The medics quickly went to work,

while three police officers tried to pull me aside, they were asking “What happened to him?“, at the exact moment I saw a paramedic cut my carefully applied bandanna from his arm. I screamed “NO!” and tore myself away from the now impatient officers

 “Put it back on!!! He will bleed to death!” I stated, with as much force and authority that I could muster at that moment. Now I was sobbing. I knew that if they did not take action right then, Mike would die. He had lost almost half of the blood in his body. 
  He would die on my kitchen floor. No way. This death escape of his was not going to work. Not today. 
  Suddenly my breath, which I hadn’t even realized I was holding, whooshed out of me.  The medic inflated a blood pressure cuff on his arm, and the river of blood slowed to a trickle. It was then I remembered the officer’s question. 

  My mind flashed back to recall my mad dash for the phone, I replayed the firm instructions he had said to me, “Tell them I fell off a ladder while I was changing a light bulb.”  I remember thinking, he is not making any sense, I mean, changing a light bulb? Really?  . Needless to say, I  told the truth, hoping that they would not only help him, but maybe they could do so while detaining him elsewhere, so I could stop living in fear. That is, if he lives…

  What if next time he cuts me?  He had threatened to on several occasions. I clearly remember him forcefully grabbing and then holding onto my arm, while he lightly dragged the blade across my skin. I remember the teardrop of blood that formed, then ran down my arm. This memory sent a shiver down my spine.

  EMS had him loaded up on the stretcher. He was unconscious. No one could lose that much blood and remain conscious, that in of itself would have been a miracle. The medics told me that if he survived the ride to the ER, it would be a miracle. I had certainly heard that word tossed around a lot, so I prayed for one..

  I was informed that I could not ride in the ambulance.  They also advised me that I was in no condition to drive myself either; so I called the only friend I had left, Jody. 

  The ambulance and police sped off, lights and sirens blaring, cutting into the night, fearlessly, like Mike had cut his arm.  I turned on my heel, my eyes sweeping across the room, surveying the damage. Damage? That was an understatement if I had ever heard one.
   Standing in the doorway, my gaze traveled from left to right.  There was a bloody hand print that began on the kitchen wall, and continued through my den all the way to the front door.  A long, red, dripping, smear.  I walked further into the kitchen and immediately flashed back to that blood scene in the movie Carrie. Had I had buckets of pig blood, I could not have done a better job.
   From my new perspective of the damage, I could not believe that anyone could survive after losing that much blood. It would take hours to clean this much blood up, and I knew without looking, that my favorite goose down comforter would have to be thrown away. Much like my once-loving relationship had been.  There is no going back. Something like this can not be undone. 

  Jody pulled up then.  His tires screeched from the sudden stop. He leaped out of his truck and pulled me in for a bear hug. I, once again found myself shaking from head to toe. This time, not from fear, but relief. His strong arms felt like a shield around me. Nothing bad could happen to me here, I felt safe. 
 We were silent during the ride; each lost in our own thoughts.
  Please don’t be dead. please don’t be dead. Please, Please…
  Upon arrival at the ER, I ran to the trauma bay, bypassing the desk altogether. I had to know.  He was alive, and conscious.  The nurse in the room told me he was about to be taken into surgery. They had to repair his self-inflicted damage.  My gaze wandered, there were bags of blood with tubes running into his other arm, replacing what he had inconsiderately left all over my bed and kitchen floor. 
 Before I knew it they were whisking him away to surgery.  He would be fine, physically. 

*If I had known then what I know now- I would have turned around and walked out. Not just out of the hospital, but out of his life. Forever.  But I didn’t.  I allowed his suicide manipulation to do exactly as he had intended it to do. I stayed.  I nursed him back to health.  It took over 100 staples and stitches to repair his arm.  And the scar is huge.  He tells people he was in a car accident.  Yeah right, car accident my ass.  This is not the last post you will read about Mike and me. He was the best and the worst of more than 10 years of my life.  He is my one regret.