Page 53 of Only With Me
“You okay?” I ask, studying his face.
“I dunno,” he replies. “I think…it might be a panic attack.”
“Oh shit. What’s their ETA?” I ask the operator.
This isn’t my first rodeo with calling for help. Dad’s had a few big falls over the years, but this is the first time he’s ever smacked his head hard enough to lose consciousness.
“Three minutes. Keep him talkin’.”
“Dad, tell me about the day you met Mama.”
I’ve heard this story a dozen times, but it’s one he should without a doubt have memorized.
Although his speech is slow and he breaks to catch his breath, he tells me about how he spotted her at a party and the noise around him just stopped when their eyes locked. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met and was determined to talk to her before the end of the night. But then he learned she had a boyfriend, the quarterback of all people, and he was a?—
“Dad?” I shake his arm when he stops talking and his eyes close.
“I think he blacked out again,” I tell the operator.
“The ambulance should be there,” she tells me, and then a second later, I hear the dogs losing their shit.
“They are now,” I tell her.
“Okay. They’ll take good care of you.”
“Thank you.” I hang up and get to my feet so I can direct them where we are.
Multiple EMTs and firemen enter with their gear and a stretcher. The house suddenly feels too small with this many people, but I quickly show them where he’s lying.
“He was speakin’ a moment ago and then stopped,” I explain. “Did they tell you he’s an amputee? His stump got banged up too.”
“We’ll check him out. Don’t worry, miss.” A woman who doesn’t look much older than me says, patting my arm before walking past me.
A few of them squeeze through the bathroom door that’s still halfway blocked, and I quickly wrangle the dogs into their crates so they don’t get loose.
I still need to text my mom and Delilah, but I’m anxious for an update. I can’t see since they’re still in the bathroom, but after ten minutes, one of the bulkier firemen carries him out of the bathroom and gently places him onto the stretcher.
My dad’s not a massive guy, but he’s not small either. He’s six-foot and his upper body is muscular from years working on the farm with livestock. The lower half of him is weaker due to muscle atrophy, which is why it’s so easy for him to fall when he loses his balance.
“Is he gonna be okay?” I ask nervously.
“His blood pressure is low and the cut on his head needs sutures. I’m guessin’ a CT scan and fluids, too.”
“Can I ride with him?” I ask.
“Absolutely. You should get your hand looked at while we’re there, too,” she says, nodding down toward the blood flowing down my wrist and arm.
I forgot about it until she mentioned it.
“I’ll worry about it once I get an update on him,” I tell her.
While they get him situated into the ambulance, I quickly text Mom and Delilah, giving them as much information as I can. Mom’s already there, so she’ll meet us in the ER. Delilah’strying to get someone to cover her shift so she can leave work early.
I hold Dad’s hand during the ride, the sirens blaring as we drive to the next town. He’s still unconscious, but they’re checking his vitals and giving him oxygen and fluids.
Twenty minutes later, everyone rushes out of the back, and they put him into a trauma room.
Nurses swarm his side, and I stay back frozen, feeling helpless.
