I don’t want to be a drama queen…

I don’t want to be a drama queen…

Subject: I don’t want to be a drama queen…

Date: Sunday 8/24/03 10:26:00 PM

Music: Life in the Fast Lane-The Eagles-Greatest Hits Volume 2

Tags: writings: poetry

First, I’d like to thank all of my amazingly spiffy friends who have truly gone above and beyond the call of duty these past few days, I’m not going to mention anyone by name because you’ve all helped and have just been so amazing it has made me cry. Thank you so much – I love you.

Basically, in this post I’m going to wrap up the “wow, I was in the E.R. story” because I really don’t want to be a drama queen and I really don’t need sympathy, there are people who have been through much worse than I have. I’m alive, albeit banged up and bruised and being alive is sort of what counts. The only other posts regarding this will be tomorrow after I see the oral surgeon with the “here’s the skivvy on my teeth post” and the “hey, I’m back to normal post” and at most, one more “update” post.

I think the best way to finish this off is with the poem I wrote so I could remember the experience:

LJ-Cut: August 23, 2003

August 23, 2003

Beat down, fall to the ground, shit kicked out of me – who the hell know’s what happend to me, woke up in a pool of blood, face covered – lips split open, shoulder feels like it’s been broken, nose completly flat.

Get up and go to the bathroom, look in the mirror – scariest thing on the planet: loss of memory – what the hell happend to me? How did *THIS* happen…I don’t know…walk down the hall and bang on the R.A.’s door “help…”

9-1-1

The police were called…”we’re with the suspect” they said…”what the f’k do you mean by suspect” said my head…they interrogated me as I sat in pain, over and over they asked the same three questions: were you drinking, did you do drugs, who hit you? To which I then gave them the same replies: I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs, my door was locked – I can’t remember. I’m on medication, if I did drugs I’d be dead. I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs, my door was locked – I can’t remmeber. I’m on medication, if I did drugs I’d be dead. I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs, my door was locked – I can’t remmeber. I’m on medication, if I did drugs I’d be dead.

After what was probably fifteen minutes – but what felt like hours, the officer called an ambulance for the “suspect” that was I…I was taken by ambulance to the hospital down the road…was my neck broken…was I going to die without ever saying goodbye?

I looked up into the EMT’s eyes – he seemed so familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why…why did I know his face? I know that I know his face, I know him but I don’t know why. His name is Scott.

And out of the Ambulance I was wheeled, through the double doors I was lead. And then a nurse came in and started to ask me questions – I told them to call my parents…they needed to know where I was…then I heard her say the things that every parent feared “Mrs. schwartz, this is cheryl from Millard Fillmore hospital…” and I nearly screamed…

Eventually I got to the phone, but I don’t remember how and I got to speak to my parents, Mom and Dad and told them what I knew at the time and then I was lead back to the hospital bed…so cold, so cold.

Again I slept and laid on the hospital bed and I continued to talk to the gods…I didn’t make deals, didn’t beg for my life, didn’t make promises, didn’t ask why, didn’t plead – just said to them in my head “what am I supposed to learn from all this? What is the lesson to be had?”

Then more nurses came, and more doctors, all with the same few questions to which I replied I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs, my door was locked – I can’t remember. I’m on medication, if I did drugs I’d be dead. I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs, my door was locked – I can’t remmeber. I’m on medication, if I did drugs I’d be dead. I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs, my door was locked – I can’t remmeber. I’m on medication, if I did drugs I’d be dead.

I pulled the ends of my blood soaked pajama pants over my feet…good thing I’m short…and moments later I was wheeled into the X-ray room where they took pictures of my head:neck:arms:spine:body to make sure I wasn’t ‘broken’ though lying in that bed I didn’t feel “all together” regardless…then a big man came in – made me feel safe – wrapped me in a blanket because he saw my feet and realized I was cold – and wheeled me to the CAT scan machine. Computer lights whirlled and machines spun around…they wanted to know why I couldn’t remember…so did I…why can’t I remember? Because my mind doesn’t want me too…

Again I slept and laid on the hospital bed and I continued to talk to the gods…I didn’t make deals, didn’t beg for my life, didn’t make promises, didn’t ask why, didn’t plead – just said to them in my head “what am I supposed to learn from all this? What is the lesson to be had?”

Then it was time to get some stitches, my lips were busted open – will I be able to feel the warmth of a kiss? Are my nerves damaged? As I was getting wheeled into the opearting room the nurse assured “don’t worry we’re not operating, just some stitches…now rinse and spit…” – passing by the door a stranged said “Feel better buddy…” which nearly made me cry because the kindness of strangers is something that’s allmost always lacking in the big city but not here in “everyone know’s each other Buffalo.”

Then a doctor came in – gorgeous – “well is he Jewish?” popped into my head courtesy of the left side of my brain channeling my mother…to which the right side responded “now’s not the time…thwack!” He was one of the doctors who saw me before…he was calming…told me what he was going to do and as I layed down, he put a white sheet over my head…I couldn’t see what he was doing…all I saw was a white light through the white sheets…and my mind kept on making after life jokes to pass the time…

Then the doctor finished stitching me up and told me that I had to see an oral surgeon on Monday – pray I can keep my teeth and that my nose wasn’t broken…and then I recieved my discharge orders and I had to figure out how to get home…took ten minutes to get through to UB’s campus information line…got my room telephone number…spoke with my roomate, got a nurse to give directions and his parent’s picked me up and took me home…

And the thing of all this, it could always be worse…thank the gods I didn’t break my neck or my head, thank the gods that I’m not dead, thank the gods my spine isn’t broken and that I’m not bound to a wheel chair for life, thank the god’s that I now will have the opportunity to say good bye.

I just wish I knew what really happend.

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