Have Some Reality, Funny Man

The yard sale went as expected.

Lots of people came to my house, offered me less money for things that were already grossly under priced, and got angry when I wouldn't take it. One guy even called me a name because I wouldn't take .10 for something that we were only selling for .25 cents.

WHAT!?!!

Let me tell you something, Jasper..........If you are only .15 cents away from financial ruin, it might be time to close up shop and move on. But, he spent a full 5 minutes arguing with me about .15 cents. Then, when I wouldn't budge, he told me that I was being a "tight ass."

HUH!?!!

ME!?!!

HE was the one who wouldn't drop an extra dime, and nickel, for an article of baby clothing that I probably paid $15 for, 7 years ago. Even if he pays the .25 cents, he STILL wins, BIG TIME. Truth be told, the guy didn't look like he had many "victories" in his life, and shouldn't be passing them up when they are put on a silver platter for him.

He didn't buy the shirt. Apparently, .15 cents was to great a price to pay for his pride.

Things went along, well. We made a few hundred bucks. We brought everything that was left over into the garage, so that no one could steal it before we threw it away. Once that was done, I hopped on my riding mower, and hit the backyard.

About 10 minutes into the mowing, my daughter screamed bloody murder. This is not out of the ordinary. That's what she does. Screams bloody murder. I'm not joking when I say that people have suggested we get her an agent so that she can scream bloody murder, for money. I guess there is a big market for this. But, we haven't investigated it. I'm sure I'll live to regret that decision, when the radio work dries up. But, anyway, I kept on about my business of mowing the lawn.

Then, my daughter ran out the back door, crying, and screaming "Mommy fell....Mommy fell!!!!"

I jumped off my mower, and ran inside.

My wife was laying on the ground, in the garage. She had fallen down the single step that leads into the garage. She was on her side.......She was crying........Her right foot was facing the WRONG DIRECTION.

Sometimes it takes the brain a moment to process things like that. So, I said that stupidest possible thing that I could have said, at that moment.

"BROOKE!!!!! ARE YOU OKAY!?!!!"

She screamed that her foot was broken.

Of course her foot was broken. What a freaking bonehead I am.

My daughter was screaming, and crying.

At that moment, I simply did not know what to do.

I ran for the phone, and called 911. They answered quick.

"My pregnant wife has fallen down a step, and her foot is broken. It's facing the wrong direction."

I told that to two separate operators. I don't know why I had to tell it to two of them. But, I did. In truth, I'm sure I sounded hysterical. I'm also sure that I yelled, rather than spoke, what I was telling them.

I was told NOT to move, OR touch her. The ambulance was on its way.

I stood there.

DON'T touch, OR move her.

WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO!?!!!!!!!!!!

Everyone was crying.

My neighbor came over, and saved my life. She took my daughter over to her house, and kept her there for the night. It's not as creepy as it sounds. My daughter plays with her kids, all the time.

My mother-in-law, who is a nurse and had been at the house the whole day, drove up. She had already left for home, but came back. She had, by some fluke, forgotten her cell phone and decided to come back and get it.

It probably took a total of 5 minutes for the ambulance to get there. It felt like 5 hours.

They got Brooke stabilized, and we headed to the hospital. It was not like on TV. I did not get to ride in the back with her, hold her hand, talk to her, and tell her things would be okay. I had to ride in the front. It felt like the longest drive of my life.

On a side note, while you are driving, GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WAY WHEN YOU HEAR A SIREN!!!!!

I can't tell you how many people view a siren as a chance to get further in traffic, rather than getting out of the way. People just sat there. My wife is going through hell, in the back, and these jerks would not get out of the way. If I'd had a gun, blood would have been spilled on that day. Just move over to the right. Nothing you have to do is as important as what the ambulance has to go do. I don't care who you are.

We got to the hospital, with Brooke's foot still facing the wrong direction, and were rushed into the emergency room. I'm speeding things along, here. But, after a while they knocked her out, put her foot the right way, and put a cast on her. It was not pretty.

We were told that she would have to have surgery, and that they would talk to everyone and make sure everything they used would be okay for the baby. We were satisfied. It had to be done, and they seemed to know what they were doing.

Roughly 3 hours later, Brooke was out of surgery, with several screws and plates in her ankle, and the baby was fine.

I was with her, in the recovery room, where she was coming out of everything, and they had a fetal monitor on her stomach to hear the baby's heartbeat. It was going okay.

Until they lost the baby's heartbeat.

The nurse kept moving the monitor around, trying to find it, and couldn't. She didn't seem concerned.

"Is this a problem?" I asked her.

"No," she said. "I'll call someone from upstairs to look. They are more familiar with doing this."

So, someone from the maternity area, I believe, came down to look.

We were okay. Brooke was still, mostly, out. I was curious, but no one else seemed concerned.

The nurse from maternity couldn't find the heartbeat either.

"Is this a problem?" I asked, again.

I was VERY concerned, now.

I was told that they were going to have a doctor come down, with an ultrasound machine, and look.

That didn't seem good.

Something wasn't right.

The doctor came, with the machine, and looked for the heartbeat. He seemed to find it, with the ultrasound machine. But, could not find it with the monitor. Either way, it wasn't right and I could tell. He kept looking, and kept finding the same result. So, he decided to do a pelvic exam.

He did.

Then, the most terrifying :30 minutes of my life began.

Everyone started running around. Orders were being barked. My wife was looking at me, and we locked eyes. She held up the sign for "I love you."

The doctor asked who my wife's doctor was. When he got the name he yelled "Call him, and tell him to get in here, NOW!!!"

You know how, in the movies, the run down the hallway, with the patient on a bed, and scream all sorts of orders out?

That was happening.

They got Brooke onto an elevator, and were taking up to do an emergency c-section. Someone yelled, "We have to get this baby, NOW!!!"

I had to take the next elevator, with my mother-in-law.

They put us in the waiting room, with a nurse.

I'm not a patient man. I don't do well with idle time, especially when things are happening to people I love.

I paced.

As far as I knew, my son, who had not been born, was dead. My wife was in serious trouble. There is nothing more frightening. I would not wish this on my worst enemy.

The nurse made calls. A variety of different people needed to be up here, and they needed to be up here NOW.

I hadn't been saying anything. There wasn't anything to say, and no one to say it to. My mother-in-law was trying to call her husband, who happens to be a doctor, just to see if he could tell her anything.

The nurse said, "Would you like me to call a preacher?"

I snapped.

"PREACHER!?!!! WHAT DO I NEED A PREACHER FOR!?!!!!!"

My brain, which was fried, was not seeing how anything good was going to come of this. My life was in another room and I couldn't get to it. I couldn't get the information I wanted. I couldn't fix this problem. All I could do was watch a door, and wait. I wanted to throw a chair through the window.

I paced.

I'm pretty sure I was hyperventilating.

Then, someone said, "Where is Mr. Bartholomew?"

"Right here," I said.

It was the head nurse, I believe.

She put her hands on my shoulders.

"Your son is okay," she said. He was out, he was crying, and he was headed to the special care unit. He was only 34 weeks, 5 days. More than a month early. There were concerns. But, he was out.

"Is my wife okay?" I asked.

"She's fine," she said.

I lost it. I'm not a crier. I don't think I've REALLY cried in more than 25 years.

I cried that night.

A lot.

I didn't time it, but it had to be close to 10 minutes, straight.

I tried to stop. I tried to talk, but couldn't. Two of the people I loved most in the world, one who I'd never even met, had just gone through hell. I was positive that at least one of them was dead.

Maxwell Steven Bartholomew was born at 12:41am, on Mother's Day. He was 6 pounds, exactly, and 19 1/2 inches. He cried right when he came out, which is a good sign. He is breathing on his own, which is also a good sign. Everyone is saying that he'll be fine.

My wife is a train wreck. She got to have surgery on her ankle AND have a c-section ALL IN THE SAME DAY!!!! Most people don't even do that in the same week!! Say what you will about my wife, but when Brooke does something she does it BIG.

My daughter is okay. She's 8. It's hard seeing mommy in such bad shape when you're only 8. We have talked about it, a lot, and I think she'll be alright. She just wants to hold her little brother. She can't, now, because he's in what is, basically, ICU. She's not allowed in there. Soon, though.

I would prefer to try and make you laugh. The key word there being "TRY." But, sometimes real life smacks you in the face.

If the guy who wanted to save the .15 cents comes back, he can have the baby shirt for free. Some things seem so much less important, today, than they were yesterday.

I'm taking a couple of days off, for obvious reasons. Even if you don't like me, please keep my family in your prayers. God knows we need it.

Casey