That
felt extremely good! There it goes, the baseball I just hit! Up, up,
soaring toward the fence, and over it! My twenty fourth, an even two
dozen, home runs for my team.
Carlos
had just hit a single to mid field and he took off from first with a
burst around the bases and home by the time I loped past second. At
our dugout, there was the usual pats on the back and the knocks on
the helmet, with big grins. I had just led our team to win at the end
of the game. The opposition will just go home.
May
career in the major baseball league began some twenty years ago. I
was about nine years old and obsessed with baseball. I knew that I
would someday play in the major league. Up until graduation, having
spent my entire twelve years at the same school, always playing first
base on our team. Our school team competed with seven other teams in
our small league.
College
came first but I still had a team to play in. At that time, I started
to search for a farm team to join, so that I could move on. The
league was classified as Triple A and we knew there were scouts in
the crowd most of the time. One such scout approached me after a
game, (that we won), saying that he would like to get to know me and
introduce me to a major league team after graduation from Nait
College. He continued to follow our team, observing my efforts and
keeping in touch.
College
over and I had established an agreement with the Jay’s farm
team and it looked like I would soon make it.
Now,
this year with fifty-three games under my belt with the birds, I am
happy and rich. Actually, I am rich enough to buy an expensive SUV.
With
a Lincoln Nautilus gliding under me along the two-lane Lakeshore
Highway to my girl friends’ home in Mississauga, I was texting
her to brag about my new wheels.
I
heard a noise, looked up and I saw the grill of a huge semi bearing
down on me.
The
Lincoln tried to push the semi’s grill in but was unsuccessful.
Two feet of the driver’s side was stripped away. The truck
careened off the SUV and skidded across the lane, quickly slid down
to the ditch and overturned with the wheels spinning in the air.
Suddenly,
it was deadly quiet. A vehicle from the east slid its tires to the
pavement with a screech. A man erupted and he ran toward the truck.
He slipped down to the drivers’ side what was left of it and
discovered the drive hanging upside down in his safety belt. Bending
down to the ground to get a better view, he saw that the driver was
also bleeding.
“Can
you hear me?” No answer. Then he heard a mumble and the man
pointed to the strap and obviously he needed help to remove it and
take him out of the truck.
The
rescuer tried to reach in but there was no way he would be able to
reach the release.
How
am I going to get him out of the belt, lift him out and hopefully get
him to safety.
“I
don’t have anything to cut the plastic strap but I have a
lighter and carefully, I could burn a hole in it,” he asked
more than said.
The
trucker, acknowledged that he was willing.
Reaching
in as far as he could, the attempt to burn the strap was placed as
far as possible from the man inside. And when it broke and the man
dropped onto his shoulders and screamed. He was obviously in great
pain.
They
clasped hands and with a supreme effort, the rescuer managed to get
the driver out on to the ground.
“The
safety strap is still burning but, I’m going to get you up to
the highway and call 911.”
The
truck driver was barely able to start to crawl up the ridge. At this
point, the ditch was quite deep in the hollow next to the road.
He
called 911 and he described where they were and what he was doing.
Both men struggled an inch at a time. It was taking a long time. The
able-bodied man looked back and the tractor was in flames.
“We
have to hurry because the truck is on fire. I know, it hurts but we
are in real trouble if we don’t get far enough before your fuel
tanks explode.” He pulled as hard as he could with the driver
who did his best and both of them were almost to the edge of the
road. Then one of the fuel tanks blew. They both felt the force of
the explosion and shielded themselves from the flying debris.
Other
travelers had stopped and another man helped get the injured person
about a hundred feet away from the fire. Three of them carried him
into the opposing ditch and checked to see where he was bleeding and
stop it if possible.
The
explosion took affect in the surrounding area. The noise-reducing
fence on the north side of the highway was spread out leaving only
two poles standing of the four that sustained damage. To top it off,
the Windstar van belonging to the first person on the scene was lying
on its side on the east bound lane.
Paramedics
had arrived and were assessing the truck driver. “What is your
name?”
“George
Blenkin.”
“Do
you know where you are?”
“In
the ditch on the south side of the Lakeshore Highway.?”
“More
precise, please.”
“About
three kilometres east of Port Credit.”
“Excellent,
let’s check your vitals and we’ll take you to the
hospital right away,” the female EMT stated.
Another
EMT van was parked close to what was left of the Lincoln Nautilus.
Fire and Rescue from Clarkson was on hand and was now attempting to
extricate the driver from the vehicle. A machine took a grip on the
door and peeled it open. The driver was in a position to allow the
paramedical to find out how bad he was hurt. There was blood
practically all over his head and face, but he was conscious. His
left arm seemed to be at the wrong angle and his left foot was jammed
under the badly damaged controls. Once they were able to release him
from the vehicle, they put him on the stretcher and with the siren
blaring, they began the trip to Port Credit.
The
Police ordered the lookers to leave and go to wherever they had been
going until they arrived at the crash site. Tape surrounded a large
area and the highway was closed. A careful inspection started to
develop how it all happened that would appear in a report.
They
were left to set up cameras and measuring tape.
Someone
just said something about death. It seemed like a female voice. What
am I doing here?
I
opened one eye and it didn’t help register where I was. Two
eyes open told me that I was in bed, covered up and had something
stuck in my nose. This is very confusing. I tried to move, but it
seemed my limbs wouldn’t work well. And I realized that I had
pain virtually all over my body.
A
face appeared in front of me, and I heard her say, “Well,
things are looking up, you have awakened and that’s a good
sign.”
“Where
am I?
“You
are in Pasqua Hospital in Mississauga after a terrible accident on
the Lakeshore highway. You have been unconscious for three days.”
“Wha---
accident? Am I injured? What’s this thing in my nose?”
The
nurse replied, “We are feeding you oxygen because your body is
weakened and can’t produce sufficient to allow you to feel
well. In answer to your question about the accident, you were driving
a Lincoln which collided head on with a large semi-trailer tractor.
“I
looked at her and remembered something. A Lincoln. Oh, I recall
buying it and then, it’s fuzzy, I can’t remember.”
“It’s
not unusual, you have experienced a very traumatic episode.”
“My
arm is in a cast, obviously, it is broken?”
“That
and three ribs are not in good condition, there are stitches on the
left jaw. You will have to go to a dentist and likely he will replace
your own broken ones with the type that are permanent. They actually
screw them into your jaw bone and when they heal, they will ne very
much like normal,” she put one finger in her mouth and drew her
lips back to demonstrate.
I
just laid there and looked at her. “I just saw the front end of
a huge semi!”
“Did
I collide with a truck?”, I asked with trepidation.
The
nurse hesitated, “I’m not sure, you will have to ask the
police when they show up.”
“The
Police, what for?”
“You
know, they have to investigate what happened on the highway and,
sorry but they will want to hear it from you.”
A
loud siren blew in the hallway, at least that’s what it sounded
like.
The
nurse hurried out the door and left me by myself.
“Broken
arm, broken ribs and broken teeth. I am not in very good condition,”
so I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.I awakened and discovered
that it was dinner time and I could smell the food as it was being
transported to each patient. Indeed, I was aware that I was very
hungry.
A
few minutes later, a woman came in with tray and most of it was
covered with a metal globe. She asked where I wanted the food and was
I able to sit up?
“I’m
damned if I do,” and started to pull up with my right arm and I
didn’t have the strength to even get close. And it hurt like
Hell.
“Well,
she said, we will raise the bed so that you will be as upright as you
can be,” and she did what she said. Then she raised the
adjustable table over the bed and close to me.
That
didn’t deaden the pain either but it appeared that I could
manage. They say that hospital food is worse than any but, I
demolished the fingers of fish, potatoes and (Ugh), green beans.
I
was exhausted and tried to relax in a position of least pain. I
realized I had to urinate and I think I wet the bed, because I
couldn’t hold it. Tentatively, I reached under the covers and
sought what I thought would be a very wet bed. Of course, I should
have thought about the preparation of a patient who couldn’t
walk to the bathroom.
When
another woman came to clear up the meal items, she asked if I wanted
to rent a TV. I looked up and saw a metal configuration that would
hold the unit.
“Yes,
I said, how does the process work?”
She
said that she would have someone install it tonight and the admin
office would keep track of the rent. And before, I left, I would pay
the bill. That was easy.
A
nurse came in and woke me up about ten to give me a sleeping pill and
shut off the TV. My vitals as she called them were apparently good.
The
next morning a white coated Doctor who appeared to be about fifty, a
bit of a bulge above his belt, bald with a silvery ring around his
head, came to me, introduced himself as Dr. Isman, and then said that
he was going to examine my injuries. The cast, the stiches in my jaw,
the broken teeth, and ribs. He then uncovered my legs and I noted a
large bandage had my left ankle all rolled up. He looked at me and
said that this is going to be very painful. There was no word in my
vocabulary for the pain.
I
laid back and closed my mind and gritted what teeth I had.
“That’s
what I anticipated he advised, we will have to amputate your foot,
because it is not possible to have surgery and place everything back
in order..”
“YOU
SAID WHAT?
He
said that he was very sorry but there was no other choice but I would
be able to wear a prostheses to walk pretty well as normal.
“BUT
I’M A MAJOR BASEBALL PLAYER, I HAVE TO BE ABLE TO RUN AND CATCH
BALLS AND HIT THEM OVER THE FENCE. DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND!!!!
The
Doctor then motioned to the nurse that I hadn’t seen and she
quickly left and was back in a minute with a syringe in her hand. The
needle was in my arm before I could say anything further.
The
Doc laid a hand on my chest and advised that the nurse had given me a
sedative and would give me another injection for pain. “We will
set up surgery quickly so that it will heal.”
I
have never felt loneliness and grief as they both left my room. This
has to be a dream and not real. I wished I could cry but couldn’t.
Another emotion rose, anger, no, rage, this was not happening to me.
Laying
there quietly, I went to sleep.
After
lunch that I couldn’t begin to eat, the nurse told me that I
had two visitors. “Do you feel up to seeing them?” she
asked.
How
could I answer, I wasn’t in any mood to talk to visitors?
Hesitating, I said that they could come in.
“If
you have any difficulty, press the emergency alarm on the side of the
bed and someone will come to help,” she looked like she would
cry.
Two
suits appeared at my door. Neither one looked happy. The young one,
very tall, slim but not skinny, wore a dark blue suit that was
obviously tailor made. He had eyes that could read your mind.
He
introduced himself as Detective Griffon and his partners’ name
was Sargent Walls. Sargent was bulkier than Griffon but obviously
just as physically fit. He had sad brown eyes.
“Your
name please,” Sarge said.
“It’s
one my chart at the end of the bed,” I muttered.
“Did
you recently purchase a Lincoln Nautilus and do you remember being
involved in a collision with a semi on Lakeshore Highway,? Sarge
continued.
“Yes,
I remember seeing a truck heading for me but other than that I don’t
recall anything.”
“Apparently
you entered the on coming lane and the truck driver tried to avoid
you, and he rolled his vehicle in the opposite ditch.”
This
was a situation that I have to protect my proverbial hind end and I
didn’t know how to answer.
So,
I said, “I’m very sorry about the truck driver but I
don’t remember being in the opposing lane.”
“Well,
Sarge who had a very serious look on his face, we’ll see about
that when we get our report from the forensic division. In a few
days.”
They
left.
Surgery
was scheduled for Friday at 8:00 A.M. Two days, I was very anxious.
What are they going to do? What will it look like? All kind of scary
questions in my mind.
The
nurse came in a bit before eight and injected a sedative into my arm
saying that I would be awake until I reached the surgery table.
Watching the lights and stippled ceiling roll by was a surreal scene.
They actually lifted me onto the table. A needle in my arm by a young
masked Anesthesiologist at the head of the table and that’s the
last I remember.
About
five hours later, I awoke in a private area I thought was called the
ICU. I had that oxygen thing in my nose and felt like I was totally
smashed. A nurse came and took my blood pressure and said that I
would be here for a few hours for observation. OK, I passed out
briefly when I came to, I was still in the ICU.
The
Doctor, whom I didn’t recognize came and checked the bandage on
my left leg. It would be changed every day for a while, he said.
Doctor
Isman arrived one day and said that surgery was a success and it will
take time to heal. Later, I would get to see what it looked like.
A
week later, I saw what looked like a stump of a leg with stitches
across the bottom.
It
seems that the medical people were reading my mind, they said I could
leave the hospital the next day. My get-out-of-here button was
pushed.
The
next issue was my damaged teeth on the bottom of my left jaw. I would
be very grateful to have them repaired after suffering pain for more
than ten days. I was under again and the Dentist introduced himself
before the lights went out. Sometime later, I moved my tongue to my
left lower jaw and found stiches from front to back. The prognosis
indicated that in a week, they would take some material that looked
like peanut butter and mold the new teeth accordingly.
That
done, my girlfriend arranged to rent a wheel chair and she did all
the pushing. Plus, I was given crutches on loan from the hospital.
My
extra foot was installed and I found that with practice, I would be
able to get around. But, no more baseball.
With
that done, I settled into normal days watching TV, reading,
assembling jigsaw puzzles, practicing walking on the crutches, and of
course keeping my girl happy.
Then,
one day there was a knock at the door and a Police man gave me a
subpoena to appear at the Court at nine on the upcoming Monday. Here
we go again, more trouble that made me feel sick.
Where
did that huge black cloud come from? It certainly was raining more
bad news.
The
Court room was very large, a huge desk for the judge, a table for
what I called the Prosecutor and me and my lawyer at another. The
judge came in from somewhere and every one was told to stand up.
Didn’t they realize how difficult for me to stand. I made a try
and by that time all participants sat down. I was able to get around
with crutches.
The
Judge outlined the rules of the court to start with and moved on to
the charges against me. He asked if I understood them. I said yes.
The
Truck driver’s Doctor gave evidence of his condition. He was
presently not able to drive a truck and because his back was injured,
he may never drive. There were four witnesses who had seen the
collision including the fellow who saved the trucker’s life.
The Prosecutor spilled out a speech and that was it.
The
Judge stood up and advised that he would have his rulings within the
hour, and went back to where he came from.
No
one seemed talkative so, I just sat in my wheel chair.
Shortly
afterward the Judge came back, everybody stood up and sat down.
He
actually caught on to the idea that I couldn’t stand easily but
I put the crutches under my arms and stood somewhat in shaky
condition.
He
didn’t waste any time and he announced the he was charging me a
fine of $5000.00. He paused for a bit and I was thinking I could pay
the fine and I would be free.
However,
he cleared his throat and sent me to jail for six months.
I
was escorted out of court by a Bailiff with his hand on my arm, on
the way to Bowden,
This
story is developed from the imagination of the author. Names do not
depict any persons and used to help create the theme. Locations have
been named in order to better illustrate the happenings and incidents
in the story.
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