my memoir

December 15, 2010
By jon13 BRONZE, Waterboro, Maine
jon13 BRONZE, Waterboro, Maine
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
live every day like your last

“Ring, ring, ring.” the phone was ringing in the little house my mom was staying in.

“hello?” I heard my mom say. There was a silence then “is he ok?” her voice was a little shaky and that was when I knew something was wrong.

“What’s wrong mom?” asked my sister, I guess she noticed too. She didn’t answer so my sister and I went back to playing yahtzee. Then, about ten minutes later, my grandparents pulled up into my driveway. In about five minutes I was at my grandparents house.

“What is going on?” I asked

“Well, we are going to go to the hospital.” answered my grandmother.

Then, my sister asked, “why, who is hurt?”

After she asked that my grandmother’s eyes started to water, and my sister and I were starting to get scared, “it’s your dad, he was working at a job, and they were cutting down a tree, with buddy in the excavator, when he got through the tree,” she paused, then continued saying,”it fell towards the wrong way then came back and fell on him.”

That when my sister and I realized that my father might die, that we might not ever see him again, then we started to cry. I mean who could blame us, we weren't all that old and the thought of never seeing one of your parents again is just too much, no matter your age.

In about an hour and a half we were at the hospital. We left a while after my sister and I stopped crying, for me it was just because I realized crying wasn't helping at all. I don’t know why my sister stopped, maybe she ran out of tears. So any way we are in the hospital walking toward the waiting room, we couldn’t go to the room he would be placed in because he required immediate surgery and he was having that surgery.

My dad had quite an extensive list of immediate injuries; broken leg with the bone protruding through the skin (both bones), 7 broken ribs, three in the front and four in the back, right collar bone, and I think that is it.

“The family of Scott Ohman,” started the intercom “you may go to the room he has in the intensive care wing.” So we all got up, my grandmother, my sister, my mom(who we met up with in the waiting room,) and I to head down to the room.

“Everyone brace yourself, he probably won’t be awake, and if he is he will probably be very tired so don’t ask too many questions.”

“okay mom.” replied my sister and I simultaneously. Then we were at the room. My mom was right, he was sleeping. At least we wouldn't be able to hear how bad his voice was, and he wasn’t snoring, which was weird. He always snored, and loud too. But my sister and I were in third (me) and fourth (her) grades, and we were just starting to understand things in the world instead of just letting them go by. So seeing a bunch of tubes protruding from his arm made me look twice. I mean seeing him like that, I was scared.

A couple days later we were eating supper in the cafeteria, with about five more people who showed up to see my dad, when we actually see him being pushed around in a wheelchair, the iv cart behind him. He was coming to see us two days after the worst accident of his life. He is a very stubborn person and that is one of the things I like most about him.

“Hi everyone,”i was surprised to see how bad his voice sounded, it was dry and croaky, in comparison to the sound it usually is; deep and strong. “Thanks for coming to see me on this fine Saturday morning.” At least he still held that sense of wise guy humor he possessed. There was a chorus of shaky greetings from the table we were at. We were happy to see him up and moving, but it might not have been the most wise choice he could have made.

“How do you feel?”asked my mom, and there was a few mumbled voices as they asked the same thing.

“Like a million bucks!” said my dad, the sarcasm all too evident in his voice. Then he continued in a more serious tone, “I should be sleeping, but this nice young lady let me come and see you.” indicating the woman next to him. But she was far from young-my dad is a very flattering type- and she didn’t look too nice, she had a scowl glued to her face, probably because my dad made her let him come down and see us.

“Well you should go back up to your room,” said my mom “we will be there in a few minutes after we finish supper.”

“Nonsense!” my father sounded set on his decision. “I am getting cabin fever up there and I need some fresh air.” he said as the nurse pushed him out the door, scowling even deeper.

“Well at least he is still acting like his old self.” my grandmother stated.

A round two weeks later we were driving to maine medical center. My dad was leaving the hospital that day. We went up to his room and were surprised to see that he was still sleeping. It was early in the morning and we decided to head down to the cafe`. We all decided to get bagels and cream cheese. The staff in the hospital is very personable, and the food is pretty good but my dad wanted to get home. He wouldn’t have stayed in the hospital any longer, being stubborn the way he is. That is why I was surprised to see him still sleeping. When we got back up to the room he said, “mornin.”

There was a mumble of hellos. My dad waved the small talk off with a wave of his hand and said, “no time for small talk, I’m getting the heck out of here.” we all agreed, time was of the essence, my mom had to go to work, and we had to go to school for the rest of the day. We were getting the few belongings my dad had with him (flowers, stuffed animals, toothbrush, and all of the things he had with him on the day of the accident; a pocket knife, wallet, and phone.) all squared away when the nurse came in to say good bye to him. She got side tracked when the guy my dad was sharing a room with asked her a question. Briefly, I thought she would ignore him, but she answered him.

It gave my family a few minutes to converse amongst ourselves. My dad asking how the house was, and checking in on the dogs and the cats, a chorus of answers to him, then questions like, how were the past two weeks? And did you usually use crutches or a wheelchair most of the time?

When finally the nurse was done with the other patient, she walked over to my family and asked, “are we all ready to leave?” in a rather cheery tone, maybe she was sick of my dad and couldn't wait for him to leave, but I can’t believe that would happen.

Then my dad answered,” I guess so, my family helped me get all of my belongings, and they have a car waiting.” maybe he and the nurse both wanted my dad, judging by his tone.

By the time we got home, my dad was getting tired, I could tell because he wasn't answering the questions we were pelting him with so hastily as he was when he got. In the car. Later on in the evening, when we got home from school my dad was starting to doze off. My mom and my sister and I stayed there that night.

In the morning when we went to school, my dad was sleeping still, and he never sleeps that late. He was in his chair when we got home too. We decided not to wake him. “At least we knew he got up at least once today,” I said to my sister as we walked through the door, motioning towards the soup bowl and girdle, probably from making grilled cheese sandwiches with his soup. And he had been watching tv too. This went over the course of a week or two. My mom decided to go back to her little house, my sister and I spent half of the tim there and half of the time at my dads. Then my dad got worse, his leg started to throb, he got a fever and his skin started to get crabby.
Eventually the visiting nurse was finally able to place what it was. It was a severe staff infection in his leg. The antibiotics he was taking had not treated his leg and the infection started. When they found out what kind of staff it was -merca- they decided which medicine to give him to treat in. The meds only made it worse. His white blood cells started dying left and right. He was down to about 15 white blood cells in his whole body, thousands less than there is supposed to be. Some of the doctors and nurses didn’t think he would make it. Then, miraculously he started to recover. It was slow at first, but my dad had always beet a fighter. He wasn’t ready to leave yet so he wasn't gonna. And thats the way it was. Eventually he was back to normal, almost, his bones still had to heal and he was going to the hospital a few weeks later to get the metal plate out of his leg. But the scars, mental, and physical, from that near death experience are still with him today.

The author's comments:
this is a memoir of when a tree fell on my dad.

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