The doctor said patiently and kindly something about how my body had suffered multiple traumas, including what sounded like hypovolemic shock, that I had lost a lot of blood, that my injuries would only become more painful as inflammation set in, et cetera, et cetera.

But I was already making plans to check myself out after they’d completed their sewing and wrapping and had refilled my circulatory system with O negative. I had no intention of spending a day and a night in the ICU.

“No one’s giving you a medal for suffering,” the giant doctor said, finally showing exasperation. “It’s not weakness to admit you’re in pain.”

I wasn’t playing the tough guy. I just hated hospitals.

The attorney general’s chief investigator stopped by first. Because I was a law enforcement officer who had used deadly force in self-defense, he was required to open an inquiry to determine if my actions were legally justified. Our union had hammered into us that we should answer as many of the AG’s questions as we could with monosyllables. Otherwise we risked talking ourselves into serious criminal and civil jeopardy.

I couldn’t have cared less. I treated the investigator to paragraph-long responses. My attitude seemed to worry him since he’d never encountered it after one of these police-involved homicides.

“Are you sure you want to do this now?” he said.

“I’ve got a hot date in an hour.”

My near-death experience had left me giddy, but I knew from past experience, that the emotion would be fleeting and darkness waited.

The investigator asked me to hand over my service weapon. I had to explain he was welcome to my SIG if he could find it in the river.

He then said I was on paid administrative leave as of that moment while the attorney general completed his investigation into my shooting of Todd Wayne Dillon (formerly Dow) and Tori Anne Dillon (formerly Dow).

The warden colonel and captain stopped by next. Because they had listened to the wise counsel of our union attorneys, they didn’t ask me for details of the shooting. The captain, however, teased me about not entering any beauty pageants in the near future. But I could see the colonel was deeply concerned for my well-being. Jock DeFord was a good man, and it was no less than what I’d expected of him. He said I should use my time off to heal. And he recommended I speak with the warden chaplain as soon as possible.

“Sorry about losing the Jeep,” I said.

“Knowing you,” Colonel DeFord said, “I’m sure it was just a ploy to get a better ride.”

It was the best he could do by way of a joke. But I appreciated it.