The Mourning Mail (final release candidate #7)

Chapter 36

A paramedic kneeled beside me and flashed a small penlight into each eye as he asked me where I hurt. "I think I sprained my left wrist, and my side and left hip hurt, and I hit my head on something," I said.

As the firefighters worked the jaws of life to free the Uber driver less than fifty feet from us, the street resonated with the squealing of the hydraulics. I worried for Antara, angered that our assailants treated him as nothing more than an inconsequential sacrifice in their attempt on my life. I hoped Antara would come out of this without suffering more than he already had, and I was concerned for his family. "Is the driver going to be alright?" I asked, raising my voice over the noise of the extraction machinery, which seemed to amp up the pressure in my aching head.

"It's too soon to tell," the paramedic replied. "Once they have him out of the vehicle, we'll know more."

The paramedic took my right wrist to get my pulse and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my upper right arm. "Do you have a headache? How many fingers do you see? Are you dizzy or feeling faint? Are you on any medications, like blood thinners or anything for your heart? Do you have a pacemaker, or have you had stents implanted?"

After gathering my answers and vital signs, he asked, "Were you wearing a seatbelt?"

"I was," I said, "but I had just unfastened it so I could get to my cell phone right before the accident."

"I am as big a proponent of wearing seatbelts as there is," the paramedic said. "We see too many bad things happen when people don't wear them...."

"But...," I protested.

"... but in this case, not having one on probably saved your life," he continued. "I understand a big truck hit you dead-center where you sat."

"I think so," I said, remembering the enormous shadow before the collision.

"That the Prius wasn't moving forward and your body was free to move sideways likely helped mitigate some of the energy in the impact."

"So, it's good I was unfastened, then...," I said.

"But don't tell anyone you heard that from me," he said as he smiled gently. "Always keep your seatbelt on."

"You've suffered a concussion and need to go to the hospital. The doctors will need to check you for internal bleeding or injuries."

"I can't...," I started.

"Concussions are tricky. They mess with your judgment – football players end up with CTE because they think they can go right back into games after suffering one. It's not worth taking the chance. I've applied butterfly bandages to your head wound. But you'll need further attention to manage any scarring; someone should look at that wrist. Is there a hospital you'd prefer we take you to?"

"Look, I appreciate everything you've done, but I can't go to the hospital," I said, not wanting to be separated from my purse or have anyone looking through it. "I want to see my regular doctor; she'll provide me with whatever treatment I need."

"Your concussion wasn't trivial, from what I can tell. You cannot drive or operate any equipment that has the potential to harm you or anyone else."

"I understand—I'll be good," I said.

"I can't give you anything for your headache. You can't take anything yourself because those medicines can increase internal bleeding. They can also mask symptoms of other serious conditions. You can't engage in any strenuous or stressful activity, and you need another adult around you for the next 72 hours, with no exceptions."

"OK, I'll call a friend," I said, thinking of Cathy.

"I can't emphasize this enough—you need to go to the hospital and get yourself fully checked out—there's only so much I can do here. Please."