Remember Meredith, errr I mean Jade? The doctor to the rescue with the pony tail holder and swift moves to get my hair up in a knot? I love her. Andrea is on the side of the road with her dad. She's okay and is going to meet you at the hospital.
Is she really okay? Are you lying to me? I haven't seen her since I was in the car. I want her to ride with me.
You are really injured and Andrea can't come in the ambulance. She is with her dad and needs to get really checked out, so she can't come. Do you want me to tell her something? Will that be okay?
I want her to be okay. Tell her I'm okay. Tell her I want to give her a hug but I can't, so I will as soon as I see her.
Okay, I'll make sure she knows. Now can we take care of you? I would like to give you morphine but need your vitals first.
I don't know if Andrea was ever told what I said. I hope so because I can only imagine what she was going through. I don't know if I could handle watching my friend be cut out of a car. I can only imagine the emotions she is going through and want her to be okay too.
Hello Morphine! Jade (aka Meredith) thought I was quite the comedian. It was all a blur once we actually got in the ambulance. I believe they stabilized me, have me two gargantuan IVs and the told me what was next. The streets of Seattle were not made for ambulance rides, especially those involving what I was now learning was assumed to be a broken femur and something else with a big word to my knee. Patrick and Meredith were going to take care of me. No, his name really was Patrick (unfortunately, not Dempsey)
As we turned up James, they warned me I could get uncomfortable. Lots of steep hills, lights and people who cross against the lights. Be patient and hold on! Hello Morphine, are you there?
Sadly, Mr. morphine wasn't quite doing the job. As we got closer to Harborview, the driver was on the speaker yelling at cars and people to get out of the way. I offered to get on and yell, as my cries of a broken leg might work. I am apparently a budding comedian, even when in excruciating pain. I believe my favorite part about the ride was the very last 10 seconds when a regular car was parked in the ambulance entrance to the ER and when my driver yelled at them, saying cars weren't allowed there, they responded with, but I wasn't sure where to park. Her response? I don't give a shit where you park, but it better not be right there, now move, cause I got a girl with a broken leg who might kill you! On. The. Speakerphone. Amazeballs.
The ER at Harborview is exactly like tv, exactly. I think 150 (okay, 10) people surrounded me, each with a different job. Check my eyes, remove my shirt. Check my ears, straighten my leg, X-ray this, X-ray that. Remove this. Do something with my one shoe. Ask my middle name. Ask my mom's middle name, ask my dad's first name, what's your date of birth? What's your date of birth? What's your date of birth? Can I see your bracelet? What's your date of birth? I passed with flying colors. I swear, even in pain, I was more coherent than 90% of people normally. I literally didn't care what they did to me. There were so many people and I just felt like. I was going to be okay, at Seattle Grace Memorial Hospital. They switched me to Dilaudid. Happy times.
At some point in the 700 questions, pokes, X-rays, etc; my mom walked in and I don't remember anything except she was on the phone with my brother. I don't remember our conversation, I just remember I had my mom. I think it is the only part of the day, I have no memory of, because all I could do was breath with her. I don't understand why I don't remember that part. I feel like this was my mom's worst nightmare and I was responsible for it. But I was okay. All a blur but I realized Lisa was there too. She had come to be at the hospital with my mom. Wow. Just wow. Speechless.
Me, being me, went into work mode with Lisa. I think it actually saved me from everything else that was going on. I needed something I could control because that last hour plus of my day, was so out of control. Seems crazy to be concerned with work, but I love what I do, care about everyone I work with and love (some of) my clients, who I would also call friends. Again, I don't remember much of the content of the conversation, but I felt relief in saying what I needed to, in order to let go.
The next couple of hours were a lot of waiting, hurrying and waiting.
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