Once the EMTs had me situated in the family room, they took off. I called Van to tell him what happened, assured him I was fine, and I insisted he come over much later. He was there in a half-hour, with Kasey and his bags. He made sure I was okay and began to berate himself for leaving and for locking the door. I assured him that nothing was his fault. He began to sweep up all the broken glass. The window, which I thought was nine different panes on the door, was actually one big piece with two glass panes and gas between. It was tempered glass so it came out in little pellets. What a mess. It took Van over an hour to sweep. In the meantime, Kurt was at his tailgate party and football game, oblivious of what was happening. Van picked up hoagies for dinner, and I went to bed early. I got up at five so he could be here when I came downstairs.
In the hospital, they continued to treat my husband and kept him on a liquid diet. He was no longer in such excruciating pain, so he just had antibiotics. Kurt took him on as his responsibility. He wasn’t getting discharged, though. I worried to the point of near tears. We could only talk on the phone. My prayers were non-stop.
My daughter [made-up name: Mandy] and her youngest arrived on Monday to stay with me. Her doctor husband kept assuring both of us that things were okay. Mandy got pizza for dinner and we played with the little one. She helped me up the stairs, and I got through another night. Mandy and the little guy stayed for most of the day, and then Van and Kasey came back. The window replacement came and was installed. My neighbor had brought over some BBQ chicken and burgers, so we made that with some salads for dinner. Early bed again, and 5:00 wake-up. I was really exhausted, and I didn’t feel like going downstairs that early, so I told Van I was fine. I went back to bed with my cell phone and landline next to me. By 8:30, I felt rested and started to get out of bed. First, I knocked my cell phone to the floor, then I lost my balance and fell back on the bed. I couldn’t pull myself up. I couldn’t reach either phone. I panicked. I began screaming for help, hoping someone outside would hear me. They didn’t. My phones kept ringing, but I couldn’t answer them. Finally, at 11:15, I heard voices at the back door. Next, two teenage girls came up. They lived down the street, and they were there because: when my son couldn’t get through to me, he remembered that a neighbor had her phone number on Facebook. He called her, she called her daughters who were off from school for Yom Kippur, they found me, and they called 911. Two and a half hours of utter fear!
Once again, the EMTs had to help me up. They even carried me down the stairs in the lightweight wheelchair. The police officer sat down to have a talk with me.
To be continued…