35 MINUTES and COUNTING, a true story of Micky Oldham, a woman who crossed over to the other side and came back to share the lessons of her experience. After the final barrage of bullets from a crazed gunman, Micky lay on the floor for 35 minutes, waiting for medical assistance. During this time, she felt her psyche slip between reality and an unknown dimension. She came back with a message: life can bring a raincloud, but a rainbow waits w the promise of hope, as the sun begins to emerge from the darkness of the clouds. 'For anyone who has ever questioned, 'what is life and death' 35 MINUTES and COUNTING is a quick and breathtaking read' -JoAn Worden, CMSW, LMHP, and author.
3536373 Minutes and Counting
The Life Story of Micky OldhamBy MICKY OLDHAMBalboa Press
Copyright © 2011 Micky Oldham
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4525-4187-7 Contents
Prologue.......................................................................................ixChapter 1 Another Reminder, Why Doesn't It End?................................................1Chapter 2 Waiting Seemed Like an Eternity......................................................9Chapter 3 No, Not Again........................................................................18Chapter 4 I'm On the Way.......................................................................28Chapter 5 Wonderful Additions In My Life.......................................................38Chapter 6 Miracles Do Happen...................................................................46Chapter 7 Family and Blessings.................................................................55Chapter 8 We All Dealt With Uncertainty........................................................63Chapter 9 December 5, 2007 Day One, I Am Experiencing a Nightmare..............................71Chapter 10 December 6, 2007 Day 2 ... Waiting..................................................95Chapter 11 December 7th and 8th Days 3 and 4 ... My Journey....................................103Chapter 12 December 9th, 10th, 11th, 12th Day 5, 6, 7, 8 One Day at a Time.....................113Chapter 13 December 13, 2007-January l, 2008 Healing and Emotion...............................120Chapter 14 January 2, 2008-Recovery............................................................130Chapter 15 It Hasn't Ended.....................................................................151Chapter 16 There Will Always Be Skeptics.......................................................159Epilogue.......................................................................................165
Chapter One
Another Reminder, Why Doesn't It End?
The only thought that came to me in that surreal moment was to lie as still as I could. He was still shooting at every living, moving target and I knew I could not move. I was sure I was still alive, then I thought, "Am I in a dream?" Suddenly, there was silence and then the helpless sounds of voices pleading for help. I mustered up every drop of strength left in my body as I, too, let out a garbled, "help". My first thought was of my children and grandchildren. "Ok God, I haven't been to any of my grandchildren's graduations, high school or college; as a matter of fact, there will be many marriages in the future. I must attend those, in fact I have great grandchildren I want to meet." I was feeling somewhat indignant over the plight I was in. "Please God," I suddenly felt very contrite and then I was drifting into a memory of a time when things were so serene, so defined, devoid of any problems except those I created for myself when I failed to follow the rules.
The rooms were so large in Nonnie and Grandpa's apartment. I could picture the grey radiators that were too hot to touch in the winter and cold to the touch in the summer. In the wintertime, my brother and I would sit nearby, trying to stay warm while we played board games on the floor. The kitchen was small but everyone in the family was always present at each meal. I could still see Nonnie standing over her sink with a match, singeing the feathers off of a freshly killed chicken. I loved her fried chicken and the care she gave to each piece as she carefully rolled the various parts into the flour and then dropped them, one by one, into the hot grease.
The really special days were the three holidays and each birthday. Every Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter we were allowed to eat at the spacious dining room table with the best China dishes and the "company" silverware. Of course, when each family member had a birthday, this ritual was repeated. It was wonderful on Christmas when we opened our packages and found that one special gift that we waited for all year. There was always candy and a few other small items, what good memories.
World War II was consuming the entire world in destruction while life at home was simple. We listened to the radio to hear the market news, the weather and the latest events of the war. I had one brother who was three years younger than I. Of course, we had our differences like any siblings do, but we knew our limits and the consequences, if we forgot and went too far.
In the summertime, when I was quite young, I experienced my first trip away from home. At that time we lived in Oak Park, Illinois, a suburb outside of Chicago. Our family would leave the apartment and visit Nebraska. Anselmo was a sleepy little village and just a few miles outside of town, our aunt lived on a farm. Great Aunt Tilly was my grandpa's sister on my father's side of the family. It was special to spend time with my dad's side of the family since we lived with mom's parents and were used to their ways. Aunt Tilly knew how to make my brother and me feel like special guests. The farm was such a different experience, with miles of fields and animals that we had never seen in the city.
My brother and I would run and play with abandon freedom. We didn't need toys because we created our play with existing sticks from which we built forts. Climbing the trees gave us our outlook posts and we really had no worries, that is, as long as we behaved.
We lived in Oak Park until I completed first grade. I attended a Catholic school called Ascension. Obedience and family values went hand in hand. These were gentle times except for the fact that the world was at war, but our home front was safe.
When I was in the second grade, my parents moved my brother Craig and me to Berwyn, another suburb of Chicago. My parents, Harry and Shirley, were given the opportunity to rent their own apartment from my other Nonnie and Grandpa, who were my dad's parents. This time we had the entire top floor and it too, was very large. Since we weren't sharing space with our grandparents, we had our own bedrooms.
I attended another Catholic school called St. Odillo, from the last part of the second grade through the seventh grade. It was here that I made my First Communion and Confirmation. I remember vividly, that the nuns were not supposed to have pictures taken of them and if we talked too much, they were allowed to put tape over our mouths. We knew we had better behave or the consequences would be worse after we arrived home and our parents found out about the discretion. Isn't it funny, the things we remember about our childhood?
When I turned ten, my parents presented Craig and me with another brother, Steve. A new baby brother, how exciting! Of course, at my age, I was more than old enough to help my mother with the extra work a new infant demands. I also had more homework so my life was full, and I was content and happy.
My dad, Harry, whom everyone called Pete, came home when I was in the seventh grade and announced that we were moving again. This time we were moving into our own home in the nearby town of LaGrange. I finished seventh and eighth grades in a public school called Pleasant Dale.
I loved the school and all of my new friends. When it was time to graduate from eighth grade and attend Sr. High, we attended a school by the name of Lyons Township or LTHS. I finished my freshman year and was the happiest I had ever been. Elvis Presley was topping the charts and "sock hops" allowed us to express our new version of the jitterbug, a dance made popular during the days of prohibition. I was completely happy with my school, family, friends and especially our new home.
Dad worked for Western Electric and had received a number of promotions. During the summer, before my sophomore year, dad was transferred to Omaha, Nebraska. I was familiar with Anselmo, NE but not Omaha. I was devastated and told my beloved friends good bye and began another new page of my life's story.
Adjusting to Omaha and the new classmates at Westside High was my first test of strength. My parents were waiting for our new home to be finished, so they rented a house in a different school district. I had a difficult time meeting friends since I wasn't living in the Westside area. The kids all seemed to have friendships from way back and I didn't know a soul. I was painfully shy and wished I could just go back to LaGrange and all the familiar, friendly faces. The high school age is a difficult time to switch schools and an even more difficult time to move to a new and different city. I knew I would have to "make the best of it" and little did I know that would become my "mantra."
With time, we moved into our new home in the Westside area, I developed a few close friendships but I longed for the life I had left behind in LaGrange. I also missed the many sports our family had attended regularly. Most of us were White Sox fans but grandpa and mom were always for the Cubs. This meant we would attend games of both teams and we did this often. The Chicago Bears filled the weekends in the fall and when there was time, we watched the stock cars race and bang into each other right to the finish! We were even fans of Harness racing, a sport that uses horses that race by trotting. They cannot run or they are disqualified and are guided by a jockey driven cart. Even though Omaha had regular horse racing, it was devoid of any of the events that I was so familiar with. I sorely missed the pro teams and the excitement that surrounded them.
Of course, if we make the best of any situation, we can make life work. I adjusted, and along with my new friends, finished my senior year at Westside. Today, I am still in touch with and close to many of those friends.
Once I had adjusted to the larger city lifestyle and school atmosphere, I was secure and happy that this city was pretty much crime free. While living in Illinois, I always felt safe but knew from the news that nearby Chicago was a different story. Big cities, with their accompanying crime, seemed very intimidating. I was happy that my friends and I felt no fear as we walked many blocks to the local soda shop and on to our individual street, as one by one, each found the way to the door of his or her house. Fear was just not a part of our lifestyle!
That safe feeling changed December 1, 1957 as one of the first spree killings occurred in Nebraska. There had been incidences in other countries and in 1949, after the culmination of World War II, a veteran had used a German Lugar and murdered 13 people in Camden, New Jersey, before surrendering to the police. But that had been over ten years before and at that time, I was too young to remember the incident.
In January of 1958, one month after his first murder, Charles Starkweather and his teenage girlfriend, Caril Ann Fugate went on an eight day spree, killing eleven people. Our teachers discussed the existing peril with us each day they were on their rampage. The state was in continual fear as they moved from Lincoln, Nebraska to other small towns, murdering innocent people in their path. Lincoln was only fifty miles from Omaha, so all of Omaha was on alert. It seemed that the innocence of my past had matured into a reality that life could sometimes deal a deck of cards that seemed to be not so fair.
After graduating in 1960, I enrolled into the Nebraska College of Business and received my degree to become a secretary. At that time this was a common dream of many young women, to become a secretary for a lucrative firm. The pay for this type of work was decent and everyone knew if the future held any plans for marriage and children, during pregnancy, the woman would have to resign her job and upon return, start over. Promotions were an honor but I knew I wanted a family someday. I benefited from my degree and was hired on at Northern Natural Gas Company. I enjoyed my work but it was short lived, I met the man of my future.
Steve was everything I could have ever imagined as my ideal man. He was so handsome and his quiet demeanor provided enough mystery as far as his intentions toward me were displayed, that I would never become bored or take him for granted. He had a shyness that reminded me of my dad. They always say a girl will pick a person that reminds her of her father in some way. Maybe there is truth in that statement. He had a perfect warmth and kindness that swept me off of my feet.
I did some part time work at a local Dairy Queen and met a girl who would become my lifelong friend. Her first day on the job, Carol looked at me and said, "You do have beautiful blue eyes!" Steve, my new boyfriend, had given his friend, Carol, a description of me. He had told her there was an opening for part time work and that is why she had applied. I was flattered by the compliment and happy to have met such a nice, friendly person.
I married on January 27, 1962 and after one year, quit my position as a secretary in order to stay home and start my family. This was the traditional thing for women to do and a family was a part of that plan. It was a time prior to the onset of the woman's liberation movement which was on the brink of changing society forever!
The wedding was traditional, not too ostentatious, but in my eyes beautiful. We were married at St. Joan of Arc Catholic Church, located in, what was then, the western edge of the city. I had three bridesmaids, Charlene, a friend from my Illinois childhood; Carol, who I developed a great friendship with from Westside High and Cathy, one of my soon to be sister-in-laws. We exchanged our vows and as
I looked into his handsome face, I said, "I do", with the most sincere promise of love and a full life together.
The most impressive part of my wedding was the weather. We were married on a 60o+, sunny January day in Nebraska. My parents had hired a chef who cooked a wonderful buffet meal and presented the food with a flair of complete elegance. The reception was held in my parents' large home and the food was prepared in their kitchen.
Many friends and relatives had come to share with us on this wonderful, warm, pleasant day that defied all odds, leaving the normal winter cold behind. Certainly, as Steve and I shared our love with all of those we loved, this whole day would be indicative of the promise of a bright future, filled with hopes and dreams. We received so many compliments, I could not have asked for a nicer way to begin my life with Steve.
Chapter Two
Waiting Seemed Like an Eternity
The memories from the past gradually faded from my mind and the awareness of the present returned. The only thing I was completely cognizant of was the floor. "I am still on the floor, please dear God; don't let me bleed too much before help arrives," my thoughts were racing, I was fully aware of the wound in my stomach! "Is anybody going to come and rescue me?" The deafening silence seemed like an eternity. "Is anyone still here?" "Maybe, they didn't find me." The waves of frantic thought were broken by a voice that was like music to my ears.
"This one is still alive!" The voice frantically exclaimed. My thoughts instantly turned to God who had answered my prayers, "Thank you, Father, someone is here to help."
"Ma'am, I am a sergeant with the Omaha Police Department, I am here to help you. What is your name? Between muffled gasps, I was able to say, "Micky". "Do you know if anyone is in the back room?" I attempted to tell him no but he had already moved toward the door and was checking to make sure the area was cleared. As he was doing this he motioned toward others in the room and shouted, "Get someone over here as fast as you can!"
Extremely uncomfortable pain moved throughout my entire body as the rescue workers lifted me onto a stretcher. I began to drift away, I was remembering the first years of my marriage to Steve. We rented a house from his parents and our plans for a family had been successful as we celebrated the birth of our firstborn child. Kim was a beautiful baby girl. It was 1964, and many young men were being drafted into the service; only a few were enlisting from their own initiative, as the war in Viet Nam was escalating.
This was a time of great upheaval throughout our country. The unfairness and inequality of men to women, white to black and rich to poor had reached a hysterical frenzy. Throughout the country, people were taking to the streets in protest. Young men were burning their draft cards while the women were burning their bras. The blacks were tired of being discriminated against in jobs, public venues and housing. The peaceful protests and sit-ins of the early sixties had escalated into mob behavior that resorted to burning cars and buildings, when their leader, Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated. His death followed the shooting death of President John F. Kennedy, our first Catholic President. Shortly after the demise of Martin Luther King, aspiring President, Robert F. Kennedy, brother of President John F. Kennedy, also was cut down by the bullet of an assassin.
The entire country seemed to be erupting into a behavioral pattern that was so much the opposite of the obedience and respect I had learned throughout my youthful years. Elvis began to share his spot light with a new wave of musicians. The protests were reflected in the songs of the day. Folk music had become a new venue in the world of records, along with the arrival of the Beatles and other groups from England. The strict background of my era was giving way to the philosophies of Dr. Spock and leniency.
Kim was a complete delight and the apple of her father's eye! She had him wrapped around her little finger and he took great delight in watching her play. She would spend hours using her imagination and creativity at a very young age. Like any loving parent, she was our pride and joy!
(Continues...)
Excerpted from 3536373 Minutes and Countingby MICKY OLDHAM Copyright © 2011 by Micky Oldham. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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