The Shock and First 24 Hours - My Story: Part I

My day was full of paperwork and appointments in different cities and an early start was the right choice to make. Although pouring rain woke me up in the middle of the night I felt rested and ready to tackle my day. Crystal clear skies, crisp air, and wet lands were a welcomed refreshment in Southern California. Before leaving the house I realized my oldest son never came home that night. It was not unlike him to stay the night at a friend’s house without telling me, after all he was 20, but it had been awhile since he had done that. I was mad. Mad enough to not call him and think, “He can do his own work clothes and be late.” I left. 

The wait at the DMV was as usual, long and drawn out. After my visit to the first window I took a seat and, of course, waited. Though my visit to the next window was uneventful, an unknown number called my phone. Naturally, I ignored the call. I always do. My next stop was the camera line but the camera was broken. Imagine that at the DMV! Catastrophic to the already inefficient department. The wait became unbearable. Once they said I could come back the following day to take my picture, I was out. I sat in my car for a few minutes double checking some paperwork for my next appointment and making a few phone calls. I then texted my friend, posted a picture, and recognized I had a voicemail. It was from the unknown number. To this day I do not remember what it said. But it was the call, the call no parent ever wants to receive. I fumbled to return it. The social worker at the hospital answered the phone and it went something like this…

Me: Panicking, “Hi, this is Carri Roman. I am returning your phone call.”

SW: “Yes, do you know a Jesse Roman?”

Me: Stunned and nauseated, I quickly responded, “Yes!”

SW: “Can you describe him?”

Me: Starting to shake, I stuttered, “He has blond hair, dreadlocks, and a large tattoo on his side.”

SW: “Yes. How are you related to him?”

Me: Emphatically, I declared, “I am his mother!”

SW: “I am sorry, but he was in a horrible car accident last night and you need to get to the hospital as soon as you can. I will tell you more once you arrive. Please drive carefully.”

Is it fair to say I don’t think I drove safely? I tried. I had no headset, no bluetooth speaker in my car. I burst into tears, scrambled to put the hospital address in my navigation app, and immediately called my husband, Eddie. I was 45 minutes from the hospital, he was 2 hours away. I told him Jesse was alive. I assumed they would tell me if he wasn’t. I prayed, at least I think I did. I called my friend whose daughter was in an accident 8 months earlier. She didn’t answer. I called a friend who could pick up my little boy from school. Thankfully she did answer. I tried to call my parents to no avail. I called a handful of good friends asking for prayer. My final call was to Jesse’s manager. I told her why he never made it to work and to not tell the other employees. His brother worked with him and I didn’t want him to find out from someone else before we told him. He was still in school, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

When I arrived at the hospital room the curtain was drawn and a strong 5 foot nothing woman was standing guard. It was his nurse. Her goal, to keep me from going in until she prepared me. I asked a question then tried to make my way in. As I began to enter the room she stood her ground and in my way. I looked down at her and asserted, “Let me in!” Nothing could have prepared me.

Sunlight streamed into the room. The clear skies that the rain had brought were suddenly no longer refreshing. My son, my firstborn, was on life support and fighting for his life. Numerous tubes were connected to his body and thick medical-grade ties bound his wrists to each side of the bed. He was restrained. Swollen shut and purple from temple to temple, his eyes were only slits. He was still fresh out of the ER and stripped down with only a small towel covering him. The nurse who stood in my way now stood by my side.

She quickly became a friend, a teacher, a comforter, and a nurse to me. As she educated me on my son’s condition while showing me his CT scans, the doctor entered. His disposition was full of compassion and sympathy. He spoke gently to me as he described the severity of Jesse’s condition and brain injuries. The prognosis wasn’t good. I felt an overwhelming urge to sit down. It was as though all my blood pooled to my feet and my heart gave way. Movie material. It really happens.

Those first few hours were jam-packed with emotions, phone calls, and shock. Every 20 minutes or so I would think of another person I needed to call and have to share what happened all over again. The hardest phone call was to my mom. I told her to sit down. By this time I was no longer crying. It was her turn. She said she was coming down. My parents live 8 hours away. I told her not to. Bad daughter move. My thoughts were that it wouldn’t be beneficial and I honestly didn’t think he was going to die. Company would just complicate things. Still, I should’ve considered how hard it was on her, on my dad, and welcomed them down during such a traumatic time. 

It took Eddie 2 1/2 hours to reach the hospital. In that time he made his own phone calls. My phone began to light up with texts before he ever arrived. Word got out that Jesse was in an accident and my husband wasn’t even at the hospital yet. A mass email had been sent out by a well intentioned friend asking for prayer. We hadn’t even told our other boys yet. I quickly realized I needed to call my boys to inform them before someone else got to them first. Their school was still in session, but I had damage control to do. It was brutal. I likened Jesse’s injuries to my friend’s daughter, who was in a similar accident 8 months prior, and was doing great. They were familiar with her story. My older boy saw right through that and barked, “Don’t sugar coat it mom!” My younger wasn’t easily swayed either and asked me twice, “Is he unconscious?” Neither of them were able to continue attending classes. Who could? I called them out and arranged for a friend to pick them up.

My memories of the rest of the day are spotty. About 15 minutes after his arrival, Eddie did the same thing I did. “I need to sit down!” Real life folks! Mid-day two friends showed up at the hospital with a care package. We spent time talking, laughing, and charging my phone in their car. I must have still been in shock. While in the car, the son of one of my friends called. It was Jesse’s best friend. I needed to leave. I couldn’t bear listening to her break the bad news to him. He was leaving for the Navy in 10 days and I knew it would be a heartbreaking burden to bear.

Evening came and we concluded one parent would stay. Eddie went first. Thankfully. The police visited the hospital that night trying to get a statement from Jesse. Sorry boys. I was glad I went home. I am not sure how well I would have held up. My memory picks up the following morning. Madness ensued as my adrenaline drove me to clean house, meal prep food for my other 3 boys, and get ready for a long week ahead. Mania had taken over. There was no tears, no sadness, until I was interrupted by Eddie. He called. I answered. I was certain he was crying behind the few words he said. The call dropped, so did my heart. I frantically tried to call back. Voicemail. I went outside and tried again. I texted him pleading for a response to my question, “Is he okay?” Nothing. I fell to the ground and believed the worst. An indescribable moment of agony. He called back. Jesse was alive. Managing my way back into the house I finally collapsed on the kitchen floor and sobbed uncontrollably. My son, my second, held me and we cried together.

…to be continued