Читать книгу Sweet Poison - Janet Starr Hull - Страница 14

CHAPTER 2

Backdrop

I grew up in Dallas, Texas and had an enchanting childhood. I have one sibling, a sister. We’re both adopted and not related. Beth was adopted three years before me. But I always considered her my sister. Growing up, we met movie stars, producers and directors, rode in limousines, and ate at fancy restaurants. My father, Fred G. Hull, Jr., was one of three National Division Managers for Metro Goldwin Mayer Motion Pictures (MGM, Inc.). He had a glamorous job and always came home with captivating stories about the movies and the famous actors and actresses, making childhood magical.

Daddy told wonderful stories: watching Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire dance at the MGM studios; attending the world premier of Gone With the Wind in Atlanta, Georgia in the 1930s with Clark Gable and Vivian Leigh; seeing Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz on the set. Daddy watched the Doris Day film Please, Don’t Eat the Daisies. I was on the set when Robert Vaughn and David McCallum filmed the television series, The Man from U.N.C.L.E. I’ll never forget the night Daddy brought me home an autographed picture of Elvis Presley.

I have forever admired my father. I still look up to him in so many ways. I am very much like my dad, even though I am not his biological daughter. In fact, I even look like my parents. I am small framed like Mom and have my dad’s big blue eyes and extroverted personality. Many times growing up, strangers would comment on how much “you look like your dad.” Ha! Daddy and I would glance at one another and share a silent snicker, never confessing the truth. We loved our little secret!

I was always a very holistic person. It was just my nature. As a little girl, I’d never tell my mom if I had a sore throat or if I wasn’t feeling well until my fever gave me away. Then, I’d still resist any medications she made me take. I’ve always believed that the body is capable of healing itself if given the right tools. Tools such as plenty of water, vitamin-C-rich fruits and juices, rest, and time.

I never had a weight problem, either. Enjoying abundant good health, I had no headaches, allergies, monthly cramping, PMS, or any serious illnesses or problems. In fact, other than the measles, I didn’t even have routine childhood diseases.

I assumed I’d get married one day and have one or two children. But it was a pipe dream far in the future.

Yet the future has a way of descending upon us before we know it. I married a man from Iowa who I met on a blind date. A girlfriend talked me into flying to Des Moines with her. She was dating Chuck’s brother. Chuck wound up moving to Texas to marry me. A tall, good-looking man, Chuck always wanted to live in Texas, primarily to escape the cold Iowa winters. Exercising his solid Mid-Western work ethic, Chuck started a very successful paint contracting business in Dallas after he graduated college. He had a good business, and I was fortunate to have been able to stay at home with my children while they were toddlers.

I never babysat or changed a diaper in my life before having my own kids. Sometimes I feel I wasn’t properly prepared for the demands of motherhood. Yet I had three boys under three years of age! Sean, my oldest, was three years old when Brian, my youngest, was born. At one-and-a-half, Alex was sandwiched in between. There were times I was so busy I didn’t know if I was coming or going.

The headaches started shortly after Brian was born. The worst ones struck right in the middle of my forehead. Annoying pin-points of light in my eyes showed up along with them. In addition, I was becoming cross and moody. My skin was drying out, and I was losing more of my hair than normal. I was really tired, too. Plus, I was putting on a few extra pounds. I guessed it was motherhood. Of course, my mind spun other possibilities but I pushed them away. I told myself to “keep on keepin’ on” with my daily routine. What else could I do?

The boys and I stopped over at Mom and Dad’s for lunch one day. I was going to tell my parents about my headaches. I never got to do it. Daddy was barbecuing his famous “Freddie Burgers,” giant hamburgers he invented way back. Two oversized hamburger patties sealed like a pie, “Freddie Burgers” are stuffed with mustard, shaved blue cheese, red ripe tomatoes, and fragrant onions. He carefully placed the patties with pride on his barbecue grill and seared the mounds of meat to perfection.

Mom took Sean and Alex to the store to buy them a toy while Dad and I remained home to prepare lunch. I situated the baby in his carry cradle, freeing my hands to assist Dad.

Dad went into the utility room to get his burgers from the spare refrigerator. He returned with a strange expression on his face. Slamming the glass dish on the table next to the baby in the cradle, he began to moan aloud. He buckled over and groaned louder.

“What’s wrong, Pop?” I asked with growing concern. Just then, he gasped for air, obviously in pain. Instinctively, I rushed to him before I could identify what was wrong. He collapsed in my arms. I don’t understand how I did it, but I broke his fall by catching him in my arms and gently lowered his 176-pound body to the floor.

“Daddy! Daddy!” I cried out. “Oh my God! Daddy!”

He was thrashing back and forth on the floor like a fish on a hook. His moaning pierced my daze as I jumped up and raced to the telephone to call for help. Nervously, I punched the emergency telephone number and asked for an ambulance. Then I returned to Daddy, who had now lost consciousness. Without thought, I immediately began CPR.

Between compressions, Daddy rotated his head in my direction and, with closed eyes, took a terrible labored breath. Afterward, his head relaxed and fell to the side. Then, to my horror, he stopped breathing completely. His face transposed from a pale white to a bruised blue and began to swell. He didn’t look like the same man he had been ten minutes earlier.

Daddy died in my arms while my baby slept quietly in his carrier.

“Daddy! Don’t die!” I begged. I continued CPR. How long I should keep it up, I didn’t know. I labored to force deep breaths into his mouth and drove straight-arm compressions to his chest, breathing again and again and pounding repeatedly. I continued until I was dizzy but I did not stop.

Totally exhausted, I continued on pure adrenaline. Between breaths I pleaded, “Daddy, don’t die. Come on, Daddy. DON’T DIE!”

Then he flinched, a sign he was responding to my aid. Forcing a feeble breath, he eventually opened his eyes, pleated his brow, and asked in confusion, “What happened? What’s going on?”

“Daddy,” I answered, exhausted, “I think you had a heart attack. An ambulance is on its way.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “You shouldn’t have called an ambulance.” I was afraid he would refuse help from the emergency squad when they arrived. I probably would have too if I were in his shoes. I realized, Now I know where I get my stubbornness. I also knew I’d lost him only minutes before but, for a fleeting moment, I doubted that it even happened. Then I remembered his final breath as if saying goodbye to me.

The paramedics arrived. They immediately removed the cardiac paddles from their bag preparing to use them and inserted an oxygen tube inside Daddy’s nose.

At the same moment, Mom came home with the boys. I tried to remain calm, buffer the situation from causing turmoil for the boys and Mom.

Daddy was transported to the local hospital where they installed a pacemaker inside his upper chest. Daddy has survived ever since on that one pacemaker.

Daddy’s life changed. Mom’s life changed. My life would never be the same. Little did I know that Daddy’s brush with death might have prepared me for my own fatal encounter.