The flow slowed instantly. It felt gross and horribly wrong. I was very squeamish about it, but it worked, so I rolled my shoulders and with my right hand, I reached up and hit his communication button on this shoulder (luckily it didn’t seem to be damaged) and said, “My name is Sydney, I had my OnStar call in a police shooting on I-5. The shooters fled the scene, but the officer has been shot several times and one of the wounds is really bad…..” I could hear sirens coming closer, so I hurried on to say, “I am a female in all white.” Well, looking down at myself, I noted I was actually, now wearing white covered in blood, but I didn’t say that. “I’m leaning over the officer with my fingers in the wound, this guy has lost so much blood if the arriving officers pull me off of him he won’t make it to the gurney. Please relay this to approaching LEO’s.”
“Copy that, arriving deputies heard your request. Over. Is the officer conscious? Over.”
My first thought was: if he was conscious I wouldn’t be making the call, but I didn’t say that. Instead I said, “No he’s out; I can hear the sirens and they’re almost on us. I’m going to let go of the com now. I need both hands for this wound, it’s starting to bleed around my fingers.”
I released the com, relaxed my bum back on my heels, and placed my free hand over the hand in the wound. I was pressing hard, so even though it was a short time, my hands ached. I was surprised how quickly my hands started to cramp up.
I could see the arriving flashing lights now and knew at any moment, we were going to have company. I could only hope the arriving responders heard my plea. I bent my head and prayed for this man beneath me. I didn’t know him, but I knew he didn’t deserve this, so I prayed his last day on this earth wasn’t going to be laying on the dirty shoulder of Interstate-5 at three a.m. with my fingers stuck inside of him.
You’d be surprised to learn how much you talk to God when you find yourself in a life or death situation. I know I was.
I lifted my head as several boots approached quickly. I was unable to make out their faces with my headlights shining in my eyes.
I squinted and shouted, “My name is Sydney, and he was shot by two men,” I said this all in one breath, very quickly, as loud as I could, to the arriving responders. I looked back down to my patient and decided to put my focus back on him.
I heard a lot of communications sounding off around me, little alarms and electronic beeps coming from all directions. I could make out men speaking to each other and into their coms, but no one approached me or tried to talk to me; they seemed to be taking in the police vehicle.
Suddenly, more communications went off and I could hear a several pairs of boots running and then the sounds of vehicles speeding off.
Thankfully, a beautiful large African American woman arrived and crouched down next to me. She spoke to me in a soothing manner, “Hi there, let’s get a look at what you have here, okay? I’m going to cut open his trousers, but I don’t want you to move any, just let me get a look, that okay with you?”
I nodded yes to this beautiful angel.
I loved her.
She went about cutting away the area around his wound where my fingers were and used her light to look around and assess the situation. I then became aware of a man checking out the other gunshot wounds.
I was so focused on what she was doing, he startled me when he said, “I’ve got three GSW’s on the upper extremities.”
Shoot, I’d only counted two.
“She has this wound pretty well sealed up; we need to transport him immediately but she will have to ride next to the gurney with him until he gets a transfusion hooked up.”
Oh shit. This is going to be a very long night.
This same information was conveyed to several other people around us; I could hear it being called in by those people to several other people, to even more people, not at the crime scene.
I started tuning it all out. I had to. I was so tired, and I think I was beginning to feel shock setting in.
Oh Lord, Almighty! I wasn’t going to tell them this, nor was I going to allow my shock to harm this guy, who I was now thinking of affectionately as my patient.
I’d have to suck it up until I could get home to my cats, a glass of wine, a swim in my pool, and a hot shower. All the things I was trying to get home to originally and the reason I had been traveling so late at night. Just another reason to hate the red-eye. Little did I know, getting home to those beloved things wasn’t going to happen for a very long time. After tonight, things were never going to be the same again .
With quite a bit of effort and me following their directions closely, my two angels loaded us up on the gurney and into the back of an ambulance. Once inside, they began hooking up all sorts of monitors and started an IV of clear liquid.
I heard them report his heartbeat was weak and thready. I didn’t think it sounded good. I kind of went into a daze as the ambulance we were riding in raced to the emergency entrance of the county hospital.
Normally about thirty minutes from where we were, it seemed like it took two hours to get there in the back of the ambulance.
In reality, it took twenty-two of the longest minutes of my life.
Chapter 2
Blue Wall
O nce we arrived at the emergency room, things happened very quickly.
My hands were so sore and my arms so cramped; they’d lifted me up and had me straddle my patient on the narrow gurney to wheel us in. I noticed many things about him from my new vantage point and the bright hospital lights.
One, he was very pale, like at deaths door pale. Two, he had very dark hair and a dark shadow of a beard on his face. His eye brows and eye lashes were super dark too, I wondered if it was an illusion that his hair was so dark, because he had gone so eerily pale.
We were whisked away by the medical staff, who immediately hooked him up to whatever machines and contraptions he needed to be hooked up to.
They were able to get blood going quickly, and we then went through the slow process of removing my now stiff and sore hands from inside of him. It wasn’t easy or nearly as quick as I would have preferred.
Once we pulled my fingers free, I was removed from the room and he was wheeled away for emergency surgery.
I watched the team that had been working on getting my finger out of him whisk him away and I actually found it difficult to process the fact that I wasn’t privy to what was going to happen to him from this point forward. I suspected his wife or significant other would be notified, and they would be told what was happening and updated on his condition.
That thought made me feel funny too. I guess when you stick your fingers inside of someone, in order to save a life, you tended to feel a bit protective of them.
Maybe I was feeling possessive; I didn’t know. This was all new for me. Did doctors and nurses become attached to their patients? Was this a by-product of dealing with life and death situations?
At any rate, the nurses wrapped my hands in warm towels. They spent time looking me over and determined that I had no injuries, even though my appearance led them to initially believe I had. They were very nice and tried to clean me up as best they could.
I knew they had much more important things to do than worry about how clean I was, and told them I could take it from there, encouraging them to go back to their more pressing duties.
Looking back, I must have been a real fright to see. I’m a medium sized woman, with shoulder length brown hair and light round hazel eyes, that tended to stand out against my olive complexion. I was still wearing my outfit from the last meeting I’d had right before I’d boarded the plane that would bring me home.
My outfit was a vintage winter white Gucci business suit with flared legs and a long jacket that went well past my knees. I had on white pumps with little silver studs across the toe. It was one of my favorite outfits. Was being the operative word, because I was positive after this night I’d never be able to wear it again.
When the feeling finally came back
into my hands, and I was cleared to leave the ER cubicle, I stepped out into the hall and was met with a wall of blue.
I mean a solid wall of various types of uniforms. My first thought was that they wanted to interrogate me about what happened, and what I knew.
I sighed and said, “okay guys. I know you need to ask me questions…” That was all I got out when the first officer who was wearing the same dark beige uniform as my patient had worn, grabbed me roughly by my shoulders and pulled me in for such a hard hug, I had difficulty breathing.
He said something in a low mumble that I couldn’t make out. He then kissed the top of my head and passed me on to the next officer who was wearing a black uniform, who did much the same as the first. And so it went. The police officers who, one by one, grabbed me and hugged me. Hard. They then passed me to the next officer who hugged me tight and held onto me for a few beats. And so it went, until I made it down the row of men and women in uniform, who had been waiting to say their thanks.
Some whispered their thanks and others placed kisses on my head.
Each and every one of the officers hugged me. One by one, until I was passed down to the very last officer, who was an older gentleman in a suit, with a badge on a lanyard around his neck.
He held onto me the longest and whispered into my hair, “You are an angel sent from the Lord above. I don’t know what in the heck a young lady like yourself was doing out on the highway this time of night, but we won’t forget what you did for our brother.”
I was so emotional and tired, and the whole situation was so unreal. I took it all in as graciously as I could. I hiccupped back a couple of sobs, and a couple of tears leaked out, but for the most part, I think I held it together pretty well.
I nodded at the man (I found out later was a detective) who was still holding onto me. After watching me a few minutes while holding my upper arms in what can only be described as a fatherly manner, he escorted me to a room just off the hallway, where a whole new set of officers were waiting for me.
I was then introduced to the roomful of detectives, and after I’d asked them not to shake my hands, as they both were still cramped and sore, they began the grueling process of taking my statement.
That is to say, they started to take my statement and then I made a comment that changed the course of the questioning.
It went something like this: “I called OnStar before I left the vehicle and they called you guys.” I was speaking to three detectives and two uniform officers. I didn’t know if this kind of crowd was normal, or if it was because a fellow law enforcement officer had been shot, but we had our Harmony Grove sheriff, the local PD from the City of Stockton, and CHP, all here at the hospital.
I was exhausted.
I inquired about my patient; no one could tell me if the CHP officer was going to be okay or not. I did find out that he was in surgery and would be there for a while, but other than that I hadn’t been given any additional information. Perhaps they didn’t know, or didn’t think I needed to know. I didn’t like that last thought much.
“I saw the men struggling and then saw the other man walk right up and shoot the officer, never stopping, not once. He just walked right up, walked around the struggling pair, shooting the entire time. Once the officer fell to his knees; they both took off running to their truck. The shooter did look back at me, and I saw him plain as day because of my head lights. I am positive I could identify him with no problem. Also, there is my dash cam. You can see everything I could see from my cam……”
“Dash Cam? You have a dash cam on your car?” asked one of the detectives.
“Yes, in fact I can pull it all up for you from my iPhone or iPad. I left them in my car.” I looked up at the detective and said, “Did someone lock up my car?”
Two of the detectives and one of the uniformed officers raced out of the waiting room, leaving me with the detective who’d been asking most of the questions and one of the uniformed cops.
“You might have led with the information about the dash cam,” the detective said.
“I’m sorry,” I shook my head trying to clear my brain, “I’m exhausted, and everything is getting fuzzy. There may be other things I haven’t remembered, but as we talk about it I might. I just don’t know. I’m so tired, and I’m not feeling so good. I’m starting to feel sick to my stomach.” I was, a coldness was settling over me and the shock I had set aside earlier was coming back and coming fast. I broke out into a cold sweat and started visibly shaking. The detective who was questioning me told the uniformed officer to get me a cup of tea and some water. He then took his jacket off and placed it over my shoulders.
“Oh no, your jacket is going to get all dirty! I’ll pay for the dry cleaning. I promise.” My trembling had escalated to tremors and the detective kept running his hands up and down my arms like he was trying to warm me.
“Don’t worry about my jacket,” he said softly.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I said, right before I felt a wave a nausea so strong, I couldn’t hold it back, wash over me. I vomited into the waste basket that was quickly thrust under my nose by the remaining detective.
Oh Lord, Almighty! How embarrassing.
“Th-th-this is s-s-so e-e-em-mbers-s-sing,” I choked out.
“Shock is setting in; there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You saved an officer’s life tonight, and with the information you gave us, we were able to pick up the suspects right after the shooting, possibly saving more lives,” he surprised me by saying quietly.
“Oh m-m-m-my G-G-Gosh! You g-g-g-got them so s-s-s-soon? That’s great!”
“Yes. Now our main objective is to make sure these two never again walk free. Any details we can collect from here will help to ensure that happens.”
The uniformed cop came back in the room and handed me the water and set a Styrofoam cup down in front of me.
And just as suspected, it turned out to be a very long night.
Chapter 3
Old Tom Cat
T hings went sideways, in a big way, the weeks following the night I saved the California Highway Patrol officer’s life.
I found myself reluctant to leave the hospital that night, and hung out in the waiting room with a half a dozen other police officers, until I knew for sure the officer survived the shooting. I called my friend Raquel and asked her to bring me a change of clothes, so I could remain at the hospital until he was out of surgery. I was so thankful when she walked through the hospital waiting room doors with an overnight bag full of whatever necessaries I might need, and coffee.
Real coffee. Not the hospital mud I was currently trying to survive on. Two things you don’t go cheap with wine and coffee. I loved both and could tell the difference.
After the touch and go seven-hour surgery, we finally received word he pulled through. Silence fell over the waiting room as the doctor and nurse approached still dressed in their surgery scrubs. You could see the tired lines in the surgeon’s expression as he faced the group of us. I held my breath and clutched Raquel’s hands as the surgeon delivered his news.
He ran his hand over his face and said, “This was one of the hardest surgeries I’ve ever performed. I honestly wasn’t sure he was going to make it. He’d lost more blood than anyone I’ve ever operated on. I’m going to use a word I’ve never used in my fifteen years working in emergency surgery; miracle. It’s nothing short of a miracle that he survived.” The room let out a collective sigh.
He looked around at us and stopped on me, “Are you the one who found him?”
I nodded yes, unable to articulate any coherent thought.
“You saved his life. Not me but you. If you hadn’t acted quickly in the field and stopped the bleeding when you did, he wouldn’t have made it. You gave him a fighting chance.”
Raquel let go of my hands and put her arms around me. By this point, we were both crying and I hadn’t slept in so long I didn’t know what day it was. I laid my head on her shoulder and gave myself a f
ew moments to absorb what the doctor had said. Raquel and I were engulfed in a big man hug from the others who had waited at the hospital with us.
This just made me cry harder. I hated crying and had been doing a lot of it in the last few hours.
Once the officer was moved to recovery, Raquel took me home. I was not given an opportunity to see him, because they were keeping him in a medically induced coma, in order to give his body a chance to recover. The detectives who had taken my statement and retrieved my personal items from my car promised to keep me updated on his status.
During the next few weeks I worked with the Stockton PD, the Harmony Grove DA and the CHP to help prosecute the two men who were involved in the shooting.
Come to find out the bad guys who shot the officer were REALLY bad , bad guys, and they had a whole posse of bad guys they worked with.
Yes, my camera had caught the entire struggle. With my call to OnStar, and with digital enhancements, they were able to get a seriously worthy conviction for both of the criminals. However, my testimony was still necessary to bring the footage into play, and secure a lengthier conviction, which I was happy to do.
Except the news media got ahold of my information and released it in their broadcasts to the public. They even came to my home and broadcast from my driveway, which was total bull crap if you ask me because guess what?
Criminals watch the news.
The DA’s office wasn’t wasting any time and moved quickly securing the convictions. We’d wrapped up the trials and the men were awaiting their sentencing.
Lawyer & Liar Page 2
