Yih-Chun: The Last 10 Hours of Cece’s Life (Part 1)
This is my unfiltered account of what happened after the accident. Some descriptions and photos might be traumatic. If you aren’t ready to read about Cece’s last hours, please look away.
Evelyn called me as I was working on a paper. "I had a car accident."
"Is it bad?" I asked.
"It is bad." I started towards the door. "Where are you?"
"CVS." I picked my keys and wallet up off the desk, and galloped downstairs. I was barefoot, but I just put on my shoes without socks and hopped into the Civic which was parked just outside the front door, backed in so it would be easy to drive out. I don't remember the rest of the conversation, except hearing a distraught Evelyn ask "Where's my baby? Is my baby OK?" "Call 911" I told her. Then I hung up to focus on driving.
While driving East on Florida, I was passed by a police car with lights and sirens. I reached Vine and waited for fire trucks going south on Vine, also with lights and sirens.
They're all going the same direction as me. Maybe someone already called it in.
As I reached the scene, the CVS parking lot was buzzing with activity. I hopped out of my car and went straight to our car, taking a picture on the way. I checked on Evelyn, where paramedic told me they were calling two ambulances for my family, and I would ride one of them. Next, I went to the trunk where someone was holding Abby's hand. I held Abby's hand and asked her how she was. She told me "it hurts a lot." It was her right shoulder. "Will I need surgery?" she asked me. "I don't know, but it looks like you will be OK. I need to go find Cece."
There was a woman holding Cece, and just then the ambulance arrived. They transferred her onto the ambulance. I touched Cece, she was still warm, and I put my ear to her chest and heard nothing. I looked at her again: "she is turning blue!" I cried. The paramedics transferred her to the stretcher inside the ambulance and began chest compressions. It was true-- her heart had stopped. I wanted to deliver the breaths-- the paramedic said "the best thing you can do is stay out of our way." Evelyn showed up at the door crying. "We don't have room for you." The door closed. "She's a doctor!" I protested. They bagged Cece and continued chest compressions. (Bagging means using a bag-valve-mask (BVM) device, which is basically a manual ventilator). Finally we reached the hospital, where they wheeled her on the stretcher into the Trauma room.