I wasn't going to blog about this...
..., but what the hell. It keeps replaying in my mind, over and over again, like a bad movie...
Eleven days ago, my son (youngest child), was involved in a car accident, and I was arrested.
"Mom T.! Some guy just hit us! Wes is hurt! I called 911, but he wants you! Come quick!"
Wes' friend, Joshua was hysterical.
He told me where they were...hell...they'd just left the freakin' house! E.T.A., five minutes, tops. I think I made it in three.
When I got there, P.D., First Response, F.D., and one "bus" (ambulance), had responded.
Wes had been extracted from the right side of the vehicle (point of impact), was prone on an L.S.B. (long spine board), on the scorching asphalt, and on high-flow O2. Two large bore I.V.'s had been started by the paramedic, and an E.M.T. was cutting away the last of his clothing.
"I'm his mother, and a paramedic! MOVE!"
My son...my baby...suffered fractures of the right tib/fib bones, a shattered patella, fractures of the right ulna and radius, multiple contusions of the face, and his eyes were in the process of blackening, from airbag deployment.
After Wes had been "packaged" and loaded onto the bus, I turned to see the drunken bastard that had hit them, handcuffed, and leaning against the back of another bus, being treated for superficial wounds.
As a paramedic for nine years in New Orleans, I'd witnessed this scenario, oh so many times before; law-abiding, innocents...broken...sometimes dead, and the drunks responsible, left largely unscathed.
I paused...but for a few seconds, then strode, calmly, and without haste, towards the perp. The attending officer was involved in his (seemingly), endless report of the incident, and the attending E.M.T. was reaching for another gauze, when I punched the sonofabitch, dead in the face.
I broke his nose.
He was lucky, as was I, in retrospect. My first impulse was to retrieve the .357 I keep under the seat of my vehicle.
It was a stupid, impulsive act, I know, but yet, I don't regret it.
Wes is progressing in his recovery, albeit slowly. His utmost concern is that he knows he won't be able to enlist in the U.S.M.C. on his birthday, 11 July.
As for me, I'm most grateful he's still here with me.
Eleven days ago, my son (youngest child), was involved in a car accident, and I was arrested.
"Mom T.! Some guy just hit us! Wes is hurt! I called 911, but he wants you! Come quick!"
Wes' friend, Joshua was hysterical.
He told me where they were...hell...they'd just left the freakin' house! E.T.A., five minutes, tops. I think I made it in three.
When I got there, P.D., First Response, F.D., and one "bus" (ambulance), had responded.
Wes had been extracted from the right side of the vehicle (point of impact), was prone on an L.S.B. (long spine board), on the scorching asphalt, and on high-flow O2. Two large bore I.V.'s had been started by the paramedic, and an E.M.T. was cutting away the last of his clothing.
"I'm his mother, and a paramedic! MOVE!"
My son...my baby...suffered fractures of the right tib/fib bones, a shattered patella, fractures of the right ulna and radius, multiple contusions of the face, and his eyes were in the process of blackening, from airbag deployment.
After Wes had been "packaged" and loaded onto the bus, I turned to see the drunken bastard that had hit them, handcuffed, and leaning against the back of another bus, being treated for superficial wounds.
As a paramedic for nine years in New Orleans, I'd witnessed this scenario, oh so many times before; law-abiding, innocents...broken...sometimes dead, and the drunks responsible, left largely unscathed.
I paused...but for a few seconds, then strode, calmly, and without haste, towards the perp. The attending officer was involved in his (seemingly), endless report of the incident, and the attending E.M.T. was reaching for another gauze, when I punched the sonofabitch, dead in the face.
I broke his nose.
He was lucky, as was I, in retrospect. My first impulse was to retrieve the .357 I keep under the seat of my vehicle.
It was a stupid, impulsive act, I know, but yet, I don't regret it.
Wes is progressing in his recovery, albeit slowly. His utmost concern is that he knows he won't be able to enlist in the U.S.M.C. on his birthday, 11 July.
As for me, I'm most grateful he's still here with me.
posted by Lil Toni at 12:18 AM
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