Today is March 16th. On March 5th 2013, I was in Central Park in Pasadena CA with a number of other people who've decided to get together to serve food to homeless people. We had finished serving when someone attacked me from behind and stabbed me in the neck with a box cutter with the intent of taking my life.
I remember getting struck on the head from behind, and when I turned to see what was behind me, I saw an apparently husky figure of someone retreating back across the park to a waiting cab which they entered and left the park. I was unaware that I'd been stabbed; the person sitting to my right said something to that effect and grabbed something and held it to my neck. It wasn't until I touched my neck and then saw my bloody fingers that I realized the potential seriousness of the attack. Someone suggested calling 911 & I'm pretty sure that I suggested that it would be better if someone just gave me a ride to the hospital only a few blocks away. Someone had the presence of mind to ask me for my car keys so my car could be moved for which I am grateful. At that point, the main thought going through my mind was to try and stay as calm as possible; I knew that adrenalin kicking in would only result increasing my heart rate and any potential blood loss.
Getting admitted was almost a comedy of errors. My friend stopped at the first set of doors at ER, which happened to be for trauma, and they were locked. My friend's frantic knocking prompted someone to open the locked door, and upon entry into trauma, staff asked what we were doing and how we'd gotten there. We explained that we were looking for ER because I'd been attacked. So we got told to go to the admitting desk. Fortunately,. the person at the admitting desk immediately grasped the seriousness of my injury and told me to go right back to trauma, where they immediately put me into an available room. Somewhere during this process a policeman told me that they'd caught my assailant and that she was psychotic. (I learned later that a friend had pursued my attacker across the park and though he had been unable to prevent my attacker from leaving the scene, my friend flagged down a nearby cop who was able to apprehend the cab.) I also apparently had the presence of mind to call someone to let them know what had happened, but I don't remember doing so. A trauma team had assembled at this point, and when they removed the makeshift dressing to take a look at the wound, apparently we had a pretty good spurt prompting someone to say "WHOA!". I think I responded with something along the lines of: "hey! i'm trying to stay calm here, and you can't go around saying "WHOA!" without me starting to panic." Somebody responded by trying to jam their finger into the wound and out the other side of my neck. I then said, "OW! I know you're trying staunch the bleeding, but that kind of pain is probably going to kick in my adrenalin as well." We got me to the OR from trauma without other mishap, except for them insisting on cutting off my new pair of jeans while I kept insisting that I could lift my hips on the table. And yes, I had on dirty underwear.
I woke up around 8 am with both arms strapped to the sides of my bed, IV's in both my arms, and a chest tube, NG tube, drainage & catheter inserted in me. The dry board on the wall said March 6th while the wall calendar said March 11th. Turned out it was actually Thursday morning Match 7th. I had been out for 36 hours, and while I was out incommunicado any and all attempts to ascertain any news concerning my status had gone for naught; as the victim of an attack, I had been registered under an alias/pseudonym for my own safety, and the switchboard operator must have tired of telling everyone who called on Wednesday that as the victim of an attack, hospital policy is to register such individuals under an alias. So if I had been the victim of an attack, I would have been registered under an alias and that I would need to be contacted so I could give them my alias name.
Around 9am, they pulled the chest tube (which was about as unpleasant an experience as you might imagine) and upon request, handed me my cell phone. At this point, it's still only Wednesday to me and my only thought is try and cancel an appointment set for 1pm that day (in actuality, 20 hours earlier). I see that I have multiple texts & voicemails but my cell also emits one of the those "battery is about to die" beeps. I'm horrified, and I frantically call the person who i suspected had my keys, but I get their voicemail. Argh! I call the person who gave me a ride to the hospital and iI just kept repeating: "My cell phone is about to die. I need to have someone get my charger which is in my left top desk drawer." while he kept repeating: "How are you? I just want to know how you are!" Some time during that exchange my cell phone did in fact die around 9am.
I have never felt so helpless in all my life. I still had the NG tube in my nose, both arms strapped to sides of my bed, and my only connection to the world at large was in my hand but with a dead battery. Around 9:45am, someone came into my room and told me that a Michael G. was downstairs and asked me if I wanted to see him. I mumbled/blurted out: "Does he have my cell phone charger?" to which she responded yes! Michael came up with my charger, plugged it in and proceeded to fill me in on details. It was Michael who'd chased after my assailant and whose flagging down a policeman had brought my assailant to justice.
Apparently the cab had already left the park, so when police apprehended the cab, they also arrested the driver and put him in handcuffs in case he'd been an accomplice. Poor guy.Once my alias had been disseminated (Gustavo Perez, of all names), I didn't lack for visitors for the rest of my time in the hospital. I don't know how else to describe it, but I was very aware of feeling like I needed to be aware of what each visitor seemed to need, and that I felt I needed to adapt accordingly. Some people wanted to fill in all the details I didn't know, others wanted me to fill them in on everything. Some came to cheer me up, while others were clearly upset by what had transpired and I was very aware that if I had any sort of negative energy it would have a geometric impact on them.
That Thursday night, I prayed.
Friday the 8th, someone brought me one of my laptops, and I re-established internet contact with the world - which included someone posting a pic of my neck wound and including a link to a news story detailing the attack. Friday night, they moved me out of CCU, and Saturday morning I was discharged from the hospital.
I'll try to get caught to the present in the next post.
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