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I've hesitated to post this.  But I'm doing so.  It has been a month.

I got shot in the neck.

Dramatic, but not life-threatening.



So.  I am in the ad-hoc community council.  One thing the council is doing is a neighborhood fresh market.  Think farmer's market, but with other goods allowed.  The only requirement is that the wares be grown or produced locally.  Not as in "Chicago", but as in "Garfield Park". 

One Monday evening, I went to meet the Torrs at the Garden Network.  We were planning logistics for the very first market.  I brought an overhead photo and markers, and we drew out the map.  I also had a tour of the garden and greenhouse.  In closing, we decided to go to the actual site and point out specific spots.  The site is very near my house, so when we were finished, I invited the Torrs to my back yard.

After I gave my tour, we were standing around talking.  Suddenly, I felt something on my neck.  I touched it.  There was a very large bump.  I took my hand away, and there was blood.  I called 911.  I put the cat inside.  I walked inside to get a paper towel to stanch the blood that was coming out very fast.  I came back to the yard, and invited the Taylors and Mrs HM out to the sidewalk to meet the police.

What had happened was a kid in the park behind the yard shot me with a BB gun.  That park, I have hated that park since before it was built.  It cut off rear access to my property.  It has a lot of astroturf.  It has increased the frequency of trespassers to my yard.  The fence allows all the garbage that used to blow away, to all get stuck and collect.  The gate, by the way, is locked.  At all times.  I was told before the park was built that it would be available for the community to use.  What lip service!  It is mainly available only to people who are willing to climb the fence.  So vandalism, shouting ugly language, and small-time drug deals are popular.  Behind an elementary school.  The illicit activity that formerly occurred in the vacant lots was less frequent when they were vacant, if of a different flavor.  Ugh!  I'm sorry, this is a real sore point with me.  What I can say is I don't think the kid shot me on purpose.  I think the little bastard just didn't realize that what he had is in fact more dangerous than a water gun.  It's not unusual to lack understanding of consequences when experience is also lacking.

Another BB was found inside a double pane window.

We now return to our regularly scheduled post...

By this point, my shirt was soaked with blood.  Mrs HM was freaking out a little and upset a lot.  I was strangely calm and clearheaded.  I was walking around, making jokes, hugging people.  I'm not sure if it was adrenaline, trying to help others be calm, or what.  But I kind of felt fine.  I'm glad it was me, to be honest.  Break a beer bottle across the side of my head, and I can just stand there and look at you.  Do that to somebody else that I'm with, and I probably wouldn't know what to do.  I'm also glad because it was not my amazing girlfriend, any of my amazing friends, or my amazing cat. 

I had told 911 that I didn't need an ambulance.  I wanted police.  I wanted to file a report.  I felt fine, I just wanted to file a police report before a friend would drive me to the hospital.  Well, the police and the firemen and the EMTs all came and they all agreed that I should, definitely, go in the ambulance.  They could immobilize me, preventing further movement of the bullet.  At this point the swelling was still about an inch wide.  I explained I thought it was a pellet gun*, but the people who know said it was possibly a .22.  So into the ambulance I went.  One EMT took my information down.  Than another one came in and told me "the young lady" (Mrs HM) wants to come in, is that OK?  "Of course!" I said.  "Let all the ladies come in!"  And we went to the hospital.

At a busy hospital with a semi-serious injury, it takes about an hour for each thing to happen.  Once I was admitted, I waited an hour for the police to come interview me.  Another hour for a nurse.  Another hour for a doctor.  Another hour for x-rays.  Another hour for them to get developed and examined.  Another hour to be taken for MRI.  Another hour for the doctor to come and tell me two things: 
1. They would not remove the bullet.  It was too close to my windpipe, trachea, and vocal cords.  Attempting removal would be very dangerous.  (Yeah.  That "not life-threatening" thing I said at the beginning?  That was a lie.  But still, less life-threatening than "getting shot in the neck" sounds at first.)
2. I would be kept overnight for observation.  They wanted to make sure the bullet would not migrate closer to the aforementioned important throat things.

Then I was moved from trauma to post trauma.  The nurse said it would be nice because I would have some privacy instead of being out in the open.  At this point, I started to cry.  All I wanted was to have the bullet taken out, and then go home and sleep in my bed.  I was not to have either.  About that aforementioned privacy: Yes, there was now a curtain around my bed.  Unfortunately, I was also next to a guy with broken ribs who alternated between groaning in his sleep and asking the nurse if he could please take a shower.  I was also surrounded by the constant beeping of various machines.  And the beeping sounded like one of the tones in Kid Icarus.

*Much later, I went to learn the difference between BBs and pellets.  Apparently pellets are more dangerous.  I didn't know what they were and thought they were less dangerous, like little rubber bullets.

postscript

I want to be completely clear about something.  I started this blog to document hobbies and interests, but also to talk about my awesome neighborhood.  I debated writing this post, because I don't want to scare anyone away from it. 

My opinion of the neighborhood has not declined one bit in the wake of this incident.  If anything, it has improved.  The outpouring of support from very wonderful friends who live in houses that I can easily walk to is a testament to this community.  The reason I was in the yard at that particular moment is a small part of what has been going on.

The response was pretty quick.  Mr Torr drove around the block in his pickup truck to look for the perpetrator.  Mrs Vk came racing over in her truck within two minutes of Mrs HM's phone call.  We waited outside for police to arrive.  We were able to hail a passing squad car in less than ten minutes.  Five minutes after that, the fire truck and ambulance arrived.

We live very close to the dividing line between our ward and the next.  Officer E actually works in the next ward.  He not only arrived on the scene shortly after the other squad car, but pursued the case more than anyone else and of his own volition.  He found out who the kid was and had a talk with the family.

All of my friends in the neighborhood heard about this and expressed a great deal of concern.  The community council leader and safety coordinator dropped by to check on me, unscheduled.  And the word spread appropriately, which is to say that nobody inappropriately heard any gossip about it.

To wrap this up, getting shot with a BB gun in the city by a stranger might be a little more likely in my neighborhood than, say, Lakeview.  But it really could happen anywhere.  And I can't say I would have preferred to experience this anywhere else.  We've got a nice community here.  There are some troubles, but we are working on those in positive ways, like the Neighborhood Market, the Guild, the art district plans, and more.  I had no idea about any of this when I bought the house.  I was just after a lot of space, near the train, for a price I could afford.