Crime – Been There, Done That, Now Where’s My Damn Shirt?
Some of you might have heard that recently I was attacked in my own home on November 17th very early in the morning and stabbed multiple times. This is true, but in the interest of making sure the actual truth gets out there I wanted to give you all the facts straight from the horses mouth as it were. Stick with me, because even though it’s not a story of romance it does have some funny parts. Sorry, there is some cuss words in this post, but it’s real life and no exaggerations are necessary. Plus, this is a way for me to get this out and deal with it.
All weekend of November 14th – 16th I was working on a few box set anthologies and a book for a debut author (more about these later). I was working my normal 18 hours with a few breaks. Monday morning I finished up with Jolie Mae Miller’s ‘ The Good Samaritan‘ print version. She and I had been on the phone up til 4am CST discussing small changes to the file for uploading to Createspace. After I finished up with her, I did a few things more on Triberr, Facebook and with the Inferno anthology, I am project managing. (Feel free to click the links to buy these books – Heaven knows they saved my life because if I hadn’t been working on them I would have been asleep with the punk got in my house so he could have murdered me in my bed or worse.)
I noticed it was 4:44am and thought I should get a few hours sleep since before I woke Wee Bossy Baby up at 7:30 to get ready for school, so I shut down the computer and got in bed. I played a few games of Disney’s Frozen Free Fall then put the tablet down. About 10 minutes after that, my door opened and I saw a silhouette of a person who at first I thought was my oldest son coming to tell me he had taken the trash out. I said “What?” before I snapped to the fact that this person didn’t have the hippie hair that my son has and was wearing a jacket and baseball cap (which Alphonso would never do). I got out of bed and said “What the fuck do you think you are doing? GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY HOUSE!”
Then this guy rushed me, hitting me in the upper abdomen, I punched him in the face (the very idea that someone would be stupid enough to come to my house really pissed me off so my adrenalin kicked in). We continued to trade blows then I shoved him, kicked him in the stomach, kicked him in the back and he ran out the door with me chasing him, yelling at the top of my lungs to come back so I could kick his ass some more. I chased him out of my house, out my driveway and the last I saw he was running down the street like the coward he is.
I didn’t know it at the time, but every time he was hitting me, he was actually stabbing me. I was stabbed once just under my sternum, once at my hip, and also sliced on the back of my left arm and left cheek of my face.
While walking back to the house, when I got under the porch light I noticed blood on my hands. I thought to myself “Good, I butsted that little pricks nose” then noticed there was an awful lot of blood all over the ground. That was when I realized that it wasn’t necessarily his blood since there was a lot on me, I felt my face to see if I was bleeding then noticed all the blood on my socks, pants and shirt. So I went into the house, yelled for someone to call 9-1-1 (several times because everyone else was asleep like most normal people are if they do not have anywhere to be for 5-6 hours before the start of their day).
Finally my yelling at everyone woke my mother and son. In the mean time, I had found my phone and called 9-1-1 myself and was on the phone with dispatch when my mother took the phone from me to finish the conversation. I was told to lay on the couch and apply pressure the the wounds. Me, being me wouldn’t lay on the couch because I didn’t want to get blood all over it so I laid on the coffee table waiting for the police and ambulance to arrive. I have to give props to Harris County Sheriffs as the first squad car arrived within 5 minutes of the call being placed with an additional 8 more showing up.
I was able to tell the Sheriffs what happened, give a description of the punk, and tell them the direction he ran off in.
ME: He was approximately 5’9″ to 6′ tall, slim build, Hispanic male wearing a baseball cap, black jacket with a ‘swoosh’ type silver/white/grey emblem on the back. Short hair and he ran that way (I pointed because I can’t tell you north south east or west even when I am not bleeding all over the place)
SHERIFF: You fought him?
ME: Of course I fought him.
SHERIFF: Why? Did you know him?
ME: No I didn’t know him. Wouldn’t matter if I did know him, No one is gonna lay hands on me.
SHERIFF: But why did you fight him?
ME: UMMM? Because I am a 6-foot-tall redhead who was the only girl in a family of boys? I don’t know, I just did!
On and on it went, with me telling all the officers that no I wasn’t dating anyone, I never went anywhere, I work from home, no I didn’t piss anyone off recently, no an ex wouldn’t send someone to hurt me (they know to use a gun or bomb and send more than one person because I would like to think they learned something about me while we were together).
Anyway, there I am laying on the coffee table, thinking ‘I don’t have time for this crap, I have work to do, I have deadlines to meet, I have authors depending on me to get their files done’. When the paramedics arrived they had to cut my clothes off right there in front of all these cops milling around the living room…I thought the only thing missing was coffee and donuts. Bless her heart, the paramedic tried to shield me from view as much as possible but there I was with my tatas out for everyone to see…it’s a good thing I breast fed Wee Bossy Baby and Bubba for an extended time and was used to having my boobies out. When she cut my pants to examine my lower abdomen she said that I was stabbed in the lower public area (What? The prick stabbed me in my poonany? What kind of misogynist does that kinda crap? is what I was thinking).
So they get me on the stretcher to wheel me out to the ambulance and my phone beeps alerting me to a Facebook message. I check the message and it’s from another author just checking in on a box set I am doing for her. I let her know I had been stabbed and was on my way to the ER but I would figure it out and let her know something as soon as I could.
Okay, I admit,not the most subtle way to break the news. (And my eyes were closed since by that time my headache had kicked in and the bright lights of the ambulance interior were making it even worse.) I then got a shot of morphine to ease the headache up (funny I didn’t feel anything but the headache). But hey, everyone needs an ambulance selfie right? LOL
So we get to the ER and I repeat the story for the doctor, nurses, the Sheriff again. And again, and again, you get the point right? They take me into to get a CTScan to ascertain the depth and damage of the upper abdomen stab where I realize I have been dropping F-Bombs left and right and apologize for my potty mouth. The technician laughs and says if anyone has a right to cuss it’s me, I have earned it and to cuss to my heart’s content. So I did.
Back in the ER, the Sheriff comes in to get a complete narrative again (freaking hell, can’t I record this somewhere so I can shut up about it????) He then wants to see the wounds so the doc asks if he has permission to speak freely in from of the Sheriff and show the wounds. At this point I have had multiple injections of morphine, Demerol and heaven only knows what else so I really don’t care if the whole hospital comes down to take a look at me (in other words I said yes). Then as the Sheriff is looking at the wounds the doc started injecting the wounds with lidocaine to numb it and stitch them up. The Sheriff turns away and sits down:
SHERIFF: You should’ve told me you were gonna do that…
ME: Sit down, put your head between your knees and take a deep breath….
SHERIFF: Are you always this calm?
ME: I’m calm? Hell no, I’m not calm, but I can’t do anything about it now and plus I can’t see what he’s doing. But when you catch this little rat-bastard that did this, give me 5 minutes alone with his ass and he will be in worse shape without me having a weapon.
SHERIFF: Are you that sure you could take him?
ME: I made that little weasel run and he had the damn weapon, I think he KNOWS I could kick his ass.
Later the Sheriff was taking pictures:
ME: Don’t post those on Facebook…
SHERIFF: (Snickers) I won’t
ME: If you do, be sure to tag me….
SHERIFF : You’re a character aren’t you?
Then he proceeded to take up-close pictures of the slash on my cheek:
ME: Oh, yeah, be sure to get a close up of those wrinkles, Gee thanks.
SHERIFF: I will photoshop them out. (snorts)
ME: Good, I would do the same thing. We are on the same page.
So what’s a girl to do except post another selfie while waiting to be moved
There were a bunch of shares of this and about 100 more comments along the lines of WTF? WTH? OMG!
About an hour later I am finally moved to ICU for a 24-hour observation period to make sure that I don’t start hemorrhaging from the liver laceration. HAHA, the nurses there had already heard I fought with my attacker and were so helpful. SHOUT-OUT to Jessi & Deanna at Cy-Fair Hospital ICU-B for their awesome support and treatment (and the morphine injections every 2 hours)! I talked to quite a few people during this time – thanks to WBB’s father TJP who went and got a phone charger so that my phone didn’t die – and I made sure I called one of my clients who answered the phone “YOU BETTER NOT BE CALLING ME FROM THE DAMN HOSPITAL!!!!” But I had to. I had authors depending on me, I had obligations, and I could trust her to make sure that she got the word to my anthology clients what was going on and if they needed to have someone else format their books I had posted in my formatters group so I could recommend some people who could do the jobs.
Want to know the rest of the story? You will have to come back. To be honest, my body’s way of dealing with this is to get a headache every time I think about it. But I have to get it out, if only for my own sake. (To Be Continued … HERE)