|
It was Sunday afternoon and I was glad to be home after a weekend away. I was catching up on e-mails and my husband was watching the history channel--Dogfights or something like that...
Lost in thought, I didn't hear the phone ring. The sound of my husband's voice caught my attention.
"Is he okay?" My husband asks.
"Is it bad?" That was my que--I half put on my shoes while running to the living room when Art yells, "Tree, we gotta go now! J is down and we don't know how bad it is!"
As we ran out of the door, I immediately called my dad to tell him to start praying, then I did the same. The ten minute drive up the hill seemed like an eternity! Art turned out of our cul-de-sac so fast, the box in the back seat fell over and everything was rolling around, which was extremely annoying. (Strange, the things that bother us when we are anxious.)
Anyway, as we pulled into Cody's driveway, my heart was racing and my husband and I were frantically scanning the property for someone to lead us to our son.
"HELLO, WHERE IS EVERYBODY?" My husband shouts with a voice of irritation.
"We are down here." As we raced down the hillside, I tried to prepare myself for what I might see. Keep me strong for my baby boy, I silently pray.
Okay, no blood, no protruding bones, but his right arm is looking a bit out of place. I can handle this...
As we hear the details of how J ended up 30 feet down, I feel a wide range of emotions. (As parents of a dirt-bike rider, this is nothing new. Yet each time feels like the first time.) As a mom, I get angry, then proud, then scared, then thankful that he is still breathing.
But this time was different...he came off of a jump in third gear (In retrospect "something I shouldn't have done" he says.) Gee, ya think? Anyway, it threw him off balance and forced his body to lean forward, causing him to put unwanted pressure on the throttle, which sent the bike straight toward a tree. Fortunately, he bailed before impact. Unfortunately, it sent him tumbling down the 30-foot drop that leads into the next jump.
In short, he was in extreme pain, more than all the other times put together. How do I know this you ask? Well, let me tell you... you learn a lot about your 17-year-old son when he is in pain.
He dropped the F-bomb more than once, he called his friend an A-hole for moving his arm on accident, and a few other choice words came from his mouth. But hey, if I was hurting like that, I probably would have done the same. Suck it upTeresa, at least he is talking.
After what seemed like hours, the paramedics arrived. But not just the paramedics. No, we had the best show in our little town: Three fire engines, three police cars, the fire chief and two paramedic vehicles and an ambulance, which translates into a crew of 15 and our town's entire emergency response unit.
My relief turned to anger and frustration. The first thing the police officers did was run checks on the bikes to make sure these punk kids didn't have stolen bikes. The second thing they did was run to my son. Do you think they asked him if he was okay or what happenend? No. That would be the right thing to do. Instead, one of the officers looked at him in disgust and said, "Son, have you been drinking?" (I thought my husband was going to be arrested for assaulting a police officer.)
"No Sir, I don't drink."
"Have you been doing any drugs, or anything you shouldn't be doing?"
"No man, me and my friends are just hanging out riding motorcycles!"
"Blow in my face for me, will you?"
In the meanwhile, the other officers are staring at the other boys and walking around the property to see if they can find any proof of what they were so sure they would find. Never mind the fact that they insulted Cody's parents.
I will give the officer this, it is his job to be sure that it is not an alcohol related incident, but to come on the property expecting to be proved right is extremely frustrating!!
Apparently, Cody had enough and spoke up... "Dude, we are just riding and having good clean fun. Everyone keeps trying to make it a law that kids can't ride, so we ride on our own property. Would you prefer us to be hanging out in parks drinking and doing drugs?"
It probably wasn't the wisest thing to say, but his point was well made and all of us parents had to agree.
The officer, still kneeling in my son's face, finally stood up and looked around one last time. I thought I was being paranoid, but everyone, especially all the boys said that the cop actually looked disappointed.
While following the ambulance to the hospital, I was thinking about how blessed I was that my son and all his buddies disappointed these police officers...
As I mentioned earlier, it is amazing what you learn about your 17-year-old son when he is injured. We hadn't been at the hospital more than five minutes and his cell phone was buzzing like crazy!! One, two, three, four text messages in a row. All girls!!
"O my gosh, J!", laughing as I tell him.
"What can I say mom, it happens."
So, the cops are disappointed, my son is safe, sober and in a sling. (Can you believe his only injury was a dislocated shoulder and a little road-rash on his side? It had to be the prayers.)
I will always remember this as one of the most unlikely yet greatest gifts I will ever receive.
Although, I might re-think this when the bills come in right around Mother's Day.
(C) Teresa Ortiz
|
