I did not ask them to; I had been washing clothes and hanging them outside to dry. My daughters' complaints of "hard towels to dry off with" probably pushed their sympathy buttons and they decided to buy the dryer so that their precious little grandbabies (ages 13 and 18) would not have to scrape their skin off with the rock-hard towels I was forcing them to use. Yeah, that sounds about right. Oh, and my ex was in town, too, for the same reason. (To watch his daughter graduate, not to buy me a dryer.)
The graduation happened on the 20th of May. It was nice, there were plenty of pictures taken, and a good time was had by all. Two days later, I was waiting for my dryer to be delivered, when my cell phone rang. My cell phone? I could have sworn I'd given them my home phone. I didn't recognize the number, either. What time is it? 8am. Huh. Well, I must've given them my cell number because I was told it would be delivered between 8am and noon, and they would call before they delivered it. Here it is 8am. How pleasant! For once, I am the first one on the delivery list. Yay! So, I guess I should answer my cell. Still, it's strange that I gave them my cell number. I never give out my cell number for stuff like -"Hello?"
"Hello. Is this Mike's mom?" Not at all what I expected to hear from the delivery guys.
"What? Who is this?"
"This is Mike's roommate's mom. Mike's here in the hospital, he's been shot several times, you should get here as soon as you can."
"What?!"
"It happened at about 5 this morning. You should come to the hospital."
"What?! Who is this!!"
"He's at Saint Francis hospital, he asked me to call you. I don't know why nobody's called you. You should come right now."
"Wait a minute....what?!"
Don't be frustrated with me. I thought it was the dryer people calling me. It's ridiculous. My son can't be shot. This woman has the wrong "Mike's mom". Mike is a pretty common name, after all. How did she get my number? This does not make any sense whatsoever. I thought it was the dryer people calling me. What is this woman talking about?? And not shot once, or just "shot", but "shot several times." No, my son would not be shot any times. There is definitely some sort of mistake. I need to find out who this lady is trying to call.
(Background) "Mom...I've been shot ... I'm gonna die."
Oh my God, that's my son's voice! This is real. I am the right "Mike's mom". Oh, no!
Monday, September 7, 2009
GOTCHA!!
I know why you have those dreams.
You know the ones I am talking about. The ones where you are running as fast and as hard as you can and then look behind you - and the bad guy is almost on top of you! He is leering at you, his mouth is open, and he is walking - yes WALKING - and is gaining on you! OH NO! What are you going to do? You pant and run faster and faster. You zig zag! You run in one direction and then double-back to throw him off! ACK! He is STILL directly behind you! NNNOOO!!! And then you wake up just as the bad guy grabs you and you know you are just about to die. Those are the dreams that I know about. I know why you have those dreams. Wanna know why?
Ok. I'll tell you. But first, let me tell you about a game I used to play with my kids.
I have three children. They are all five years apart. So, my first child was 5 when his little sister was born, and his little sister became a big sister when she was 5 and her big brother was 10. So, each of the older ones got to play this game with their younger sibling. My youngest has never played this game, as far as I know.
Here is the game:
"Hey! Guess what? I'm.....gonna get ya!!! You'd better run! I'm coming!"
And my kids would get up, laugh, squeal and run down the hallway. They would look back, squeal again and kinda jump because I was right behind them. They would laugh and laugh and run and run until finally they would either run out of hallway, or fall down. Then, I would be right on them and say, "GOTCHA! Now, I'm gonna tickle you!!"
It was a fun game. So fun, as a matter of fact, that they would run as soon as I let them go, and we would play all over again. Usually, I would run out of steam, first. Then, Mikey would play with April, and later on, they both would play this game with Tabitha. It was a fun game.
Ok. Back to why you have that dream.
Wait a minute. I think you know where I am going with this, don't you?
'Nuff said.
You know the ones I am talking about. The ones where you are running as fast and as hard as you can and then look behind you - and the bad guy is almost on top of you! He is leering at you, his mouth is open, and he is walking - yes WALKING - and is gaining on you! OH NO! What are you going to do? You pant and run faster and faster. You zig zag! You run in one direction and then double-back to throw him off! ACK! He is STILL directly behind you! NNNOOO!!! And then you wake up just as the bad guy grabs you and you know you are just about to die. Those are the dreams that I know about. I know why you have those dreams. Wanna know why?
Ok. I'll tell you. But first, let me tell you about a game I used to play with my kids.
I have three children. They are all five years apart. So, my first child was 5 when his little sister was born, and his little sister became a big sister when she was 5 and her big brother was 10. So, each of the older ones got to play this game with their younger sibling. My youngest has never played this game, as far as I know.
Here is the game:
"Hey! Guess what? I'm.....gonna get ya!!! You'd better run! I'm coming!"
And my kids would get up, laugh, squeal and run down the hallway. They would look back, squeal again and kinda jump because I was right behind them. They would laugh and laugh and run and run until finally they would either run out of hallway, or fall down. Then, I would be right on them and say, "GOTCHA! Now, I'm gonna tickle you!!"
It was a fun game. So fun, as a matter of fact, that they would run as soon as I let them go, and we would play all over again. Usually, I would run out of steam, first. Then, Mikey would play with April, and later on, they both would play this game with Tabitha. It was a fun game.
Ok. Back to why you have that dream.
Wait a minute. I think you know where I am going with this, don't you?
'Nuff said.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)