So, where was I?

Something about Selena Gomez and lung power, right?

 

From what I remember of this day, the nurse had just told my mom and I that I was suffering from blood clots and a hemorrhaging lung. At 15 years old I didn’t exactly think I would be in the position to write a will, but there I was. Telling my mom who to give my things to. She shut me down, saying my dad was on his way and everything was going to be okay.

I was in and out of consciousness while they moved me out of the emergency room. I remember screaming as the nurses moved my bed over bumps on the floor out of the elevator. At this point I was in my least glamorous state of coughing up blood into a bucket and trying to stop myself from crying in respect to the pain I was in.

Finally settled into my new room, I heard voices outside of my room. I remember seeing my boyfriend at the time barge into the room while his parents stayed outside with my mom. I couldn’t really talk to him but I sure was glad to see him. His parents slowly came in with a teddy bear and a bouquet of flowers.

Was I really dying? I must really be dead right? People don’t just bring flowers for no reason, right?

“More morphine, please.”

My boyfriend’s mom was sobbing at the end of my bed. I wanted to get up and hug her, thank her for every dinner she ever made me. For every time I came home and complained to her about school. I wanted to hug her. Hug my boyfriend. Hug his dad. I was dying after all, right?

I couldn’t get the words out if I could. Suddenly nurses came in from what seemed like all angles.

“Holly, we just spoke with your parents. We need to transfer you to an intensive care unit at Dartmouth Hitchcock Hospital.”

You need to what me to where???????

I had no idea what an ICU was. No idea where Dartmouth Hospital was.

I remember not wanting to let go of my Boyfriend’s hand. I hadn’t seen him cry until then. The next thing I knew I was in the back of an ambulance with a man I had never seen before.

A paramedic angel.

I don’t remember his name. It might have been Steve. Maybe Peter. Your guess is as good as mine. But it was just him and I now and he was in charge of my morphine so I just wanted to be on his good side.

“Don’t worry Holly, your parents and your boyfriend and his family are going to meet us there. It shouldn’t take us longer than two hours to get there.”

Two. Hours. Can I die yet? Morphine? Seriously, this hurts.

We settled in and I only had the back window to look out of. I was trying to build up the strength to talk to him when he started talking first.

As I have read in an article from gapmedics.com , “Good communication, interpersonal and instructional skills are essential to calming everyone down and getting on with treating the injured.”

He did exactly that. This man didn’t know me from a hole in the wall, but he could sense the crisis I was in and he knew I needed a distraction from my own life for a while. He told me about his wife, his kids, his life as a paramedic. I asked him if I was going ot die and he said

“Not on my watch.”

I remember his voice distinctly. Warm and comforting. He also had a stutter. I think that made me appreciate him even more. He was flawed in the smallest of ways, but he was happy, he had a family, and he was devoting his life to helping others.

I wish I could meet him one more time and tell him that I want to be like him when I grow up.

 

Continued.. Part 4: A room with a view?