Finale: Scary Sunday

How to Remove Blood Stains from Cement Surfaces |

A diverse collage of paramedics stream into the house, through the living room, and into the bedroom to attend to my husband. Although partially clothed, with blood still oozing from his leg, my husband is attempting to joke with the EMTS about his stupid accident.

My brain in a dither, I can’t be in that room right now. I ask if it’s okay for me to walk the dog, who hasn’t been let outside for a pee in six hours, and they give me the go ahead.

I return less that ten minutes later, only to see the ambulance zooming off into the night, my husband on board. Thankfully they’d left the front door wide open, so we were able to get back inside.

Was it weird that I didn’t freak out about rushing after the ambulance? That, instead, I focused on spraying hydrogen peroxide over the garage “crime scene” blood until white, cloudlike masses consumed the lead-smelling rust?

Not so much. The EMTs had left a note that they were taking my husband to the nearby med center, not the hospital. I phoned instead. I’ve endured many a late night hospital trip with hubby, and I sensed this wasn’t that. Besides, I knew he was in good hands. At this moment, the only thing I COULD control was removing the blood so everything would be NORMAL when I brought him back home.

A couple hours later, stitches sewn, and antibiotics administered, we pulled into the driveway.

“Pull into the garage,” he said.

“Yeah, not gonna happen,” I said.

Although I’d managed to erase, in record time, all blood from carpet, utility room, and garage, my heart knew the emotional fall-out would take much longer to disappear.

PART 1: Scary Sunday


My husband has pre-existing health conditions, so I’m super cautious to make dinner reservations after confirming that restaurant follows COVID-19 guidelines, re: masks, sanitizer, and social distancing. We’ve just returned home from one such dinner and are exiting the car, when our Bichon starts his shivery welcome home strut around my husband’s feet. Focused on making it to the bathroom, hubby manages to skirt the dog, instead gashing his leg along the sharp end of the car door

All at once, the garage floor is seeped in blood–the same blood flowing from my husband’s leg!

“I’m calling 911!” I say, attempting to modulate my voice (for his sake) as I sludge through the crime scene.

“I’m fine,” he says calmly. “Just get the bandage, hydrogen peroxide, and gauze from the linen closet.

He’s obviously forgotten that he donated a plethora of wound care products to the in-home health care nurse during their final visit. I’d urged him to hoard some of the Medicare stash they’d sent him for free “just in case!”

My husband had pooh-poohed the suggestion, despite his razor-thin skin recovering from one wound after another. De-ni-al!

I barrel through the living room, finally making it to the bathroom. I grab a thin roll of gauze, sanitizer, and three wound pads from the linen closet. Then I beat it back to the utility room and commence wrapping the wound.

Just when I think the bandage is secure, I notice droplets of blood seeping from miniscule holes in the gauze. At this rate, I’m sure hubby is going to bleed out and I won’t have enough bandage and gauze to re-wrap the wound!

Moments later, I’m on the phone with the 911 dispatcher when hubby taps me on the shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, but I really need to get to the bathroom. Can you bring me my house slippers?”

I glance down to see his toes and feet dripping in blood. Crap! Although I’ve penned five crime novels, I’ve never seen this much blood in one place at one time. I wrack my brain for answers and come up with nada.

Just then, I hear the sirens. Paramedics burst through the front door.

(Stay tuned for Part 2 on Friday!)