There’s Really No Easy Way to Say ‘I Was Stabbed’

Notes on near-death

I lived, bitch.

The first thing people usually want to know is what getting stabbed feels like. The answer is that it feels like getting punched really hard. Or at least, I assume it’s what getting hit feels like. I’ve never been punched. I have been stabbed six times.

I’ll back up. And I’ll try not to make this too writerly, but I’m fighting my instincts. I wanted to add a quote from an Auden poem about suffering, but I desisted. Please admire my restraint.

You have to understand, this kind of thing doesn’t happen in Wellington. It doesn’t happen in most places, but it especially doesn’t happen in a small city in New Zealand, in a park, at 11:30 a.m.

I was just trying to take my dog for a walk. On windy days, we like to go to the park that’s below street level, sheltered by trees. We were maybe 10 minutes into the walk, and I was checking my phone to see if anyone had liked something dumb I tweeted. I didn’t hear the man run up to me; I just suddenly felt someone grab me from behind.

My first irrational thought was that it was a friend trying to surprise me with a bear hug. Which doesn’t make any sense; all my friends have real jobs, and no one knew where I was. And then I felt the hit to my back, right between my shoulder blades. Like a punch. And then another, next to the first, and then I was turning. My dog was barking; for a 20-pound creature, her bark is shockingly loud. He got my right shoulder twice, then I was facing him, and he stabbed me in the chest. I fell back, and he kept coming.

My life didn’t flash before my eyes. I didn’t think about my life; I thought about dying.

I was yelling; not screaming, but yelling words. I just kept saying, “Stop it, stop it.” And my dog kept barking.

My life didn’t flash before my eyes. I didn’t think about my life; I thought about dying. I thought that this could be it, that this could be how I die. And it didn’t make me sad or regretful. It made me fucking angry. I didn’t want to die in the dirt like this; I didn’t want people to find my body in my torn-up sneakers and a sweatshirt from Kmart. It was the indignity, of all things, that bothered me. Not the tragedy but the mess. This wasn’t the end I wanted for myself.

I think that’s when I started kicking. He hit my other arm, and I was on my back on the ground but I kicked out my right leg, trying to keep him back. He came in again and slammed his fist onto the top of my head. I think I finally managed to nail him with my foot, but it was hard to see with blood running down my face. He backed away and looked at me for a moment. I want to pretend kicking him helped, or my dog barking scared him off, but the truth is I don’t know why he stopped. He could have killed me, I think, if he had really wanted to. He could have slit my throat, or gone for my chest again. But he stopped, and stepped back, and then ran off. He never said a word to me.

I could feel blood soaking into my sweatshirt. I rolled until I could sit, and I found my phone in the dirt where I dropped it. He didn’t take it; he didn’t take anything.

I was in shock, and I knew I was in shock. I’m proud that I remembered the emergency number here is 111. It was hard to move my arms, but adrenaline got me to my feet. I grabbed my dog’s leash and started walking. I wasn’t thinking clearly; I should have followed where he went, which would lead to the exit, but I went the other way, just wanting to get distance.

The operator answered and asked what the emergency was. “I was stabbed,” I said, and my voice sounded breathy. I told her where I was, and then I couldn’t walk anymore. I sank down where I stopped, half-slumped on the ground. The woman on the phone kept talking, but I was starting to get tired. And then I saw someone walking toward me, a woman on her phone.

“Please help me,” I said. I know I scared her. You don’t expect to see someone with blood dripping down their face on your lunch break. I barely remember the woman’s face, but she stayed with me. I was breathing hard, going in and out of focus. I pulled my dog onto my lap; she’s not good with people. I think at that point I realized I wasn’t going to die, but I was in too much pain to really concentrate.

I kept apologizing, and everyone rightly ignored me. I tried to thank them, but I don’t know if I was making much sense.

I gave the woman my phone, and she talked to the operator. I tried every now and then to sit up. I couldn’t; it hurt too much. We heard the sirens coming near, but we were pretty far down the hiking trail. Two more people came down the path, a young man and woman with a bird in a cage. That’s when I thought I might be dreaming, but they stayed with me, too. They all stayed with me until the police officer finally made it to us.

The officer helped me stand; I was able to walk with him and the woman helping me. I gave my dog’s leash to the boy and girl, and she barked at them the entire way back up the path. I kept apologizing, and everyone rightly ignored me. I tried to thank them, but I don’t know if I was making much sense.

The ambulance was waiting at the entrance to the park. Three paramedics came out to meet me, and I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to everyone who helped. They loaded me into the ambulance, my dog trailing after me. Once we got inside she stopped barking, like she knew things would be okay now. The paramedics unzipped my sweatshirt and peeled it off my arms; it was heavy and dark with my blood. My shirt they had to cut off. They said they were sorry, and I tried to tell them it was from Target. “These are my hiking clothes,” I think I said.

“Oh, god,” one of them said when they saw my back. They pressed thick bandages against me and put me down on the stretcher, covered me with a gown. My dog jumped up onto my lap; she had my blood on her face and she started to lick my fingers. I had to call my partner, but I didn’t know what to say. How do you tell someone you’ve been stabbed? In Wellington?

“Can you leave work?” was what I ended up saying. “I was in an accident. I’m okay, but I need you to meet me at the hospital.”

My dog is on my lap.

I hung up the phone and then tried to use the camera to see how bad my face was. I took a picture, stared at it. It was blurry.

They let me keep my dog with me. She rode with me on the stretcher, sitting upright on my lap, keeping an eye on everything. The doctors started laughing when they saw her. They heard there was a stabbing, they were prepared for the worst, and in comes a border terrier riding shotgun. One of the paramedics said she’d watch her until my partner arrived, and then I was in the emergency room.

You can stop reading now if you want. I lived, and that’s the end of that. This next part is mostly medical, but there are more pictures if you’re into that kind of thing.