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radiantbabyA lot of people ask about my scar on my belly/chest (especially since it's not uncommon for me to be topless at parties) and I tell them it was because I got shot years ago. Depending on the circumstances and timing, I try and give them a short rendition of what happened, but most of the time I think to myself, "You know, I should really make an LJ post about it so that I can refer people to it." I mean, I certainly don't mind telling it, but I think it might be nice to write it up with a little more detail than I usually give...
It was mid to late October 2001. It's funny that I can't really remember the date I was shot, but I am leaning toward it having been on the 19th from looking at some mailing list archives I was on. I just remember that I was home from the hospital by Halloween that year because I contemplated on answering my parent's door (where I was recovering for the month after surgery) with my shirt open to show the long, serpentine line of staples going up my chest from just below my waist to just below my breasts. I thought it would be a cool Halloween costume to scare the neighborhood kids, but honestly I was too tired and in pain to get up off the couch when the kids came.
Still, that was all after the story I wish to tell.
It all started as a pretty ordinary night. I had gotten home on a Friday night from work and was preparing to go out with my then lover,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
unxmaal (Eric), once he got home from work himself. I decided since he usually got home late and that I was pretty tired, that I would take a "disco nap" before going out and just wait for his call to wake me. So, still in my clothes and with the lights still on, I dozed off in my bed.
I am not sure how long I had been asleep, but I believe it had been about an hour when a loud noise woke me (which I can only describe as a loud "pop"). I was pretty groggy and disoriented, but as I came into consciousness I noticed that my chest was covered in blood. I noticed that my right wrist was hurting, so I lifted it to see that it was swollen up quite big and was also very bloody. My mind was reeling and confused because I couldn't figure out what had happened. The only thing that I could think was that somehow I had broken my wrist in my sleep. It didn't make much sense, but maybe the "pop" was my wrist breaking. I couldn't figure out anything else it could be.
Anyway, I was panicked, so I couldn't think of what to do. At that moment, I had no idea how badly I may have actually been hurt and I certainly didn't know I had been shot yet. So, in my state of panic, I picked up the phone to call my mother. I mean, I really just didn't know what to do. Now, I love my mother dearly, but she can be a bit flighty at times, so when I told her about how I woke up covered in blood, she asked if maybe it was because I'd started my period! I told her it seemed more serious than that and how I thought maybe I had broken my wrist in my sleep. I told her that I had also noticed the blood coming from a cut on my stomach and also from my side (and it was not stopping). So, Mom said she'd come over to check out what might have happened and to calm me down (while she was quite calm herself at the time).
So I hung up the phone with her and then proceeded to move the comforter off the bed because it was pretty bloody. It was then that I noticed the smallish hole in the wall that was right by the bed. Somehow in my head I put two and two together that I'd been shot through said hole. I called Mom again with my discovery (this time she was a little more panicked herself) and she said that she was rushing over (she lived about 45 minutes away) and for me to call 911.
I sat there for a minute after hanging up with her. I remember I was so panicked that part of me wanted to just lie back down and go to sleep and not deal with it because it was just so incomprehensible to me and I didn't know how to handle the situation. I mean, what if I had been shot? Don't people die from gunshot wounds? Plus, with all of the bleeding, could I bleed to death? Also, would there be another bullet coming through the wall again any minute? I suddenly felt pretty terrified.
Still, I took in a deep breath and knew I had to take care of myself if I was going to get through it. My roommate wasn't at home (he was at work), so it was just me by myself that was going to have to work through it. I mustered all of my strength and, somehow, went into a state of survival mode that made me oddly calm. I took in another deep breath, now with determination, and called 911.
The 911 call was rather humorous actually, because in my new-found survival state, I was just puttering around as if nothing really had happened (I suppose it was also the shock setting in). I calmly described what little I knew of the situation and sat on the floor in front of the bed hoping that it would guard me from any other gunshots.
The 911 operator talked with me as the paramedics made their way to my apartment and my first thought was that when the paramedics came that my roommate's dog Moz (a barely-trained Chesapeake Retreiver) would run out the door and not be able to get caught in the ruckus (as he was already bad about doing that most other days as well). As a result, I worried about my roommate being mad that I let his dog get out (I wasn't very rational at the time), so I told the 911 operator to hold on and put the phone down (I was unfortunately on a corded phone at the time), without even giving her time to protest. I then went out of my bedroom to get the dog upstairs (we lived in a 2-floor townhouse) so I could shut him up in my roommate's bedroom for the time being. Moz took a few moments to acknowledge me calling for him, but was pretty easily locked into Forrest's (my ex-roommate) room once upstairs.
When I came back to the phone I got quite the tongue-lashing from the 911 operator as I was scolded to not ever leave the phone again (which of course was foolish of me to do, but I wasn't exactly thinking straight). I continued chatting with her and we established me being on a corded phone, so we made an agreement that I could put the phone down again only when the paramedics arrived.
A short time passed and she said "Okay, they should be right outside." I asked her if I could put down the phone and check and she said I could. Amusingly (though not at the time) when I walked outside it was one of those moments where no one was around and you could hear nothing but crickets! All I could think was, "Oh god, what if they went to the wrong apartment complex?"! So, I went back inside to the phone (now on the phone downstairs) and said "Um, there is no one out there." She seemed a bit concerned as well, but then less than a minute later I could hear the arrival of the sirens and they were finally there (seems they had some trouble getting through the winding steep hills of the complex with the fire trucks).
The paramedics arrived and I had them hang up the phone upstairs for me after I hung up with the 911 operator (thanking her for her help). They checked my vitals and I remained rather calm throughout the experience. I even casually waved hello to my concerned neighbor Jenny (a cop, who was outside my townhouse in the parking lot because of the commotion) as they carried me out of the townhouse on a stretcher. Jenny was even nice enough to ride to the hospital with me and she told her husband to direct my mother to the hospital when she arrived. I am sure it was quite a scene when she did finally arrive!
My roommate Forrest got home probably about 45 minutes after the whole incident and said when he did there were a bunch of cop cars and police tape was everywhere right outside and inside our townhouse. Forrest also said I'd tracked blood up and down the stairs as well, so he was certainly freaked out until he got word from the cops what had happened. He had to explain to them that he lived there and that he was my roommate, plus he was worried about his dog as well (which they told him was locked upstairs).
So, anyway, I was rushed to the hospital. I was a bit worried because I know how expensive ambulance rides are and I didn't have insurance at the time (I was still in the first 3 months of my job and was just weeks away from coverage), but I was more focused on surviving the night. I ended up in some sort of emergency room after being pushed through the hospital on a gurney just like they do on television. Everyone was trying to keep me calm, but honestly I was starting to worry because I was around no one that I knew and I had these odd fears about dying anonymously.
After some time in the emergency room, my mother came in quite freaked out. The doctors showed her x-rays and basically did all they could to help with the bleeding and the pain that was starting to set in. I just remember that I couldn't stop shaking and I was really afraid that I was going to die. Still, I seemed to be pretty stable, so everyone in the room was pretty calm. Even at one point, someone else was wheeled in behind a curtain next to me and they rushed off to check on him. From what I could overhear he was in a motorcycle accident and was going about 90 mph and surprisingly just seemed to have a few scratches on him. I guess it was a lucky night in that room! One funny thing though was when they were checking him out, my side wound (one of the bullet entry wounds) started bleeding onto the floor (I guess the bandaging came loose). My mother, who is pretty timid, was quietly squeaking out, "Excuse me, please, but my daughter is bleeding on the floor." It took them a few moments to even hear her. I thought that was funny.
Also, while in the emergency room, two gentleman came in to ask me a few questions. They said they were detectives from homicide and I think they could tell by my resulting wide-eyed expression that I was a bit concerned with their presence. They assured me that homicide didn't necessarily mean "death", just violent crime, and they they were the ones assigned to my case. They were very friendly and updated me that the suspect had fled the scene and they were looking for him. They also said they would keep me posted as they found out more.
After the emergency room, I went into this room with lots of people behind curtains where you go before you go into surgery (I had remembered the room from when I had ankle surgery a few years before). The guy there checked a few more vitals and filled in a lot of answers to questions on his clipboard. I started to worry about the surgery, so I started to have an asthma attack from the panic. I told him that I had asthma and, of course, didn't have my inhaler with me. So, he set up a breathing treatment for me -- which was funny because for some reason he couldn't find an adult mask, so I had this teeny kid's mask on that I had to hold over my nose and mouth (it just barely fit) for the duration of the treatment (like 10 minutes or so).
I tried to find humor in the situation as I sat there with the teeny mask on my face alone waiting for the surgery (the guy had gone to talk with other people in the room). Still, it was a bit hard as the person next to me was shrieking horribly -- from what I could make out from the people talking about her was that her chest was collapsing (I don't know why), so her ribs were crushing her internal organs. It reminded me a bit of the first day I went to physical therapy after ankle surgery and I was in this line of people who were waiting for therapy. We were outside this row of little curtained areas and all you could hear was people screaming as if they were being tortured and I was so terrified about what I was going into, but I couldn't run because I was in a wheelchair and somewhat blocked in by the other people in line. Luckily all I had to do that day was learn to walk with crutches!
Anyway, I waited for surgery, somewhat disturbed by my neighbor's horror and somewhat nervous that maybe I wouldn't get into surgery in time to save myself. I mean, I didn't feel like I was dying, but I was still absolutely terrified. After a good 20 minutes or so, they came and got me and wheeled me into the room for my surgery. I remember being transferred to a "bed" that was T-shaped, so my arms were out to my sides. I also remember that I was resorting to humor to try and get me through the experience (a usual coping mechanism for me). I was cracking jokes about if they were trying to crucify me and when they asked if I was pregnant before surgery I realized I hadn't had sex since my last period (a week or so before), so I said "Not unless its the Immaculate Conception." The surgeons all seemed to be laughing with me and they seemed to feel genuinely sorry for me when I gave them the Cliff Note's version of what had happened before they put me under.
About 4 hours later, I was out of surgery and in a hospital room. It was cleared up that the bullet had gone through my wrist, into my side, and across my belly (lodging itself on my left side by my hip). I was really lucky though as the bullet somehow didn't break any bones in my wrist and once inside me, managed to just travel through the fatty tissue (yay for belly pooches!) and not do any damage to any internal organs. Of course, the surgery to check that out probably did more damage than the bullet, but they needed to check for any internal damage and bleeding. They extracted the bullet from where it was lodged in my left side and I would have kept it as a memento, but I let the homicide detectives have it for the court case.
I was in the hospital for about a week after that, subsisting on only a "liquid diet" of, I believe, Jell-o, apple juice, and chicken broth (none of which I could stomach for some time afterwards because I was so sick of having them at every meal for a week). I was pretty out of it and asked my father to call in for me at work. The doctors said that I would need to be out of work for at least 4 weeks, so I was lucky that my job liked me so much that they actually held my position for me (well, actually they technically had to fire and rehire me, but they apologized profusely for having to do so and made it clear in no uncertain terms that I was welcome back after the 4 weeks). Of course, the details of my shooting went all over the workplace in a silly version of the telephone game and I had to set everyone straight when I finally got back (though I must admit some of the grandiose stories they had were entertaining!).
I had a few visitors in the hospital, but I was honestly so drugged up that I barely remember who came and went. I know that I have a few issues with my father as the night I got shot he essentially just rolled over and went back to sleep, thinking it was no big deal. Then the next day he and my mother stopped by my hospital room for about 30 minutes and when I asked why they were leaving so quickly, they said that they were going to a Braves game because they had season tickets! I couldn't believe that baseball was more important than being with me in the hospital. Oh well. I have just gotten over that part.
As for other visitors, I do remember that my then-friends Marcie, Renee, and Leonard came just about every day and that my friend and co-worker Harvey also came to visit. Funnily enough, I even ran into this guy named Kevin that I knew back when I was younger who was now a nurse at Grady and had seen me on the patient list and came to see me. I hadn't seen him for years, so it was nice to run into him again.
So, anyway, a week passed and I was finally able to go home. Financially, luckily there was some sort of Victims of Violent Crimes Act that paid for my hospital stay, so that eased my mind on that end. I also stayed at my parent's house for the 4 weeks so they could sort of take care of me and since I was honestly a bit afraid of sleeping in my old bed again just yet.
It was a hard time. I was not only in terribly amounts of pain (the painkillers only did do much), but being practically single (unxmaal was basically just a sexual relationship), I felt like a monster with the 40-something staples going up my chest and I even remember coming out of the shower weeping one night and telling my mother that I was a "monster than no one will ever want to date." I have made peace with my scars these days, but back then, they were truly a source of sorrow.
After the four weeks, I returned home and to work. At home, my mother and sister had prepped the room by getting me new bedding and throwing away the bloodied bedding. I also stuck a smiley face sticker over the bullet hole in the wall to try and ease some of the bad associations with it. My father got the apartment complex to not charge me rent that month because it was them that had a felon on their property (more on that in a minute). Work got back to normal, too, even though for months people I had never met were randomly stopping me in the hall and asking me about what happened (for years I was still the "girl who got shot" there). My WeightWatchers-at-work buddies raised about $200 for me to help with bills and my department even raised about $50.00 for the same. One of the mailing lists I was on (for Duran Duran fanfic) raised money to get me a get-well gift (basically a gift basket that had all sorts of little games and goodies for me) and I was so touched that people who I didn't even really know in real life had been so charitable.
As for the guy, I don't know much about him (I've never even met him). He turned himself in the weekend after I was shot and it was found that he was a convicted felon in his past and therefore not legally allowed to own a gun. He was living next door with his aunt and claims to have not even been present when the gun was fired (though when his aunt came home just afterwards, she said he was running out the door without explanation). He would never say what happened and, though I was subpoenaed a few times for his trials, I never heard the outcome (I was "on call", so they would only call me if they needed me and they never did). I assume he was eventually tried, I just know that it seemed I kept getting subpoenaed month after month for a while there as the trial kept getting pushed forward. Occasionally I would run into his aunt at the mailbox while checking mail and she would apologize profusely for what happened, but I told her that it was okay and that I was moving on.
So, that is all that I can remember at the moment. I am sure that I missed a few things, but it has been almost 5 years now since it happened. If anyone has any questions or anything, I would be happy to tell you what I know.
It was mid to late October 2001. It's funny that I can't really remember the date I was shot, but I am leaning toward it having been on the 19th from looking at some mailing list archives I was on. I just remember that I was home from the hospital by Halloween that year because I contemplated on answering my parent's door (where I was recovering for the month after surgery) with my shirt open to show the long, serpentine line of staples going up my chest from just below my waist to just below my breasts. I thought it would be a cool Halloween costume to scare the neighborhood kids, but honestly I was too tired and in pain to get up off the couch when the kids came.
Still, that was all after the story I wish to tell.
It all started as a pretty ordinary night. I had gotten home on a Friday night from work and was preparing to go out with my then lover,
unxmaal (Eric), once he got home from work himself. I decided since he usually got home late and that I was pretty tired, that I would take a "disco nap" before going out and just wait for his call to wake me. So, still in my clothes and with the lights still on, I dozed off in my bed.I am not sure how long I had been asleep, but I believe it had been about an hour when a loud noise woke me (which I can only describe as a loud "pop"). I was pretty groggy and disoriented, but as I came into consciousness I noticed that my chest was covered in blood. I noticed that my right wrist was hurting, so I lifted it to see that it was swollen up quite big and was also very bloody. My mind was reeling and confused because I couldn't figure out what had happened. The only thing that I could think was that somehow I had broken my wrist in my sleep. It didn't make much sense, but maybe the "pop" was my wrist breaking. I couldn't figure out anything else it could be.
Anyway, I was panicked, so I couldn't think of what to do. At that moment, I had no idea how badly I may have actually been hurt and I certainly didn't know I had been shot yet. So, in my state of panic, I picked up the phone to call my mother. I mean, I really just didn't know what to do. Now, I love my mother dearly, but she can be a bit flighty at times, so when I told her about how I woke up covered in blood, she asked if maybe it was because I'd started my period! I told her it seemed more serious than that and how I thought maybe I had broken my wrist in my sleep. I told her that I had also noticed the blood coming from a cut on my stomach and also from my side (and it was not stopping). So, Mom said she'd come over to check out what might have happened and to calm me down (while she was quite calm herself at the time).
So I hung up the phone with her and then proceeded to move the comforter off the bed because it was pretty bloody. It was then that I noticed the smallish hole in the wall that was right by the bed. Somehow in my head I put two and two together that I'd been shot through said hole. I called Mom again with my discovery (this time she was a little more panicked herself) and she said that she was rushing over (she lived about 45 minutes away) and for me to call 911.
I sat there for a minute after hanging up with her. I remember I was so panicked that part of me wanted to just lie back down and go to sleep and not deal with it because it was just so incomprehensible to me and I didn't know how to handle the situation. I mean, what if I had been shot? Don't people die from gunshot wounds? Plus, with all of the bleeding, could I bleed to death? Also, would there be another bullet coming through the wall again any minute? I suddenly felt pretty terrified.
Still, I took in a deep breath and knew I had to take care of myself if I was going to get through it. My roommate wasn't at home (he was at work), so it was just me by myself that was going to have to work through it. I mustered all of my strength and, somehow, went into a state of survival mode that made me oddly calm. I took in another deep breath, now with determination, and called 911.
The 911 call was rather humorous actually, because in my new-found survival state, I was just puttering around as if nothing really had happened (I suppose it was also the shock setting in). I calmly described what little I knew of the situation and sat on the floor in front of the bed hoping that it would guard me from any other gunshots.
The 911 operator talked with me as the paramedics made their way to my apartment and my first thought was that when the paramedics came that my roommate's dog Moz (a barely-trained Chesapeake Retreiver) would run out the door and not be able to get caught in the ruckus (as he was already bad about doing that most other days as well). As a result, I worried about my roommate being mad that I let his dog get out (I wasn't very rational at the time), so I told the 911 operator to hold on and put the phone down (I was unfortunately on a corded phone at the time), without even giving her time to protest. I then went out of my bedroom to get the dog upstairs (we lived in a 2-floor townhouse) so I could shut him up in my roommate's bedroom for the time being. Moz took a few moments to acknowledge me calling for him, but was pretty easily locked into Forrest's (my ex-roommate) room once upstairs.
When I came back to the phone I got quite the tongue-lashing from the 911 operator as I was scolded to not ever leave the phone again (which of course was foolish of me to do, but I wasn't exactly thinking straight). I continued chatting with her and we established me being on a corded phone, so we made an agreement that I could put the phone down again only when the paramedics arrived.
A short time passed and she said "Okay, they should be right outside." I asked her if I could put down the phone and check and she said I could. Amusingly (though not at the time) when I walked outside it was one of those moments where no one was around and you could hear nothing but crickets! All I could think was, "Oh god, what if they went to the wrong apartment complex?"! So, I went back inside to the phone (now on the phone downstairs) and said "Um, there is no one out there." She seemed a bit concerned as well, but then less than a minute later I could hear the arrival of the sirens and they were finally there (seems they had some trouble getting through the winding steep hills of the complex with the fire trucks).
The paramedics arrived and I had them hang up the phone upstairs for me after I hung up with the 911 operator (thanking her for her help). They checked my vitals and I remained rather calm throughout the experience. I even casually waved hello to my concerned neighbor Jenny (a cop, who was outside my townhouse in the parking lot because of the commotion) as they carried me out of the townhouse on a stretcher. Jenny was even nice enough to ride to the hospital with me and she told her husband to direct my mother to the hospital when she arrived. I am sure it was quite a scene when she did finally arrive!
My roommate Forrest got home probably about 45 minutes after the whole incident and said when he did there were a bunch of cop cars and police tape was everywhere right outside and inside our townhouse. Forrest also said I'd tracked blood up and down the stairs as well, so he was certainly freaked out until he got word from the cops what had happened. He had to explain to them that he lived there and that he was my roommate, plus he was worried about his dog as well (which they told him was locked upstairs).
So, anyway, I was rushed to the hospital. I was a bit worried because I know how expensive ambulance rides are and I didn't have insurance at the time (I was still in the first 3 months of my job and was just weeks away from coverage), but I was more focused on surviving the night. I ended up in some sort of emergency room after being pushed through the hospital on a gurney just like they do on television. Everyone was trying to keep me calm, but honestly I was starting to worry because I was around no one that I knew and I had these odd fears about dying anonymously.
After some time in the emergency room, my mother came in quite freaked out. The doctors showed her x-rays and basically did all they could to help with the bleeding and the pain that was starting to set in. I just remember that I couldn't stop shaking and I was really afraid that I was going to die. Still, I seemed to be pretty stable, so everyone in the room was pretty calm. Even at one point, someone else was wheeled in behind a curtain next to me and they rushed off to check on him. From what I could overhear he was in a motorcycle accident and was going about 90 mph and surprisingly just seemed to have a few scratches on him. I guess it was a lucky night in that room! One funny thing though was when they were checking him out, my side wound (one of the bullet entry wounds) started bleeding onto the floor (I guess the bandaging came loose). My mother, who is pretty timid, was quietly squeaking out, "Excuse me, please, but my daughter is bleeding on the floor." It took them a few moments to even hear her. I thought that was funny.
Also, while in the emergency room, two gentleman came in to ask me a few questions. They said they were detectives from homicide and I think they could tell by my resulting wide-eyed expression that I was a bit concerned with their presence. They assured me that homicide didn't necessarily mean "death", just violent crime, and they they were the ones assigned to my case. They were very friendly and updated me that the suspect had fled the scene and they were looking for him. They also said they would keep me posted as they found out more.
After the emergency room, I went into this room with lots of people behind curtains where you go before you go into surgery (I had remembered the room from when I had ankle surgery a few years before). The guy there checked a few more vitals and filled in a lot of answers to questions on his clipboard. I started to worry about the surgery, so I started to have an asthma attack from the panic. I told him that I had asthma and, of course, didn't have my inhaler with me. So, he set up a breathing treatment for me -- which was funny because for some reason he couldn't find an adult mask, so I had this teeny kid's mask on that I had to hold over my nose and mouth (it just barely fit) for the duration of the treatment (like 10 minutes or so).
I tried to find humor in the situation as I sat there with the teeny mask on my face alone waiting for the surgery (the guy had gone to talk with other people in the room). Still, it was a bit hard as the person next to me was shrieking horribly -- from what I could make out from the people talking about her was that her chest was collapsing (I don't know why), so her ribs were crushing her internal organs. It reminded me a bit of the first day I went to physical therapy after ankle surgery and I was in this line of people who were waiting for therapy. We were outside this row of little curtained areas and all you could hear was people screaming as if they were being tortured and I was so terrified about what I was going into, but I couldn't run because I was in a wheelchair and somewhat blocked in by the other people in line. Luckily all I had to do that day was learn to walk with crutches!
Anyway, I waited for surgery, somewhat disturbed by my neighbor's horror and somewhat nervous that maybe I wouldn't get into surgery in time to save myself. I mean, I didn't feel like I was dying, but I was still absolutely terrified. After a good 20 minutes or so, they came and got me and wheeled me into the room for my surgery. I remember being transferred to a "bed" that was T-shaped, so my arms were out to my sides. I also remember that I was resorting to humor to try and get me through the experience (a usual coping mechanism for me). I was cracking jokes about if they were trying to crucify me and when they asked if I was pregnant before surgery I realized I hadn't had sex since my last period (a week or so before), so I said "Not unless its the Immaculate Conception." The surgeons all seemed to be laughing with me and they seemed to feel genuinely sorry for me when I gave them the Cliff Note's version of what had happened before they put me under.
About 4 hours later, I was out of surgery and in a hospital room. It was cleared up that the bullet had gone through my wrist, into my side, and across my belly (lodging itself on my left side by my hip). I was really lucky though as the bullet somehow didn't break any bones in my wrist and once inside me, managed to just travel through the fatty tissue (yay for belly pooches!) and not do any damage to any internal organs. Of course, the surgery to check that out probably did more damage than the bullet, but they needed to check for any internal damage and bleeding. They extracted the bullet from where it was lodged in my left side and I would have kept it as a memento, but I let the homicide detectives have it for the court case.
I was in the hospital for about a week after that, subsisting on only a "liquid diet" of, I believe, Jell-o, apple juice, and chicken broth (none of which I could stomach for some time afterwards because I was so sick of having them at every meal for a week). I was pretty out of it and asked my father to call in for me at work. The doctors said that I would need to be out of work for at least 4 weeks, so I was lucky that my job liked me so much that they actually held my position for me (well, actually they technically had to fire and rehire me, but they apologized profusely for having to do so and made it clear in no uncertain terms that I was welcome back after the 4 weeks). Of course, the details of my shooting went all over the workplace in a silly version of the telephone game and I had to set everyone straight when I finally got back (though I must admit some of the grandiose stories they had were entertaining!).
I had a few visitors in the hospital, but I was honestly so drugged up that I barely remember who came and went. I know that I have a few issues with my father as the night I got shot he essentially just rolled over and went back to sleep, thinking it was no big deal. Then the next day he and my mother stopped by my hospital room for about 30 minutes and when I asked why they were leaving so quickly, they said that they were going to a Braves game because they had season tickets! I couldn't believe that baseball was more important than being with me in the hospital. Oh well. I have just gotten over that part.
As for other visitors, I do remember that my then-friends Marcie, Renee, and Leonard came just about every day and that my friend and co-worker Harvey also came to visit. Funnily enough, I even ran into this guy named Kevin that I knew back when I was younger who was now a nurse at Grady and had seen me on the patient list and came to see me. I hadn't seen him for years, so it was nice to run into him again.
So, anyway, a week passed and I was finally able to go home. Financially, luckily there was some sort of Victims of Violent Crimes Act that paid for my hospital stay, so that eased my mind on that end. I also stayed at my parent's house for the 4 weeks so they could sort of take care of me and since I was honestly a bit afraid of sleeping in my old bed again just yet.
It was a hard time. I was not only in terribly amounts of pain (the painkillers only did do much), but being practically single (
unxmaal was basically just a sexual relationship), I felt like a monster with the 40-something staples going up my chest and I even remember coming out of the shower weeping one night and telling my mother that I was a "monster than no one will ever want to date." I have made peace with my scars these days, but back then, they were truly a source of sorrow.After the four weeks, I returned home and to work. At home, my mother and sister had prepped the room by getting me new bedding and throwing away the bloodied bedding. I also stuck a smiley face sticker over the bullet hole in the wall to try and ease some of the bad associations with it. My father got the apartment complex to not charge me rent that month because it was them that had a felon on their property (more on that in a minute). Work got back to normal, too, even though for months people I had never met were randomly stopping me in the hall and asking me about what happened (for years I was still the "girl who got shot" there). My WeightWatchers-at-work buddies raised about $200 for me to help with bills and my department even raised about $50.00 for the same. One of the mailing lists I was on (for Duran Duran fanfic) raised money to get me a get-well gift (basically a gift basket that had all sorts of little games and goodies for me) and I was so touched that people who I didn't even really know in real life had been so charitable.
As for the guy, I don't know much about him (I've never even met him). He turned himself in the weekend after I was shot and it was found that he was a convicted felon in his past and therefore not legally allowed to own a gun. He was living next door with his aunt and claims to have not even been present when the gun was fired (though when his aunt came home just afterwards, she said he was running out the door without explanation). He would never say what happened and, though I was subpoenaed a few times for his trials, I never heard the outcome (I was "on call", so they would only call me if they needed me and they never did). I assume he was eventually tried, I just know that it seemed I kept getting subpoenaed month after month for a while there as the trial kept getting pushed forward. Occasionally I would run into his aunt at the mailbox while checking mail and she would apologize profusely for what happened, but I told her that it was okay and that I was moving on.
So, that is all that I can remember at the moment. I am sure that I missed a few things, but it has been almost 5 years now since it happened. If anyone has any questions or anything, I would be happy to tell you what I know.
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no subject
Date: 2006-09-26 07:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 01:56 am (UTC)You know, I am actually not sure about how I feel about them.
I mean, on the one hand, part of me thinks it bad for people to have guns because such things as what happened to me can happen to other people. On the other, I know that accidents happen and according to the homicide detectives, guns go off from people cleaning them or dropping them all the time.
I think, because of that, people need to be properly trained if they are going to own a gun and take a lot of precautions.
I doubt I would ever own a gun though. They still scare me a bit.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 05:08 pm (UTC)I hear a lot of stories that involve negligent discharges during cleaning. That seems to be one of the most common forms of negligent discharge. It's stupid, because the first step of cleaning a gun is always to make sure it's empty. Really, it should NEVER happen. I can't fathom why some handguns require the user to depress the trigger in order to disassemble the gun for cleaning. It just seems like a recipie for disaster to me, but then I'm not a gunsmith so maybe there's some reason I'm not aware of.
I think that the detectives may have a little bit off the mark when they told you that guns go off from being dropped. All of the handguns that I'm aware of have several different forms of safety to prevent discharge during a drop. For example, the firing pin may be prevented from engaging unless the trigger is fully depressed. A typical handgun will have many different redundant safety mechanisms to prevent unintended discharge during a drop. These devices can fail, but I don't think that it's a very common occurrence.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-26 07:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 01:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 07:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-02 07:53 am (UTC)God, then you probably remember all the changes the list has gone through. I remember when it was on OneList and the Egroups and the Yahoo. I think it might have been on another somewhere in there!
By the way, speaking of old school, did you know that Alizarine/Jemiah Jefferson (her most famous story is the JT piece "Perfect Drug", which I believe is up on There) is a published horror writer now? She is on LJ as
no subject
Date: 2006-09-26 08:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-26 10:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-26 10:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 01:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-02 07:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-02 10:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-26 01:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-26 03:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-05 06:15 am (UTC)Wow - I'm so sorry this happened to you. And really sorry that you don't have any resolution to know what happened to him.
I am so glad you've recovered and have made peace with your scars. *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2012-07-05 07:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-04 10:10 pm (UTC)*hugs* You are amazing. <3
no subject
Date: 2015-07-05 03:34 am (UTC)