On June 30th, 1986 - I had a tubal pregnancy. My fallopian tube had burst and I was bleeding internally, very lethargic and had no idea any of this was happening. Papa, who was at my apartment days before scheduled because Spain had lost in an early round of the World Cup, took one look at my gray and clammy skin and knew something was wrong. He carried me down the stairs of my apartment just as Grandpa Angelo was pulling up, quite unexpectedly, in his long white Cadillac. They sped me off to San Jose Hospital's trauma center. I had lost 4 units of blood, one fallopian tube, my blood pressure was at zero and I needed emergency, life saving surgery. In and out of consciousness, I remember bits and pieces. I remember the rush of what seemed like a dozen medical people all working on different parts of me. I remember the trauma suit being put on me and the table that I was on tilted me upside down. I remember my abdomen being very distended and painful. I especially remember one ER nurse in particular. It seemed that her sole purpose was to hold my hand and tell me that everything was going to be alright. I'll never forget her. Obviously, everything turned out okay for me that day but there were a lot of people and plenty of higher power that made all of those parts come together: Papa and grandpa were not even expected at my place that day. The four blood transfusions, quite possibly from four different people. A medical staff that came together and did what they were trained to do....and then some. The grand puppeteer that put all of those people at the right place and time just for me to have a second chance at life. It was a long time ago but never far from my mind.
Today I gave a blood donation to the American Red Cross, as I regularly do. It makes me feel good to give back and I'm living proof of how a single person can make a difference. http://www.redcross.org/
