Closest Call (part 1 (not fiction or a poem)

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    Closest Call (part 1 (not fiction or a poem)

    on the evening of the 27 of march it was snowing lightly in the area of the USA Where I had been visiting since October of '07 still going through the Flu, Bronchitis and all the wonderful contagious disease floating around the local air I had been spending the nights inside my mothers house as the weather was too cold mostly and i was too sick to spend nights in the little camper trailer which i was using for a music and art studio, it was finally warm enough so my mother i suggested I spend the night out there(she and everyone else going through similar rough health compromises.. so after finally getting out and turning the electric hot oil heating unit to warm it up, and go out and watch The Lord of the Rings ,Return of the King i charged up my cell phone up had something to drink in my mothers kitchen then went out through the quietly falling snow and watched the DVD,, growing tired and upset shutting the DVD off after Denathore did his Flaming leap off Mineas Tireth... growling about it didn't happen that way in the book... switching off the DVD and lights I covered up under double sleeping bags to say warm till the alarm clock would wake me at around 10:30AM..
    I kept waking up hearing a clicking or what sounds like one of the tarpaulin ropes banging against the side I was on beyond the stove in the front half of the unit, woke up to a lot of heat poring through my back moved sleeping bags and couldn't see light it was so smoke filled and hot. I slid down to the floor and removed what felt like scorching burning clothes and bedding reached to the side and grabbed something to protect my front as I squat walked out with my head low working to where I knew the door was..
    ..I burst out and ran naked through the snow into the back of my mothers house a computer tower that was on the floor that I had picked up tossed aside as i yelled for someone to call the fire department and ambulance with what voice i had left I asked my stepfather to get me a wet towel for my back, as the local fire department and ambulance arrived my pair of pants were on me finally as i answered questions and they walked me into the Emergency Vehicle, started oxygen on me as we went under way to the nearest hospital..
    giving out numbers and information in the way to try to keep conscious at least till the emergency people could get Morphine into me.. heard the guy complain over the radio that he couldn't get the box unlocked.. said that i would have to wait till I was in the Emergency Room.. in world of pain i arrived and tons of more questions fast, then I was told i had to be transported up to the Burn unit at another Hospital, and they wanted permission to knock me out and put me on a respirator, otherwise my throat might close shut on the way and i might not make it.. said with what voice i had to proceed as i hadn't received anything for pain...
    a few more minutes i lost consciousness and woke later with the breathing gear jamming up my throat hearing a voice telling me not to fight it...
    next thing i see is someone taking my ring off (a guy) and then me looking down to see someone washing me and adjusting a catheter.. it was disturbing. none too soon i was on oxygen morphine drip pushing through a wall of constant pain...finding out that if I had been in there another minute I would have been Cremated.. (to be continued..)

    © 2008 origionalmerlin

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    merlin commented on Closest Call (part 1 (not fiction or a poem)

    05-24-2009

    Comments not solicited or appropriate, this is part of what actuality happened to me when visiting New York. I wrote it in April 2008 between the burn unit and being placed in a nursing home for a month till the burns could be handled by me with the help of a home health aid, The fire left me stranded without ID,money or posessions except for 1 pair of chefs pants and a Maui Seafoods Hat that were in my mothers dryer in her house when the fire turned everything

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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