It was Tuesday morning and I was first to go into the kitchen. I didn’t go into the kitchen, I paused. There was a bloody boy on the kitchen floor, unconscious but still breathing. There was blood all over the place, but no new blood, somehow the bleeding had stopped.
I grabbed my phone and called the emergency number: who I am, where I am, what has happened, how many and wait.
“I think that he broke in through the kitchen window, all the broken glass is on the inside. Unfortunately he tripped over the water tap and smacked his face on the floor.”
“He’s unconscious, but still breathing. There is blood all over the place, but no new blood, somehow the bleeding had stopped.”
Thea entered the kitchen. “His name is David Schivermann.”
“His name is probably David Schivermann, you say. An ambulance is on its way. The police have been informed.” I said thanks and ended the call.
The men in red were soon there and took the young man away. A policeman came later, he took some blood samples and some pictures in the kitchen and he asked some questions, routine questions. Less than five minutes.
“Right!” said Thea and shoved an apple into my hand, “Let’s go!”
We drove for about five minutes. “Hello Mrs Schivermann, I’m Thea Bulge, one of David’s teachers, can we come in?”
“Please sit down Mrs Schivermann. I have bad news. Yes, it’s about David. He has fallen on his face and has lost blood, but he was still breathing when I last saw him.” I put my arm around Mrs Schivermann.
“Would you like us to drive you to the hospital...” She did.
A young doctor explained that David was being stitched up and was receiving blood; he had concussion and would probably need a week to recover. “You can see him now, but don’t expect him to say anything understandable.”
Later we took Mrs Schivermann to a café in town for breakfast.