gushing blood

The first time Mike ever called 911 was when I was pregnant and fainted and while on my way down to the floor hit my head on the dining room table – you know just to secure the experience of unconsciousness.
The second time Mike called 911 was a few days ago when the kid with whom I was pregnant at said unconsciousness hit her face on the kitchen floor. No big deal, Mike just scooped her up when she started crying hard. Half a minute later she hadn’t stopped. Miked came back into the kitchen with Emmy still in his arms and said, Look, she’s bleeding!
Until that day I had never seen gushing blood. I had heard about, seen it on TV and in movies, but never witnessed with my own eyes bleeding so severe that it would qualify as gushing. Emmy’s mouth was a fountain of deep red, thick, healthy blood. I somehow had the time to think her chin looked like a goatee.
Then I panicked. Outwardly. I made Mike call 911 because I didn’t know what to do first: try to stop the bleeding or try to determine whether she had actually swallowed a piece of tongue she bit if it was still attached at all.
Five minutes later nearly a dozen men, yes so many that they took two elevators, came to the rescue. Only the second before they came through the door, Emmy stopped bleeding AND crying. Her newly sprouted upper teeth had cut the inside of her lip. They suggested popsicles to keep the swelling down and probably enjoyed a few laughs on the way back to the fire station at our expense.
One thing we learned is that you don’t get charged for having an ambulance arrive at your call. Mike was talking to his friend (who I call Black Dan to differentiate from White Dan, call me racist, whatever) about it, who said,
“All black people know that. You can call 911, but DON’T get in the ambulance.” That’s when you’re out about 500 bucks. Did you know that? If something happens again and we have to take E to the emergency, I am putting what appendage fell off into a zip lock bag and running the half mile to the hospital myself.