The following days

Most of the next few days were a drug-induced blur. Somehow my job got the info for my family from me even though my work records were out of date and I couldn't remember much. They contacted my family in another state and sent the local police to pick them up and deliver them to the airport for the next possible flights out here. They also sent a K-9 handler to pick up Lagniappe from the Lair 60 miles away and he spent the next three weeks at the farm of one of the other K-9 handler's sister's house playing with another shepherd. Then my department SWAT team members came out to the Lair and secured my guns, taking many of them back to the SWAT arms locker. I got hit on Thursday and had follow-up surgery on Saturday to clean everything up. In addition to the loss of my left foot, I fractured my right wrist, a relatively minor annoyance by itself but a major problem as it would seriously inhibit my mobility and independence in the weeks to come. My union paid for rooms nearby for my family and the department arranged for a private room at the hospital. They also assigned a 24 hour police detail to my room to make sure that no one bothered me and that I didn't want for anything day or night. I spent one week in the hospital proper, eating horrible food and finding myself so sore and restricted by casts that I was practically immobile. Fortunately I never ran short of company as in addition to my family there were always cops in my room day and night, often large numbers of them, much to the consternation of some of the hospital staff. And as I grew more aware of what was going on around my, I came to realize that as bad as I had it, I was far from the most seriously injured person in that hospital ward.

More tomorrow.