FAMILY | MENTAL HEALTH

A Mental Health Crisis, a Shot in the Eye, the Swine Flu, and a New Jaguar All in One Day

Making sense out of a Mom’s insanity.

It was 24 hours of heart-racing hell.

I thought the entire year, of 2018, was rough for me.

Actually, it was horrible.

Looking back, I had gained custody of my grandson, divorced, spent 10 hours with the FBI, and was asked to donate my kidney.

I wondered how I survived and eluded my own mental breakdown.

And then it hit me.

My preparation to survive 2018 came in 2009 when a series of tragedies were condensed in 24 hours.

It started out as a regular day for us. Our family of 5 did the morning hustle and bustle as we readied for work and school.

My husband at the time was excited to purchase his dream car that day. Other than that, all seemed run-of-the-mill.

The Opening to the Gates of Hell

The junior high school called around 11 a.m. My middle child was having a difficult time with her mental health.

A personality disorder collides with Asperger’s Syndrome with no warning.

I needed to get her to her psychiatrist for an emergency crisis visit.

She was darker than dark and quite agitated. We managed to get to the city and into her doctor's office.

After an hour, she was at least calmer.

Mental upheavals come with physical exhaustion. We quietly walked to the elevator, energies depleted.

My cell phone rang. It was the school.

Cell reception in an elevator is tricky. All I heard was that my oldest daughter had suffered a serious eye injury. She was transported to the hospital.

Can I meet them there?

What?

Shot in the eye in sewing class?

It would be an understatement to say I wanted to throw up, run, and ask a million questions.

I stifled my reaction because I was standing next to a daughter who was finally somewhat calm. My mind raced with horrific images.

Sewing class, a needle, what the hell was going on with my daughter?

Would she lose her eye or was she blind?

I needed to maintain a calm exterior, or there would be a resurgence of extreme anxiety standing next to me. I turned to my daughter and looked at her worried eyes.

All I could muster to the school nurse was that I would be right there, though I was coming from the city so, it would take a bit.

My daughter had questions that were non-stop on the drive. The school nurse called back to instruct me that we had to meet at a different hospital.

They were taking her to a premiere Eye Trauma Center.

This is bad.

Everything I know is awful and there is so much I don’t know.

The hospital was located in a crime-ridden area. It was continually in the news for gun violence. There was no hiding this fact from my daughter.

Her voice became a high-pitched panic, and she rapid-fired more questions about our impending death while driving through there.

I went into an eerily calm land.

We will be fine. No one will shoot us. We need to support your sister. Let’s make sure the doctors are fixing her eye. It’s our job to be strong for her, okay?

Dear God, please let me breathe. I want out.

What if we do get shot?

The Middle of the Flames from Hell

We walked into a bustling Emergency Room. Naturally, everyone was masked due to the Swine Flu. Communications and restrictions were not as available back then.

I had no idea why we were stopped from gaining access to my injured child.

The Nurse firmly stated that only one person can go back to see her. My middle daughter would have to wait there in the waiting room.

I looked around at the room full of sick strangers.

Yeah. No. Not a chance.

My daughter fidgeted and neared the brink of eruption. She was getting loud and wanted to know where her sister was.

Her emotions and fears took the forefront once again.

I politely demanded, through clenched teeth, that we get approved by a higher authority so we can stay together.

I spouted out the mental crisis, the hospital we just came from, and her doctor’s name, rank, and serial number.

If I knew the doc’s social security number, I would have freely offered that, too. My bulging eyes begged for admittance to the back.

They double-masked us, and gave us gloves, with paper gowns to put on over our clothes.

The high school nurse met us in the hallway and quickly explained that, no, my daughter wasn’t struck by a sewing needle.

She had been shot in the eye with a boomeranged paper clip. The bully finally won. He had finally gotten her, right in an unsuspecting and opened eye.

Where the hell were we?

What is happening to my kids?

Somehow I am in charge of these situations, and nothing is actually in my control.

Spiraling.

Keeping it together?

I will be strong. I have to be because I am a grown-up.

I called my husband.

It’s bad, I said.

He explained that he couldn’t leave the car dealership because his paperwork wasn’t done yet.

Sigh.

My daughter and I consoled and comforted my oldest who was sobbing. The hospital was beyond maximum capacity and she lay on a gurney against the wall of a long, narrow hallway.

Her impassioned pleas were filled with, “There was so much blood, and I can’t see. I fell to the floor. The substitute teacher didn’t believe me right away. I am blind.”

“Help me, I just know I’m blind.”

My instructions included taking her the following day to the specialist at Wills Eye Hospital. They were clear about the need to sandbag her head, upright in bed, and she was not to move unless absolutely necessary in the interim.

She could go to doctor appointments and the bathroom only. Eye drops were to be dispensed every 3 hours.

There were also ointments, salves, and pain meds to administer.

Once home, both daughters were settled. My oldest was propped up in her darkened room, and my middle took to her bed, emotionally and physically drained.

My husband arrived home in his new car. I brought him up to speed and said I would look at his new car later. I just didn’t have it in me.

The End of the Hell (Psych, just kidding)

After a night of administering meds every 3 hours, I was running on fumes.

My youngest went off to school. He was still in elementary school and, it was only a few blocks away. I anticipated a day of jammies for all 3 of us girls and taking the day to recoup our energy.

My husband took my car for the day and left his new car in the garage. I had zero plans of budging and still hadn’t seen it, yet.

Hell had a different plan and called me back.

The elementary school called in the early morning. My son had run into a jagged and exposed pipe outside the school.

He couldn’t walk without assistance and had lost a chunk of his leg.

Could I get him to the hospital?

Dear God.

Really?

I checked on my oldest, told her a neighbor was there to help if needed, and got my middle daughter up and ready. In my calmest voice, I explained to her that her brother needed our help now.

We walked quickly to the garage.

I called my husband to tell him what had happened to our son. I opened the garage and stared at his new car.

My daughter and I slid in. I didn’t know what to do.

I had never seen a keyless start.

The tears of helplessness filled my eyes. I immediately hid them in my sweatshirt sleeves.

My daughter knew what to do and walked me through the basic easy steps.

My husband assured me he would meet us at the school and wait there with our son.

He didn’t want blood in his new car.

As God is my witness, he made it to us in record time.

I hugged my son and assured him he would be okay. I silently questioned how they would stitch up what look like a wine-cork-sized hole missing from his lower leg.

He was tough and didn’t cry which made it easier to say what I had to say.

I looked at my husband and said, “You’re up. I am done.”

He reminded me to be careful driving his new car back home. After all, it was his baby, this new Jag. He took our son to the ER, in my suitable SUV, where blood would be acceptable.

24 hours of heart-racing hell.

It was simply a pretest for things that would come my way in the future.

Glad I passed.

Ready to join Medium and have unlimited access to thousands of stories? It’s just $5/month or you can save and sign up for $50/year by clicking on my link below. Thank you for your support!

Connect with me and say hello!

Substack | Simily | Click Below for Amazon Kindle Vella Anthologies:

Nonfiction Inspirational | Thrills and Chills Fiction | Mental Health