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James Loomis, 39, wants the bullet removed from his thigh and wants to go back to work.
71-year-old Sarai Holguin, a woman from Mexico who was shot near her knee, received it as a “compa” – a close friend.
Mireya Nelson, 15, was shot through the jaw and broke her shoulder, leaving her in pieces. She will live with them for now, while doctors monitor her blood lead levels for at least two years.
Nearly three months after the Kansas City Chiefs Super Bowl rally shooting left at least 24 people injured, recovery from injuries is highly personal and involves a surprising gray area in medicine: The bullets must be removed.
Medical protocol does not provide any clear answer. In the year A 2016 study of surgeons found that Only 15% Respondents worked in medical facilities that had a policy on bullet disposal. Doctors in the US often discard bullets that are buried in the body, at least initially, to prevent further damage.
But as gun violence emerges as a public health epidemic, Some researchers are surprised If that practice is better. Some wounded men, like James Loomis, were left in a dangerous position.
“If there's a way to get out and get out safely, get it out of the guy,” Lemon said. “Make that person feel more secure about themselves. And you won't be walking around with that memory inside of you.”
Lemon, Holguin and Nelson are being handled very differently.
Three days after the Chiefs won the Super Bowl, Lemon drove 37 miles from Harrisonville, Missouri to downtown Kansas to celebrate the victory. The warehouse worker was carrying his 5-year-old daughter, Kensley, on his shoulder when he felt a bullet enter the back of his right thigh.
The area was filled with fans and the shooting started. Prosecutors later saidAfter a “verbal conflict” between two groups. Investigators found “several 9mm and .40 caliber shell casings” at the scene. Lemon said he immediately understood what was happening.
“I know my city. We are not setting off fireworks,” he said.
Kensla's face was blocked by a lemon as they fell to the ground to keep her from hitting the concrete. His first thought was to find his family – including his wife, Brandi; daughter Kali, 17; And 10-year-old son Jackson – for safety.
“I was hit. But don't worry about it,” Lemon recalled telling Brandi. “We have to go.”
He carried Kensley on his shoulders as the family walked the mile to their car. At first he stopped because his leg was bleeding from his pants. He burned with pain. Brandi asks her to take him to the hospital, but traffic is at a standstill so she puts on her hazard lights and drives the wrong way.
“I'm taking you to the hospital. “I'm tired of people getting in my way,” Lemon recalled. “I have never seen my wife like this. I'm looking at her like, 'That's so sexy.'”
Lemon clapped his hands and smiled at his wife, who replied, “Why are you laughing? You've just been shot. He remained in silent admiration until the sheriff stopped him, who called an ambulance, Lemon said.
He was taken to the emergency room at University Health 12 patients were admitted From the parade, including eight who were shot. The imaging showed that the bullet had missed the artery, Lemon said. Doctors cleaned the wound and put his leg in a brace and told him to come back in a week. The bullet was still in his leg.
“I was a little confused about it, but I was like, 'OK, whatever, I'm going to get out of here,'” Lemon recalled.
When he returned, doctors removed the bandages but explained that they usually leave bullets and shrapnel in the body – unless it's too painful.
“I get it, but I don't like it,” said Lemon. “Why not take him out if you can?”
University Health spokeswoman Leslie Carto said the hospital cannot comment on individual patient care due to federal privacy laws.
Surgeons avoid bullets when they encounter them during surgery or when they are in dangerous places, such as in the spinal canal, or when they could damage organs, he said. Brendan CampbellA pediatric surgeon at Connecticut Children's.
Campbell also chairs the American College of Surgeons' Committee on Traumatic Injury Prevention and Control, which works on firearms injury prevention.
LJ PunchInjured surgeon and founder by training Bullet related injury clinic The origins of trauma care in St. Louis help explain why shots are often missed, he said.
“Trauma care is the medicine of war,” Punch said. It is designed to be ready to save lives anytime and anywhere, every day. It is not equipped to take care of the healing that comes later,” he said.
In a survey of surgeons, the most common reasons for removing a bullet are pain, a palpable bullet lodged near the skin, or infection. Less common were lead poisoning and mental health concerns such as post-traumatic stress disorder and anxiety.
What patients wanted influenced their decisions, surgeons said.
Lemon wanted the bullet out. The pain in his leg would radiate from his thigh, making it difficult to move for more than an hour or two. It was impossible to do the warehouse work.
“I have to lift 100 pounds every night,” Loomi recalled telling his doctors. “I have to pick up my son. I can't work like this.
He lost his income and health insurance. Another bit of bad luck: the family's owner sold the house they were renting shortly after the parade and had to find a new place to live. This house is small, but it was important to keep the kids in the same school district with friends, Lemon said in an interview in Kensley's pink bedroom, too quiet to talk.
They borrowed money and collected it. $6,500 via GoFundMe To help with the deposit and car maintenance, but the shooting has left the family in a deep financial hole.
Without insurance, Lemon worried he wouldn't be able to get rid of the bullet. Then he found out that the surgery would be paid for with a grant. He made an appointment at a hospital north of the city, where a surgeon took X-ray measurements and explained the procedure.
“I want you to be involved as much as I want to be involved, because – guess what – this is not my leg,” he recalled being told.
The surgery is scheduled for this month.
Sarai Holguin isn't a Chiefs fan, but she agreed to go to the rally at Union Station to show her friend the best spot to see the players on stage. It was a hot day, and there were many policemen standing near the entrance. Parents had babies in strollers, kids were playing soccer, and she felt safe.
Shortly before 2 p.m., Holguin heard what she thought were fireworks. People started running away from the platform. She turned to leave, trying to find her friend, but felt dizzy. She didn't know she had been shot. Three men quickly came to her aid and helped her to the ground, and a stranger took off his shirt and made a visit to dress her left leg.
In the year Holguín, a native of Puebla, Mexico, who became a U.S. citizen in 2018, has never seen such chaos, as many medical professionals work under such pressure. “They were unsung heroes,” she said.
She's seen working on celebrity DJ and 43-year-old mother of two Lisa Lopez-Galvan. Lopez-Galvan died at the scene and was the only fatality in the procession. Holguin was rushed to University Health, about five minutes from Union Station.
There, doctors operated, leaving the bullet in her leg. Holguin rose to more chaos. She is unable to call her husband, Cesar, because she has lost her purse along with her cell phone. She was admitted to the hospital under the guise of a routine procedure to begin immediate care at medical centers.
Her husband and daughter didn't find her until 10 p.m.—eight hours after she was shot.
“It's a big blow to me,” Holguin said through an interpreter. “I was injured and hospitalized through no fault of my own. [The rally] It was a time to play, to have fun, to be together.
Holguín was hospitalized for a week, and two more outpatient surgeries quickly followed, mostly to remove dead tissue around the wound. She wore a wound VAC, or vacuum-assisted closure device, for several weeks and had daily medical appointments.
Campbell, a trauma surgeon, notes that wound VACs are common when shots damage tissues that don't rebuild easily during surgery.
“It's not just physical damage,” Campbell said. Often these patients suffer from emotional, psychological trauma.
The bullet remains near Holguin's knee.
“I'm going to have him for the rest of my life,” she said, adding that she and the Bullet “Compass” became best friends.
“We became friends so you don't do anything to me anymore,” Holguin smiled.
Punch, of the Gunshot-Related Injury Clinic in St. Louis, said some people like Holguín can find a way to psychologically live with residual gunshot wounds.
“If you can create a story about what it means to have that bullet in your body, it's empowering. This gives you agency and choice,” Punch said.
Holgi's life changed in an instant: she was using a walker to get around. Her leg, she said, acts “like it had a stroke” — it wobbles, and it's hard to move her toes.
The saddest thing is that she can't travel to see her 102-year-old father in Mexico. She has a live camera feed on her phone to see him, but she says it's not much comfort and the thought of it brings tears to her eyes.
She was told that her medical bills would be taken care of at the hospital, but most of them came in the mail. She tried to get victims' aid from the state of Missouri, but all the forms she had were in English, which made them difficult to understand. Just renting the wound VAC costs $800 a month.
Finally, the Mexican Consulate in Kansas City…