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My 'Crash of '87', stage 2
In August of '87 my wife stepped out to rent a video movie and left me in charge of keeping a pot of boiling spaghetti sauce on the left front burner of the stove from sticking, and of course, Matthew.
I had stirred the sauce, covered it, and turned the handle to the back. Nature called, and I left the kitchen with Matthew in tow as usual. He was already walking at 7 months old, and was fascinated by the process I was about to undertake. Although he wasn't tall enough yet, he was already trying to do it the way daddy did. The prospect of early toilet training made me more than happy to clean the mess.
This particular occaision he was more hungary then curious, and returned unnoticed to the kitchen and the sauce. He wasn't tall enough to reach the top of the stove, but somehow managed to climb up enough to put his right hand to the side of the pot.
His hand stuck to the pot and when he snatched it back it pulled the pot off, leaving the skin from his palm on the pot and dashing the sauce down his right arm, over his sholder, down his back, and down his right leg to the top of his foot. He was wearing a cotton terri-cloth jumper and the sauce stuck and absorbed into it continuing to burn in.
When he screamed out I knew I couldn't finish what I was doing. I ran into the kitchen and without thinking about it or processing it at all. Reflexively I snatched him up, put him in the kitchen sink, and started the cold water running. I used the spray attachment to soak the jumpsuit top down cooling the sauce.
The skin was slipping away and hanging off already so I soaked the suit and sprayed between the material and his body as I removed it to minimize it sticking into the fabric. Once naked I grabbed a clean linen kitchen towel, wet it, and draped it over the worse burns on his back. This all happened in much less time that it takes to tell it, but it seemed in slow motion at the time.
I held him seated in the crook of my arm and held the towel in place while dialing the phone with my other hand. I meant to dial the emergency room at the hospital, but I dialed my best friend T.J. (who worked there as the Director of the Cardio Pulmanary and Respiratory Theraphy Departments) by mistake. That was a blessing, because T.J. made the necessary calls while I got underway to the hospital.
I may should have called 911 instead, but I didn't want to take the time to answer all the questions about where I lived, what happened, how, and etc. I also knew they would tell me to stay on the phone until EMS drove almost 40 miles from Bay City.
Matthew was cradled in my right arm. I knew I wouldn't be able to shift gears and drive with one hand so I put my '82 Ford step-side's floor shift in second gear and left it there. That 300 cu.in. inline ran 95 mph, redlined, for the 20 plus minutes it took to drive the nearly 40 miles.
By the time I'd gone a mile the Texas Highway Patrol met me, did a power turn and fell in front of me in escort. At first he zoomed away in front, then realized I was maxed at 95 so he fell back closer in front. A few miles on down a County Deputy fell in behind. Half way there, we met the ambulance.
When we hit the Bay City limits the city police had all the intersections with traffic lights blocked all the way to the hospital. When I pulled into the emergency entrance my friend and the ER staff were waiting with a gurney. I refused to put Matt it and took him into the exam room and laid him on the table myself so they wouldn't have to transfer him.
Wisely they insisted I leave so they could do their jobs. I trusted them all, and went outside to fall apart.
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I had stirred the sauce, covered it, and turned the handle to the back. Nature called, and I left the kitchen with Matthew in tow as usual. He was already walking at 7 months old, and was fascinated by the process I was about to undertake. Although he wasn't tall enough yet, he was already trying to do it the way daddy did. The prospect of early toilet training made me more than happy to clean the mess.
This particular occaision he was more hungary then curious, and returned unnoticed to the kitchen and the sauce. He wasn't tall enough to reach the top of the stove, but somehow managed to climb up enough to put his right hand to the side of the pot.
His hand stuck to the pot and when he snatched it back it pulled the pot off, leaving the skin from his palm on the pot and dashing the sauce down his right arm, over his sholder, down his back, and down his right leg to the top of his foot. He was wearing a cotton terri-cloth jumper and the sauce stuck and absorbed into it continuing to burn in.
When he screamed out I knew I couldn't finish what I was doing. I ran into the kitchen and without thinking about it or processing it at all. Reflexively I snatched him up, put him in the kitchen sink, and started the cold water running. I used the spray attachment to soak the jumpsuit top down cooling the sauce.
The skin was slipping away and hanging off already so I soaked the suit and sprayed between the material and his body as I removed it to minimize it sticking into the fabric. Once naked I grabbed a clean linen kitchen towel, wet it, and draped it over the worse burns on his back. This all happened in much less time that it takes to tell it, but it seemed in slow motion at the time.
I held him seated in the crook of my arm and held the towel in place while dialing the phone with my other hand. I meant to dial the emergency room at the hospital, but I dialed my best friend T.J. (who worked there as the Director of the Cardio Pulmanary and Respiratory Theraphy Departments) by mistake. That was a blessing, because T.J. made the necessary calls while I got underway to the hospital.
I may should have called 911 instead, but I didn't want to take the time to answer all the questions about where I lived, what happened, how, and etc. I also knew they would tell me to stay on the phone until EMS drove almost 40 miles from Bay City.
Matthew was cradled in my right arm. I knew I wouldn't be able to shift gears and drive with one hand so I put my '82 Ford step-side's floor shift in second gear and left it there. That 300 cu.in. inline ran 95 mph, redlined, for the 20 plus minutes it took to drive the nearly 40 miles.
By the time I'd gone a mile the Texas Highway Patrol met me, did a power turn and fell in front of me in escort. At first he zoomed away in front, then realized I was maxed at 95 so he fell back closer in front. A few miles on down a County Deputy fell in behind. Half way there, we met the ambulance.
When we hit the Bay City limits the city police had all the intersections with traffic lights blocked all the way to the hospital. When I pulled into the emergency entrance my friend and the ER staff were waiting with a gurney. I refused to put Matt it and took him into the exam room and laid him on the table myself so they wouldn't have to transfer him.
Wisely they insisted I leave so they could do their jobs. I trusted them all, and went outside to fall apart.
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My 'Crash of '87', stage 1
In 1986 (at 12 yr.s old) my daughter Gwen had visited me and my family in Texas during summer break. After her two week visit, when it was time to go home she asked if she could spend a year or two with us to get to know us better. I was overjoyed to contact her mother and try to make the arrangements. I was asked to send her home at the pre-agreed time so she could gather her things and get the necessary documents.
I didn't hear from her or her mother again after that until I was able to drive to Arkansas five years later and track them down myself. Their home had caught fire and there was no forwarding address or phone number listed that I could find.
As arranged by her mother, I had been paying her child support directly to her by check. My next check was returned with a stamp stating recipient was no longer at that address and there was no forwarding address. The Child Support Enforcement Agency in Arkansas contacted me almost immediately telling me that I owed Gwen back support for over a year.
When we sent them photostatic copies of the returned checks showing that I HAD been paying her support all along they stopped billing me for back payment and I started paying through them again. They wouldn't tell me where Gwen was at or relay any messages to her. They seemed to completely ignored my court ordered visitation rights.
This was the first blow that almost knocked the props out from under me. I went from pleading with the child support enforcement agency to help me get in touch, to rage against the blind machine, to helpless depression, and finally to resigned withdrawal. I was only kept afloat by the birth of my son Feb.'87 and my responsibilities as the Biomedical Technical Supervisor to the three Matagorda County Hospitals. (two county hospitals in Bay City and Palacios, and a 'system' hospital in El Campo)
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I didn't hear from her or her mother again after that until I was able to drive to Arkansas five years later and track them down myself. Their home had caught fire and there was no forwarding address or phone number listed that I could find.
As arranged by her mother, I had been paying her child support directly to her by check. My next check was returned with a stamp stating recipient was no longer at that address and there was no forwarding address. The Child Support Enforcement Agency in Arkansas contacted me almost immediately telling me that I owed Gwen back support for over a year.
When we sent them photostatic copies of the returned checks showing that I HAD been paying her support all along they stopped billing me for back payment and I started paying through them again. They wouldn't tell me where Gwen was at or relay any messages to her. They seemed to completely ignored my court ordered visitation rights.
This was the first blow that almost knocked the props out from under me. I went from pleading with the child support enforcement agency to help me get in touch, to rage against the blind machine, to helpless depression, and finally to resigned withdrawal. I was only kept afloat by the birth of my son Feb.'87 and my responsibilities as the Biomedical Technical Supervisor to the three Matagorda County Hospitals. (two county hospitals in Bay City and Palacios, and a 'system' hospital in El Campo)
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