I lay back and nodded, and said, “Where am I? What happened? Where’s Marilyn? Where’s my children?” At least I could talk. When I woke up in Gitmo, I was so dehydrated I couldn’t speak. Now I just had a blinding headache.
“Calm down, Mister Buckman. A doctor will be in shortly,” she answered.
“What happened? Was there a car wreck? WHERE’S MY FAMILY!?”
“Stay calm, Mister Buckman…”
“I need to know about my family!” I yelled.
The curtain opened up, and a doctor stepped in. He put his hands on my shoulders and pressed me back down. I didn’t even realize I had levered myself up. “They’re fine, Mister Buckman!” he told me.
That calmed me some. “Where are they? What happened?”
“You were in a car wreck in the storm. Your children are fine. They just got some bumps and bruises. You can see them later.”
“Marilyn! WHAT HAPPENED TO MARILYN!?” I demanded.
“Calm down, Mister Buckman. Your wife is in surgery right now, but she’s alive and should be okay. Now, you have to calm down! Your family is going to be all right!”
I sagged back into the bed and my heart stopped pounding. Then I started thinking. Surgery? What was wrong? “The baby?”
The doctor’s voice caught at that, and I saw him glance at the nurse. I already knew the answer before he said anything. “I’m sorry, Mister Buckman, but there was nothing we could do.”
Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit! I started crying for little James Ryan, and for Marilyn. She would never forgive me for this! I was the one driving, I was the one responsible. It was all my fault.
I lay there in the hospital bed sobbing for a few minutes, until I remembered the doctor and nurse standing there. I opened my eyes and looked at them through blurry eyes. “Where are our children?” I asked with a raspy voice.
“They’re here, in the hospital. We’re keeping them overnight. We’ll let you see them in a few minutes, if you wish.”
I just nodded. They must be terrified. “What happened?”
The doctor turned halfway and raised a hand, signaling to somebody. A Maryland State Trooper came closer. “Trooper Margolies can go over that with you.”
“Mister Buckman, I’m sorry to meet you this way. Can I ask you some questions?”
The trooper was a short and swarthy man with dense curly hair, who looked like he had a Mediterranean heritage. “Yeah, sure. What happened?” I wiped my face. I must have looked like hell.
“That’s what I wanted to ask you. Do you remember what happened?” he replied.
I shook my head, which damn near killed me. I called out to the nurse, “Hey, can I get some morphine or something? My head is killing me!”
She came over and shook her head. “Maybe later, but you’ve had a concussion. We can’t chance it right now. Maybe later.”
“Shit!” I muttered. I looked back at the trooper, moving my head slowly. “Sorry, but no. I just don’t remember anything. I saw a bright light, and then things went blank. What happened?”
He shrugged. “You got t-boned near Fifth District Elementary. You were going home, correct?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “It happened about a mile west of the school, going towards your home. We talked to the other driver. He reported that as he approached the intersection, he lost control. For what it’s worth, there was a lot of black ice on the roads. There have been a lot of accidents.”
“So he hit us? Where? Marilyn’s side?”
“Marilyn is your wife?” he asked, referring to a notebook.
“Yeah.”
“Yes, sir. He impacted your car on the right front quarter panel. That pushed you across the road and down over an embankment. Your car rolled over a couple of times and landed on the roof.”
“Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed quietly. Back on the first go, I had been in fender-benders, but never in something serious. How the hell had we lived?
“The first people to get there were some other parents behind you. They had a cell phone and were able to call it in. I got there about five minutes later, and we got an ambulance right after that. The sliding door had popped open and blown off, but all of your kids were still in their car seats, hanging upside down. All of you were.”
“Jesus! Where are we?” I asked.
“Carroll Hospital, in Westminster. It was the nearest emergency unit.”
“I want to see my kids.” I looked around slowly, focusing on the nurse. “Hey, I’d like to see my kids now.” I turned back to the cop. “What happened to the other driver?”
He shrugged. “He’s somewhere else. He busted an arm and cut his face up. I’m not telling you his name, not now.” He stopped as the nurse rolled a wheelchair up. “Mister Buckman, I don’t want you looking for the driver. It was an accident, nothing more. You weren’t responsible. He wasn’t responsible. The weather was lousy. He wasn’t driving fast or crazy. He wasn’t drunk. It was just an accident.”
“Yeah,” I replied, tiredly.
It was about four in the morning. The nurse handed me a hospital robe; I was wearing the outfit that had my ass hanging in the breeze. I had no idea where my clothes were. The trooper helped the nurse put me in the wheelchair, and then said he would finish with his paperwork. The wheelchair had an IV rack attached, and the IV bag connected to me was hung from the rack. I was wheeled out of the room and down a hallway. A few minutes later I was in a room with my children. They had managed to cram in a third bed into the two bed room. My daughters were sleeping, my son was crying.
His head whipped around when he saw me. “Daddy!”
“Hey, buddy, how you doing?” Charlie looked scared and banged up, but otherwise okay. He had some bruises on his face, and a couple of Band-Aids over his right eye, but otherwise seemed fine. As soon as the wheelchair stopped, I stood up and reached out and took his hand.
“Daddy! There was an accident. Where’s Mommy?” He grabbed onto me and hugged me.
I simply rubbed his back and hugged him. The nurse moved my IV bag to a rolling rack.
I turned back to my son. “It’s okay. Mommy’s getting taken care of by the doctors. I’m going to stay with you guys for a while, okay.”
“Yeah!”
“So just quiet down a bit and lay back. Don’t wake your sisters. I’ll stay with you.”
Charlie lay back on his bed, and I held his hand until he fell asleep. I stayed with him until the morning. Around eight in the morning a doctor came around. Charlie and the girls were still asleep, so I stepped outside of the room, dragging my IV rack. A nurse had swapped it out earlier, so with the constant hydration I was pissing like a racehorse. I was looking forward to losing the damn thing.
“When can I see my wife?” I asked.
“Mister Buckman, your wife is in recovery now. She’s resting and will be able to see you in a bit.”
“How is she? What happened?” I asked.
“You know she lost the baby?” I nodded. He continued, “The impact was just to the front of her position. The worst part was that the seat belt compressed on her abdomen while she was hanging there in the seat upside down. It was just too much. Mrs. Buckman broke her right ulna.” He used his left hand to point to a place on his lower right arm. “There were some internal injuries, so that’s why we had to do surgery. That, and to remove the…”
I held up my hand. “Yes, my son.” Not just a dead fetus.
He shrugged and nodded. “Yes, your son. You children were better off. Your daughters got a few bruises, but they were practically cocooned in those car seats of theirs. You really got some good ones. Your son…” He looked at me for a second, and then said, “Your older son, Charles, was a little more banged up. He got some bruises, and a few cuts over his right eye, and he has a greenstick fracture on his left radius. He won’t need a cast, but will have to keep it wrapped for a couple of weeks. Otherwise your children will be fine.”