"Milissa call 911!" my mom yelled from her bedroom in a shaky voice. I had just left the bathroom. Apparently something was wrong, only I didn't know what. I proceeded by picking up the phone and dialing the dreaded three digits while asking my mom what was happening. "We need an ambulance! Your father is bleeding!" she said.
It all happened on an ordinary night, just like any other night of the week, only it was a Monday in February (1998). My dad was a member of an elementary school board, he was at a meeting. So he wasn't home as I was finishing a soothing bath. Once I emerged from the bathroom, all sorts of ideas flooded me of what could have been wrong when my mom told me to call 911. I didn't have any idea what happened, but I was storming up ideas already. I didn't know what to expect. Then when my mom told me my dad was bleeding, I went into a small state of shock. "What? He's what?" I almost screamed at my mom.
Bleeding, my dad was bleeding. And what caused it? We really didn't know. He didn't even know. When I saw my dad, he had crimson blood all over his face. He was in an extraordinary amount of pain. You could tell that just from the way he moved his body, slowly and cautiously. My mom was almost in shock; she was pacing around my dad, asking what happened over and over again.
My mom then sent me out to the two story building where my dad parks his truck, to make sure everything seemed normal. Once I got inside, I knew something was wrong. I walked up to his truck, and I saw blood on it. It was like the truck was crying tears. I walked around the truck, and there on the ground was a melting ice cream cone shaped puddle of blood. And there was something in it; it looked like bubble gum. His glasses were sitting about five inches away from the puddle. I ran to the house and told my mom what I had seen. She had me call my Uncle Richard who lives next-door. After I hung up with him, the fire truck showed up blaring its sirens, then the sheriffs, and then the ambulande. I was already waiting at the door for them.
"Where is he?" they asked.
"Back in the bedroom, I'll show you.," I replied. I left the front door open for my uncle and took them all back to my dad. I took a quick look at my dad; there was blood all over his face and clothes.
After they all arrived, my mom had me call my brother's work to tell him to meet us at UMC (a hospital in Fresno, CA). But when I called, he wasn't there. So I called a few of his friends. I could not locate him, nor would he answer my pages. My mom was in an even bigger state of panic because we couldn't find Alan (my brother). She was pacing around the house screaming at everyone about my brother.
My mom then had me take the sheriff to the building to show them the blood. I asked if I could retrieve my dad's blood drenched glasses. But they responded quickly with a "NO." Since we had no idea what happened to my dad, it could have been a possible crime scene. I had to leave the glasses in their place.
We were outside a few more minutes when I decided I needed to be inside with my mom. When I got into the house, the paramedics already had my dad on a gurney. You could see he was in a lot of pain from the look in his eyes and the way he had lost temporary feeling in his right arm. They were getting ready to take him out to the ambulance to have him airlifted from Rosendthal's Dehydrator (down the street from my house). They had my dad outside by the ambulance; that's when my mom and I started crying hysterically.
"What am I going to do?" my mom asked me.
"He'll be okay mom, I just know it," I replied; only, I wasn't so sure at that point. We were afraid we would lose him. When they put the neck brace on him is when I lost it. You could see my dad looking straight at us through the window. It was so painful for us, but even more painful for him. That could have been the last time I saw my dad alive.
After the ambulance left, my uncle took my mom and I to UMC (the hospital). On the way there, I did something I hadn't done since I was about six years old, I reached out and grabbed my mom's hand, and held it firmly. We were both terrified. My whole family (except my brother Alan) and I waited in the "quiet room" for four hours; all we could do was talk about past times with my dad. Or my mom and I would explain everything that previously happened. A few more miutes passed when a nurse called my mom to go see my dad. They gave her his wallet, pager, and keys. She gave them to me. About ten minutes passed with my mom out of the quiet room, my dad's pager went off. It was Alan, Finally! He had just gotten home. I told him to get to UMC as soon as possible and my uncle gave him directions.
After another two hours of waiting in the quiet room, my dad was released. They sent him out on foot, no wheel chair. He didn't break a single bone in his entire body, but he had almost ripped off his left ear; he had to get stitches. Remember that piece in the blood that looked like bubble gum? That was skin from the back of his ear. It took about twenty minutes for my dad to make it out the front door of the hospital. He was in so much pain. My grandpa and my brother Alan walked on either side of my dad. My brother Curt was in front of him and I was behind him. Just in case he started to feel he was going to fall he had someone on every side of him. He was very hesitant in his walking; it took him about ten seconds to complete a step. I asked him one question, "How do you feel dad?"
He responded quickly but slowly, "I feel like shit."
It turns out what happened to my dad is as simple as this, he got home and pulled his truck into the building. He shut the building door, after he had shut it; he looked up and noticed a vent was open. He decided he should close it. He went up the stairs to the chain. He pushed it with his right arm. It wouldn't budge, so he took both arms and pushed. The chain snapped and he fell. He ricocheted off of his truck and busted the passenger's rear view mirror. Then, he landed on the cement. He had lost his glasses. So he walked around his truck using it as a prop to help keep him up. He got to the driver's side and opened the door to get his sunglasses out so he could see. And from there he went into the house.
It was a very frightening experience that night. My dad almost died; he almost bled to death. If my dad had died, I wouldn't be writing this about him. I'd eitehr be dead or in a mental institution. My dad inspires me. When I think I can't go on or live another day, I just think of my dad, and how he pulled through it. He is in my heart and deep within my soul. This was a tough experience to deal with. Use the time you have with your loved ones wisely. You may not have much time left. I am so thankful that my dad was given another round.
