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Sunday, February 24, 2013

Blood on My Favorite Blouse - 02/06/13

Notebook/TRS - 02/06/13

This morning I woke up feeling refreshed and clear-headed, so I went out to do errands.  There were just a few stops to make, and as I was drove back home, I stopped at SteinMart which is on the way.

I needed essentials, like panties and bras, and I squatted down to look at panties.  After struggling to find my size, I chose several items, balanced myself on my right hand and stood up.  About two thirds of the way to a standing position, I lost my balance and fell into a rack of unmentionables.

I cried for help.  Store employees came quickly and disentangled the hangers caught in my hair.  I felt blood running down the back of my neck under my blouse, reached back to feel a large gash, then there was more blood running down the front of my blouse and sleeves.  My favorite blouse was soaked with blood stains.  The employees at SteinMart were well prepared and one of the women went for an ice pack while the other stayed with me and encouraged and soothed me as I lay on the floor, bleeding and shaking a little. 

I had one of the women fetch my phone from my purse, and I called my stepson, Robert.  He arrived quickly and sat me up.  With the ice pack in place, I got to my feet and left for Urgent Care.  I was holding the ice pack in place, but blood continued to ooze onto my neck.

It is not far from SteinMart to the urgent care facility, and we were there in about 10 minutes.  I presented myself at the desk and a clerk told to sit down.  Ever cooperative, I took a seat, bloody blouse and all.  When a another clerk called my name, I presented myself at her station, where she greeted me with, “Oh my goodness!  You should have been seen before now!”

Once in am examination room, Dr. Patel, a lovely man, came to have a look.  The cut was still oozing blood, and he had to clip a little of my hair to get to the gash.  It was about an inch and a half long and penetrated my scalp, exposing my skull.  Robert even took a picture of it.  Dr. Patel was quick to put five stitches in my scalp, and then he ordered me to go downtown to the emergency center and have a CT scan of my brain.
So, we got back into Robert’s Mini Cooper and drove downtown to the emergency center.  I was covered with blood and was quickly ushered into triage.  The nurse there examined the wound, took my vitals and said for me to have a seat and they would call me in a little while.

The first hour wasn’t so bad. The waiting room was about 80% full and it was cold.  I tried to get Robert to go home and let me call him when I finished.  He refused.

So, through hours two, three, and four, we sat and waited.  I ate junk food from snack machines and drank water.  When I used the bathroom, there was no hook for my purse.  Of all the places in the world that need hooks for belongings, hospital restrooms should be at the top of the list.  I returned to my seat and left my bag with Robert before returning to the restroom.

Thirty minutes later, at midnight, my injury was 6-1/2 hours old so we left for home. 

I was unable to sleep, but finally drifted away about 5:00 AM.  The back of my head was sore, but I didn’t have a headache.

© 2013 cj schlottman

Thursday, February 7, 2013

A Visit From P - 02/07/13

Yesterday, with the help of some Tide and Biz, I cleaned all the blood from of my blouse.  It is practically sparkling!  It’s amazing what will make one happy while in the throes of one crisis after another.  In the middle of all the shit in my life right now, my first thought was of my bloody blouse.

A few hours later while I was in the den writing, the back door bell rang.  It never occurred to me that it would be Parrish, but when I walked into the kitchen, there he stood on the other side of the door.  If my door had not been locked, he would have walked inside, forgetting that to do so guaranteed a trip back to jail.

I stepped out onto the breezeway and asked what he wanted.  He said he came to fetch his duffle bag that was left behind the last time he was arrested.  He pitched for me to wash his clothes and drive him back to the house where he is living.

I refused to drive him home.  Instead, I directed him to the bus stop around the corner.

Claiming he was too tired to carry his bag, he asked to pick it up tomorrow, a thinly veiled attempt to get permission to come back.  No manner of insistence on my part could make him take the damned bag.  I finally told him he could pick it up tomorrow, but he was not to ring my bell.  I said I would leave it outside the closed garage door.

So there it sat, in my breezeway.  I lugged it inside, washed its contents, and placed it outside the garage door. 

About Parrish’s living arrangements, he moved into the house with one of his inmate friends.  Really, he did that. Not knowing whether he were walking into an opium den or a meth lab or worse, he blindly rented a room he had never seen.  I have not yet seen it 
Parrish’s judgement is more compromised than it was a few days ago, and every day that passes without medicine, he is more manic and inappropriate.  He is spending money on things he doesn’t need, like Starbuck’s and clothing.  He is more likely to drink and drug

© 2013 cj schlottman