6-7-13 I had a serious case of deja vu a few weeks ago. I work on the north side of Charlotte. It's a pretty decent area and seemingly harmless. I usually do not fear for my safety when I go out for lunch alone. Of course, I also air on the side of caution and always look over my shoulder since my stay in Camden, NJ. I came from a really small town where we left our house unlocked, our cars unlocked, windows open and really didn't worry too much about crime. Besides if anyone chose to break in, we probably would know them.

I always go to the area McDonald's to get a large unsweetened tea to get me through the afternoon. There's a gas station right next door. It's kind of sketchy but it's always busy, so I have never worried before about getting gas there. Since my experience in Camden, I am much more aware of my surroundings. When I pump gas, I leave the car running with the driver door open, just in case I need to make a fast getaway. It was warm that day so I had my driver's side window down. I pulled up to the pump leaving my purse and wallet sitting in the passenger seat, with the car running. I pumped the tank full and as I was putting the cap in, I noticed a man in a worn out Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt and grubby jeans walking towards me. I tried to not make any eye contact with him because he came from nowhere and seemed out of sorts.

 I heard him say "Excuse me, Miss. Excuse me, Miss." In what seemed like an hour, I put the cap on my gas cap, got my receipt, just made it into the car and realized he was right there. I literally hit the lock button as he was looking through the open window. It hit me at that moment that my window was wide open. It's funny how seconds seem like minutes and minutes seem like hours in those situations. It instantly took me back to a place I had hoped I would never go again. It's that moment when you are so scared that your heart races and your chest pounds to the point where you cannot breathe or barely utter a word. He placed his hands on the car door, stuck his head through the window and tells me he and his wife are living in their car and need money for food. I apologize to him and say I have no cash. He stared at me directly and within a minute walked away. At that moment, I had no idea what he do. Luckily, he walked away. No harm, no foul. You know, one part of me actually feels sorry for people like that, I really would help someone in dire straights if that was really their case. It's hard to tell anymore, if it's a true need for food or is it a need for booze or drugs.

Now I learned the behavior of derelicts, panhandlers, beggars and drug addicts from the 41 days that I spent in one of the worst cities in America. Although homeless, jobless and more than likely criminals and or drug addicts, they were experts at picking out people who were upset, desperate and vulnerable. They knew exactly what they were doing and then make a B-line for you, they didn't wander aimlessly. They have a mission and will stop at nothing. They know an easy target and they zone in on it. They are almost professionals at what they do. I happened to be the easy target almost on a daily basis while at Cooper University Hospital.

Once I got back to work, I was telling the story to a few of the girls and the memories of those days that I spent in Camden came rushing in faster than I could talk about. I had that heart racing, muscle shaking fear. It's makes my heart race and my mind spin writing about it. Story after story, encounter after encounter was spilling out. I, at that moment, couldn't think about anything else.

Just like at the gas station, I had a very similar experience in the hospital parking garage. But much creepier. You see, the parking structure at Cooper Hospital is situated between two city blocks. It was the shortcut from one street to the next for most of the locals. I prayed every morning during my twenty minute commute from the hotel to the hospital that I would hit every green light and get that parking spot just a few feet away from the hospital entrance. Very rarely did that happen. It was very late one night, after eleven. Matt and I were leaving for the night. It was very desolate there after that time. The only people on the streets at that hour were ones that would make a grown man nervous. They actually put the hospital on lock down after midnight, no one enters and no one leaves.

We were fortunate enough that morning to get a parking spot in the first row near the entrance but it was all the way to the farthest end.  After spending the entire day with Scott in the trauma unit, Matt and I walked out talking amongst ourselves about Scott and what we would do for food. It was late, I was tired. Every day we spent anywhere from twelve to twenty hours there. I seen this man come from no where and I told Matt, "Stop talking and hurry, get in the car." Our casual conversation and walk to the car became dangerous in a matter of seconds. Of course, his 'no fear of anything' attitude was, what I felt going to cost us our lives or the rental car. This man was following us, mumbling words I couldn't make out. Matt was not walking fast enough. I was trying to keep my composure and not show fear. I hit the unlock button on the fob, put the key between my first and second finger and prayed we would make it to the car in time.  I literally shut the door, hit the lock button and the man was there, at the window, yelling at us. I have no idea what he said or what he wanted. My adrenaline kicked in at that point and I thought I was going to black out. I started the car, put it in reverse and nearly ran his toes over backing out of the parking spot.

Those people didn't care what your situation was, what turmoil you were in, they wanted money. My guess is money for drugs or booze.  I think it was the second or third day we were at the hospital in the main  reception area. It was just Morgan and I.  The poor thing was trying to sleep and I was my usual hysterical self, bawling in my hands like a two year old, when a man approached us. He gave me his story of how he was a patient there and his truck was broken and had no money to get home. I was clearly in a state of mental and emotional distress that even if I had any money, how dare he ask me. I said I was sorry and that I had no money. He was relentless. He kept going on and on about his story of his truck that had been towed and he had no one to call and take him home. He was invading my space, the more he talked to me the closer he got. I was running my hands across my forehead and through my hair, nearly pulling it out and he kept asking me for money. "Leave me alone!!," I yelled. That's how I ended that conversation and at that point security came over and asked if he was bothering us. Of course, he was bothering us. Security asked him to leave that night, but I saw him several times throughout the next few weeks preying on the newcomers in the reception area with the same story. Looking back, I had the same desperation he had, I wanted my husband to live and be okay and he was desperate for money.

I learned quickly the tricks that drug addicts play. Several, too many too name, played the same story. Once admitted to the hospital, I'm sure through incarceration, they would keep their patient wrist bands on and then re-enter the hospital at will and proposition the innocent. Which was the angle the young man took on me, he was wearing street clothes but had that wrist band on like he was a patient. I also learned quickly that if the white wrist band was dirty, it was a pretty sure tell sign that they were not a current patient. I have never in my life, feared for my life like I did while Scott was in the hospital in New Jersey.

Deja vu seems to happen to me more frequently now than before Scott's accident. On Thursday, we had our 21st surgery. The waiting and the anticipation becomes too overwhelming for me at times. I work myself into such a tizzy that I am physically ill and can't even concentrate. That surgical smell of the Pre-op room sends me into a mental, emotional and physical whirlwind of anxiety. The walls seem so small, there is never enough air and most of the time I can't even control my breathing. I try to pass the time with a book or a game but realize that I don't remember any of what I had read or played. I think I do a pretty good job of faking how I really feel. After all, I am not the victim or patient, Scott is. I have to overcome my fears and anxiety and deal with the situation. If I don't do it , who will??

Every visit to surgery seems a little easier but it never gets "easy". Every obstacle makes me that much tougher. Even though I get scared, having been through this has made me stronger and tougher than I thought I would ever be. I appreciate that out of this experience and on a good day say, "Bring it, I got this."

I just never want to be in that place that I was before.