Danger lurks behind every corner in our lives. We might be peacefully going about our business one moment, then the next we become the victim of fate, circumstance, or simple bad luck. Having worked in law enforcement for 25 years, I would say I have witnessed more than my fair share of random accidents and bad luck.
One event in particular comes to mind. It occurred about twenty years ago while I was working as a patrol officer in the city of Elk Grove. I was cruising around my beat in the late afternoon hours, watching traffic and waiting for my next call for service. It had been a rather slow day (which is always nice) and I was only an hour or so away from going home if things stayed that way.
I observed a car speeding and driving a bit erratically. I accelerated and tried to catch up to it. Before I got close, I saw the vehicle run through a red light. Now I had a definite hazard on the road, and I needed to react to it. I activated my lights and siren and went after the car.
I caught up to the vehicle a few miles later and the driver pulled over as soon as she saw my lights behind her. I used my radio to notify dispatch that I was on a traffic stop, then got out of my car to contact the driver.
The driver rolled down her window as I approached. I noticed her reach across the steering wheel with her left hand to turn off the ignition. I felt that was odd but didn’t really give it too much thought. As I stood next to her open car window, I noticed the smell of alcohol on her breath. That explained the erratic driving, I figured.
I explained why I had stopped her, then asked if she had been drinking that day.
She said, “I’ve had a couple glasses of wine. I probably shouldn’t be driving, but I needed to get to the hospital.”
Okay. She admitted she had been drinking, and even said she probably shouldn’t be driving. In my head, I had already begun to write my report. I was also lamenting the fact that I most likely would not be getting off work on time. Drunk driving investigations typically take a few hours.
Then I paused. The last part of her statement finally sunk in. “I needed to get to the hospital.”
I mentally shifted gears and asked, “Why are you trying to get to the hospital?”
“Oh, I was washing dishes at home. I broke a plate and cut my hand.”
She held up her right hand so I could see it. At first, I thought she was wearing a red glove with something white in the palm. It was not until I realized that I was looking at exposed tendon and bone in the palm of her hand that I understood the “glove” was actually a disturbingly large amount of blood that was no longer inside of her body where it rightfully should have been.
I guessed that it was going to be a coin toss as to which one of us passed out first: her because of blood loss, or me because of the shock of seeing how much damage you can do to the human body with just a broken dish.
I asked her why she hadn’t called for an ambulance. She told me she didn’t think it was an emergency and she figured she could get herself to the hospital faster. She said initially, she didn’t think the cut was that bad.
She was wrong.
It was bad.
I requested that the fire department send immediate medical assistance, then rummaged through the trunk of my patrol car for a medical kit. I grabbed a ball of medical gauze and placed it over the woman’s cut and told her to squeeze it in her hand. I didn’t bother to wrap her hand because I knew as soon as the fire department showed up they would just cut the bandage off so they could see how badly she was injured.
I asked her if she had someone she could call that would come and pick up her car. She narrowed her eyes and stared at me like a grade schoolteacher debating if she should hold back a particularly slow student for an extra year. Then she said, “If I had someone who could drive my car, don’t you think they would already be driving?”
Good point. Apparently, the intoxicated lady with massive blood loss was still thinking more clearly than I was. I told her that I would move her car to a nearby parking lot (we were half a block away from a Target store and I figured her car would be fine in the lot for a day or so), then I would bring her car key to her at the hospital. She agreed.
The fire department showed up and transported her to the hospital. As I promised, I moved her car and returned her car key.
In the end, everything worked out, but I still think of that incident every now and then.
Particularly when I have had a few drinks and my wife asks me to do the dishes. I remind her of this story and tell her that it is probably a bad idea. There are simply too many things that could go wrong, and I don’t want her to have to drive me to the hospital. I wouldn’t want to ruin her whole evening.
She accuses me of being lazy and trying to find an excuse not to do dishes.
She may be right. But with all the terrible accidents that happen every day, I think it is better to be safe than sorry.
I think that is what makes me such a good husband.
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