Memoir+KSEP

Emily Payne Mrs. Peel and Mr. Casal Humanities II: English 23 September 2011 One Hot Moment “She’s fine… No, don’t come home… Doctor’s here, we’ll call you back… Goodbye” my father explained to my mother on the phone. “She’s freaking out Emily.” “What did she say?” I mumbled though the firm hospital pillow. “She wants to come home. She doesn’t think I can handle this situation. And she’s afraid of you getting hurt again.” “Is she coming?” I couldn’t even bring myself to look him in the eyes, to let him see me cry. “No, I wouldn’t let… Ah, hello doctor.” I was an energetic little twelve-year-old girl, always running around, dancing, singing, and playing sports. I had played ice hockey, softball, and was going to become a gymnast. I had one little problem though; I had always been a klutz. My father would always make fun of me and say I had butter fingers and that I had two left feet. I was infamous for falling down stairs and dropping just about everything that I held. It was a miracle I hadn’t gotten seriously hurt since I was three-years-old. But that night, that had all changed. The light from the setting sun peering in through the glass door. The usual smell of brewing coffee engulfed the house. The football game was blaring in the living room. The normal stack of mail was thrown across the table. A normal day in my house when I came home from my first gymnastics practice. A new pot of coffee was sitting on the edge of the counter in my kitchen. My father had gone upstairs to get something from his room when he heard the door slam. I was showing Annika, my live in nanny, what we had done at practice. I spun with my arms flailing, showing her what not to do, and had hit the coffee pot. I have to idea how it all ended up on my back but it did. Out of instinct, I scurried to my bathroom and threw freezing water all over my searing hot back. My father waited for me to come out only to see the horror that was awaiting behind the door. He came in and saw what had happened to my back; pieces of skin were hanging off and countless blisters the size of golf balls forming from my shoulder blades to my tailbone. I wanted to swim in a pool of ice, but unfortunately an ice bag was the closest thing I could get to that kind of relief. My father and I were now making a mad dash to the hospital, which was 15 minutes from my house if you didn’t hit any red lights. My father is the kind of man to always keep his cool, even in situations that would make any other man break down. But when he heard my blood curdling screams resonate in his small, silver Jetta, anyone could see the pure terror that rippled through his body. All he could do it was sit there and watch as tears rolled down my face like razor blades. My legs were jumping up and down from pure adrenalin and pain. And all he could do was sit there and wait for the horror of what would happen next. We arrived in the hospital room twenty-three minutes after we had left my house. There were at least twenty other people in the waiting room, none of which looked sick in any way. A woman sat down next to me with a cut on her leg and got very angry when the nurse called me back before her. I wanted to scream at her, and you could tell my dad did too. But we had more important things to worry about. The nurse was one of the kindest women I’ve ever met in my life; she put me at the front of the list of those to get a room. I was called back to a room five minutes later. The nurses assigned to my room gave my painkillers and poured medicated water all over my back. That had to be the sweetest relief of the entire day. My mother had tried calling my father, my brother, my house, and me at least twenty times since we had left for the emergency room. Our phones weren’t even supposed to be on in the hospital but my dad broke the rules a little. We were already waiting for at least thirty minutes and my mom was sure to be having a heart attack by now. She had left for her drill weekend duty in Millington, Tennessee and was completely helpless. She only got information every so often when my father had a chance to call and that was not as often as she could deal with. She almost booked a plane to come home that night, until my dad was able to call her and begin to explain what the situation was. She freaked out and was scared that he wouldn’t be able to handle the constant care that this injury was going to require. She wanted to be mom-of-the-year and stay home with me, but my father convinced her to stay where she was. “No, I wouldn’t let… Ah, hello doctor.” “Hello, Mr.…Uh, Payne. I’m Dr. Peters.” The doctor was a tall, skinny man. It looked like you could just pick him up and break him like a tooth pick. But he was kind, one of the kindest men I met that entire night, almost as nice as the first nurse. “What’s the diagnosis?” “Emily has suffered first and second degree burns from her shoulder blades to her tailbone. She will be on painkillers for about a month and will have to go to a burn center in Philadelphia for a follow up appointment. They are more equipped to handle this kind of injury. We will send you home with enough silvadene cream to last you until then. Just keep it easy for a few weeks, ok?” “Okay doctor… Thank you so much.” I replied to him. I wasn’t sure if he had been directing the last question to my father or me, but I felt the need to reply. When we left, my father made two phone calls, one to the house, and one to my mother. The recovery had just begun.