a fall in the dark when 911 turns into a different kind of calling.

and a heart felt psa

I woke at 3 am-ish. Not a surprise these days. Age. Menopause. Worry. Pick one. Or all. I was warm and wanted to pop on the air.

I woke on the hall floor. The side of my face stinging. It takes a few seconds to realize I have fallen.

emergency pink art

I have not tripped. Fainted? I am up on my feet again. Then down. Sometimes I know I am going to faint, like the times I gave blood in high school. Or when I went for Botox and told noone and passed out at the cashier. They lay me on the floor legs overhead, in a dress, and my lacy thong on display for all the world to see. Doc says, vasovagal episode. Your body senses danger from the needle and shuts down. Opposite of fight or flight.

I don’t think it in this moment. All I can think, is how am I on the floor? Again. This time near the vintage chair in the corner of my room. Curved chrome side rails, the seat and back covered in a black and white Zebra fabric. I am face down on the Moroccan wool rug beneath it

I hurt. My jaw. My chin. I bring my hand to the pain and feel warmth. I crawl to the bathroom next door and put my cheek on the cool tile floor. In the low light of the medicine chest, I see its blood. I grab for toilet paper and dab. It’s my chin. I brave a look. Just at the jaw line a clean slice. Like the inside of a medium rare piece of steak. Home alone, I crawl to my cell.

I punch in 9-1-1. Numbers I know for an emergency. They say their spiel and I begin to share my details. The woman says, “you’re breaking up”. The cell service in our town is spotty at best. How can I hear her and she can not hear me? Try again. A man. He hangs up when he can’t hear me

The tissue is neon with red. I call the Bedford Fire Department. A new state of the art facility has been opened this year in my newly adopted town. A recording. If this is an emergency call 911. I imagine there is always a sleepover and spaghetti dinner here, and a Dalmatian. Not true.

I try my husband. He is sleeping in our NY studio. Hard sleeper, but he wakes. He says I sound confused. Calls 911 for me and stays on the line until help arrives.

He gets in an Uber while paramedics (two cars) a police car and ambulance make their way to my tiny dead end street. My husband forgets to relay my “no lights please, all the neighbors are sleeping.”

All are kind. History. BP. Do you faint often? Did you eat? Girl dinner. Home alone. Drugs? Drinks? They examine the electric red smear on the floor. “Healthy platelets one jokes.”

We are heading to the hospital where I have just witnessed the near death of my father a month earlier and experienced several miscarriages of my 30s.

The female doc on duty, Eleanor, is warm and kind. At first I thought she said Ellen. My Mom’s name. I will need a CT scan and bloodwork. The X-ray tech is female too. Girl power at 4am is somehow a comfort.

I request a plastics pro for the stitches. She is on Long Island and has no intention of coming, though is on call. I overhear from my room in the ER. She sounds like an awful bitch. Eleanor assures me, she is adept and we proceed. My husband has yet to arrive.

The numbing needles around the slice burn and pinch. I can't stop my body from shaking. Cold. Nerves. Hospital memories.

I hear a familiar voice come from Eleanor, it is not hers. “You’re ok”. And a wash of calm becomes me. I feel a warmth slide through me. Over me. Like an invisible hug. It is my Mom. A visitation. Embodiment. This has never happened. Not in 31 long years without her.

In a whoosh I am calm. Gentle tears ride from the corners of my eyes to my chin as she stitches. “You’re doin great”. Eleanor adds. I am. My Mom was here. In one of those moments I needed her.

Ten tidy stiches later and a follow up with Dr. Chin (I kid you not, a local plastics guy) I am well. Walking with care and feeling my age somehow. But knowing Mom is never far and still badass in an emergency

PS Please have a plan of action for an emergency I have later learned my PD is the only 24/7 service in my town.