My photo
mommy. wife. teacher. yogini. writer. coffee drinker. aunt. crocheter. reader. dog lover. scattered. methodical. rational. irrational. paranoid. annoyed. lost. found. content. searching. peaceful. i am constantly in search of my story. the one i have never happened. the one i've lived i cannot write.

25 February 2009

chapter 3.

chapter 1.
chapter 2.

i don't remember much about my brief stay in waterloo.
i don't remember if i was given blood
i don't remember how much morphine was pumped into my bloodstream
i don't remember how long i was there

i do remember the nurse
with her three-pack-a-day voice
bossing everyone around and making sure i was comfortable.
i remember my parents and sister arriving
my sister gathering my stats in an effort to better understand my condition
me explaining how pissed i was because i'd had a good hair day
and now it was all fucked up.
i remember telling them all i was okay
the baby was okay.
i remember them kicking everyone out of the room
the doctor and an emt kneeling by my leg and examining it.

this is going to hurt.
me grabbing the sheets.
turning my head.
the nurse rubbing my hair.
you're doing great, honey.
more pulling.
gentle as he could.

i know it hurts.
i'm so sorry.
we have to set it before we can do anything else.

i couldn't look.
i couldn't see past charlie.

when they finished
bill walked in.
still holding the camera bag.

me: i'm okay.
him: nodding.

he gripped my hand.
rubbed it raw with his thumb.
we watched the monitors
listened to the beeps

answers finally came.
we're sending you to iowa city.
there may be vascular damage.
cedar rapids won't take you with vascular damage.
there is no one here to fix it.
there is no one there to fix it.
we'll have to send you by ambulance.
it's snowing and the ceiling is too low to fly you in.

at that point i wondered, how bad must this be?

a broad man walked in
dark blue uniform

emt: i'll be riding with you today, amy. we're going to take good care of you.


there was no room for bill.
an emt.
an ob nurse.
a tech.
a 34-week pregnant girl with a bum leg.
he followed behind with my sister.
he got to see the wall again.
i never did.

they had the leg packed tight.

they had strapped me to a board
to stabilize me.
i had to lay on my left side which set the board at a 90 degree angle to the gurney.
my leg was the least of my discomforts.
my head, strapped tight, was trapped.
my hair begin to hurt halfway through the ride.
i couldn't move.
every bump sent the leg up.
and down.
white pain shot up through the top of my head
and out my aching hair follicles.

the broad emt
sat at my head
with a clipboard
eyes on the monitor at all times.
the ob nurse chattered away
eyes on charlie's monitor.

me: how's the baby?
ob nurse: she's perfect.

i tried to rest.
rest did not come.
there were no sirens
but i could feel the wheels speeding beneath us.

i waited for another patch of ice
until we pulled into the garage
in iowa city.

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