Crash

"Sarah, I got in an accident. A bad one," Scott garbled into the phone.

My initial reaction wasn't worry, after all we've been through this before. And the last time he said he wasn't okay, he really was.

The other end of the line became muffled and I heard a man shout, "Sir, don't get up!" The same voice became clearer in the phone," Ma'am, we're in front of City Hall. You need to come down here."

I slipped on my discarded work heels and ran out the door. Thankfully, City Hall is about 1.2 miles away. It's the way you would go if you were picking up sandwiches for dinner, like Scott was. I pulled out of our building and praised myself for transferring the first aid kit to the new car and storing it in the glove box. I tapped my heel impatiently at lights and made a right turn to approach City Hall from the opposite side.

As soon as I turned on the main road, I felt foolish for thinking about my first aid kit. In the distance I saw two fire trucks, an ambulance, four police officers on motorcycle and one squad car. We were fortunate that the police station is inside City Hall. I pulled up and parked behind a firetruck and left my car running in the middle of the road. I got out and ran to the intersection in my work heels, which results in a prissy trot, but I didn't care.

Scott's shoes were scattered in the intersection; it was obvious they had flown off his feet. His sunglasses lay with a missing lens in between the two shoes. Next to the sunglasses, Scott's clothes lay in a bloody pile where they had been cut off by the paramedics. Five feet to right was a dark, wet stain on the street, several feet in width. Scott himself was strapped to a gurney being loaded in the ambulance. The neck brace inhibited him from seeing my arrival and the back board looked uncomfortable.

"Are you his wife?" asked a fireman.

"Yes." Now was not the time to argue semantics.

The firemen and policemen surrounded me asking for his information. I shook as I listed our address, his birth date, medical allergies, if any. I nervously looked over to the side of the road where two men in plain clothes picked up his motorcycle and moved it to the side of the road. The front end of the bike is gone. They were picking up the side mirrors off the road.

I ignored the firemen and the paramedics. "Scott, are you okay? I'm here!"

He stared straight ahead, not acknowledging me, his eyes glassing over. "Scott, I'm here. Can you hear me?"

He nodded slightly and they slid the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.

I looked back to the fireman, letting the worry and the panic wash over me. "What happened!?" I choked.

"We don't know; we're investigating the scene now. But it looked like the car made a left-hand turn in front of him."

A woman paramedic reached her hand down to me from the back of the ambulance. "Come you should ride with us," she gestured.

I looked down. Scott's things were still scattered along the intersection. "He doesn't have his shoes. He needs shoes," I mumbled as I picked up every broken object of his off the road, including the torn, blood soaked shirt.

"Ma'am, come with us, please," she gestured again.

"No... I drove here. My car is in the middle of the road," I stammered.

"Well, park your car and ride with us."

"No... I need it. I'll just follow you to the emergency room."

By this time, I was shaking so badly that Scott's belongings were falling out of my arms. They wanted to inspect me and make sure I was okay, but I declined. Scott was the one that needed help.

"Ma'am, you can't drive in this condition," a fireman warned. Police officers began to crowd around me out of concern. I stepped back.

"I'm going to follow," I said firmly, trying to regain control of myself.

"Okay, but don't run any lights," she warned.

At the hospital they ushered me through triage and placed me in the family room. A pastor came and introduced himself to me. The last time I went to the ER with Scott, I was able to sit in the room with him, but this time things were different. They collected my ID and wouldn't give it back to me. They sent a pastor. They said he was in Trauma 1. Trauma.

"Why can't I see him?"

"He's awake and asking for you."

***

I'll get to the rest of the details later, but please keep Scott in your prayers. He is home, but things are bad. Because he's a chef, he was fired this morning because he couldn't go to work and use his hands. Furthermore, his last job is refusing to pay over two weeks of pay they owe him. He has no medical insurance. His motorcycle is totaled and he now has no mode of transportation. The details are still fuzzy about the accident, but they are faulting him, making him financially responsible for both parties. He's pissing blood and may need surgery for a punctured bladder.

This isn't something I would normally do, but I can't see a way out of this. How do you believe in good when you do all the right things, like work out your two weeks notice, only to have his employers refuse to pay him. We are taking all the necessary legal avenues, like filing complaints with the department of labor, and filing a claim in small claims court, but it could be months before we see any money, if any. I'm still getting my pay sorted out at the new job, which means I'm in the middle of a 6-week pay freeze. We have no money coming in. I am officially in over my head. It's a full-blown emergency.

I came home from the drug store this morning with $30 in three things: an arm sling, gauze, and neosporin. Scott's refusing to use them and wants me to take them back to save on the money. I am ashamed of myself for making him think that money is more important than getting better and I was able to talk him into using the items.

This is a long-winded way for me to say I am asking for donations. I don't know if I am breaking some blog code by putting up a donation button: if I have offended you, I am sorry and please forgive me. I do not expect anyone to give, but anything would be largely appreciated. He's refusing a follow-up appointment at the free clinic because he doesn't want to pay the $35. I think he needs to go.

I'll write more later. Thank you, blog world, for listening.