Excerpt
Dear God, Why are you doing this to me? This is one of my most famous sayings. But at this particular moment on September 11, 1986, my three-year-old son Marcus was lying in the intensive care unit at a local hospital, comatose. One of my many fears had come to pass.
Ill never forget that day, a warm Thursday afternoon when the call came that one of my children was in an accident. I was at work that afternoon around 4 pm. The receptionist at the salon I worked for approached me, Christine, can I talk to you in the break room? she asked. Sure, I responded following her to the back of the salon. One of your children has been in an accident. They need you at the hospital, Dena said, looking as though she was about to cry. I panicked, Which one of my boys? How was he hurt Dena? She shook her head, I dont know, but Ill drive you there. We hurried to Denas car, I couldnt think straight. My heart was racing and I felt sick to my stomach. Dena didnt say much until we pulled into the emergency room parking lot. She pulled up to the door to drop me off. Ill never forget how her voice trembled as she said, Marcus was hit by a car Christine, Im so sorry.
Oh my God, it was my baby. Fear and anxiety swept over me as I burst through the double doors to the emergency room. To my right there was a small waiting room where I saw Marcs dad, Jimmie, standing in the doorway with a friend of his. Straight ahead were more double doors. A police officer stepped in front of me to keep me from entering. I ran past them as the officer grabbed my arm. You cant go in there. He said. The doors opened revealing an ambulance attendant standing by a stretcher. I saw my baby lying there motionless. Everything was a blur at that moment.
I felt like I was going to pass out. My heart was racing. It was difficult to breathe. There with a nurse holding what seemed to be some sort of mask over Marcs face. Her other hand was squeezing a bag. I could tell she was pumping air into his little body. I wanted to die right there.
The officer led me out to the waiting room. Jimmie stood up as I approached him. I started screaming at him, I hate you, look what youve done! I was like a mad woman, beating on his face and chest. The pain I felt was excruciating. I could hardly control my crying as I made my way over to a chair to sit down. Jimmie and the officer proceeded to tell me about the accident. Marc was spending the afternoon with his father while I was at work. The officer then told me, Marcus was playing with some other children in a residential area. He ran out in front of a car. I looked at Jimmie and asked, Where were you? He said, I was in the house, getting ready to go. He responded. I stopped by to see an old friend of mine, Nathan. I let Marc play outside with the kids. I couldnt believe this was happening. An older lady was driving the car that hit your son; she is very upset so they took her to the hospital. The officer told us. My heart went out to this woman. They are transferring Marcus to a nearby hospital that has a pediatric intensive care unit. He added. Jimmie and I sat in that waiting room, what seemed like a lifetime.
A doctor finally came to tell us they had taken Marc to the other hospital. Jimmie and I got into his car and drove over there. Once inside, we were instructed to go to the fifth floor where they had taken Marc. I couldnt wait to see him. It was about 5 pm. I had to call home. Daniel would be wondering where we were by now. He was my ten year old. I knew he would be home from school. I got Dan on the phone and told him that Marc was in the hospital. Jimmie would be there to pick him up after we talked to the doctors.
I tried to get into the room where they had Marc but the nurses wouldnt let me in. I looked through the window to see several nurses cleaning up Marc wounds. I could see where he was hit on the right side of his face. They were hooking him up to all kinds of gadgets. He looked so tiny and innocent lying there. I could tell he was fighting for his life. I kept asking the nurses as they walked by, How is he? Is he going to be ok? Theyd just tell me, A doctor will be with you soon. I hated the waiting. The hospital staff put Jimmie and me in a waiting room across the hall. It had a couple of chairs, a twin bed and a television in it. The nurse told us that they called our pediatrician, Dr. Henry, and a neurosurgeon. They would be in to see us as soon as they got done with Marcs exam.
Our doctors finally came to see us. Jimmie and I anxiously wanted to hear the diagnosis. Your son has a twisted brain stem. Its severe; it almost always takes their life. Im sorry but there is nothing we can do but wait. I wanted to die. I ran into the bathroom, pleading with God! Please dont take him, I cant handle this. I cried.
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