Monday, November 1, 2010

The Verdict...Part Four

It wasn't very long before they called my name and I entered the emergency room. I got set up in an area which was basically a bed with a curtain wrapped around it. Within a few minutes, a kind-looking doctor came in and asked me about my symptoms. I started crying as I told her, because I suddenly felt so dumb it was unbelievable. She assured me that I did the right thing by coming, and then did a series of tests. They decided to hook me up to an IV, which she said would calm me down a little. I'm not sure what was in it. They told me they wanted to keep an eye on me for a little while. I felt glad that I had brought my book, but I found I couldn't concentrate as I tried to read. There was a small crack in the curtain, and I was able to see a police officer standing next to a guy who was wailing and carrying on in Spanish. I smiled to myself. Roc often had to escort prisoners to the hospital.
Roc! Oh my God, I had never let him know that I was here. It was now almost two in the morning, and he would be getting off work soon. Provided that he was alright and alive. I decided to text him something generic. He texted me right back, stating that he would be leaving soon. I asked him if he could call me. When he did, I gave him a condensed version of events. He asked me if I was okay, and then asked me if he should come to the hospital. I told him not to bother, because I thought they would be releasing me soon. They didn't think I had a heart attack. They felt it was an extreme reaction to stress, and they wanted me to take a prescription for some reflux medication and to go home and get some rest.
I was just about done. By now, I was tired as hell and just wanted to get home. I wanted my own bed. I wanted to hug my husband.
I hung up with him, and a short time later the curtain was pulled aside. A new nurse entered the area.
"Are you a cop?" She asked me plainly.
"No, my husband." I shook my head, but looked at her curiously. How did she know that? Then she handed me back my insurance cards, one of which had a PBA logo on it.
"You're new, aren't you?" She offered me a kind smile, and I sort of laughed.
"That obvious?"
"The Verdict." It was a statement and not a question.
I nodded.
"Well," she began, "You can't let this get to you. My husband's been a cop in SoB for twelve years now." She shook her head. "We have a saying in our house: Ralph's not going to die in the Bronx. He's going to walk out the door one day, and get run over by a bus, right here in the sixth borough." She let out a soft chuckle. "Take it from a veteran, can't let this stuff get to you like this. It's out of your control. And you have to tell yourself what I just said: he's not going to die in the Bronx."
"Okay. I will." Chin up, I thanked her for her words of wisdom. When she left, I peeked out of the small opening in the curtain. Another cop. Then I looked again.
It was my cop, making his way towards me.
I started crying.
"I told you that you didn't have to come."
"And I told you I would." He took my hand and said the best thing I had heard all night. "You see? I'm not going to die in the Bronx."


  1. We have a saying in our house (as we enter our 16th year in law enforcement, following 12 years in the military) - he's not going to die in a SWAT call, but walking across the street and turning to look at a hot blonde as a car runs him down. So I don't spend much time worrying. :)

    Glad it turned out ok... it's so sweet that he showed up. And so typical. They're good guys. :)


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