I always like to think that I’m good in a crisis, but time and again that has proven incorrect.
Granted, Diane (one of the supervisors) was on the other side of the office when she inexplicably collapsed, but I still felt helpless.
The cry was sounded midmorning while Diane was in the conference room getting a massage (which is available to anyone willing to sign up and fork over fifteen clams for the privilege of a licensed massage therapist’s time. I get mine for free so have never partaken of Angela’s services). I was listening to my radio and thought I had imagined someone shouting, “Call 911!” Removing my headphones, I heard people scurrying and some crying. My department stood up and tried to peek over partitions, asking among ourselves if anyone knew what had occurred. I thought of a completely different person, on that same side of the office, who’s been in hospital this year for her asthma. When I heard it was Diane, I was floored – she’s always seemed pretty healthy to me.
My supervisor told us what was going on and recommended we keep the area clear as she ran to help guide the ambulance to our front door – a task I was happy to oblige, especially when I heard the crackle of walkie-talkies as the EMTs ran through.
A siren is all it takes to turn me sixteen years old again. April 13, 1999. Easter Sunday. Even though the EMTs came silently this time, my mind remembers flashing lights and wailing vehicles. Grandma lying prone on the carpet, crying out for people who no longer exist on this plane. Sliding her onto the stretcher, her body misshapen from diabetes. They spirited her out the back door to avoid the perilous front steps; twin lines of salt coursed my face as I stood dumbly. I managed to choke out, “We love you, Grandma,” before they rolled her out of sight. A basket of chocolate turning more bitter by the second.
I huddled near my desk while these thoughts rose, as the stretcher clacked down the corridor to the tune of “Clear the area!” Ten years has not dulled the pain, the memories I wish I did not have.
Diane will be fine. Grandma was not.
Wow, hope Diane recovers soon. I’m sorry to hear of your grandmother. It’s scary and sad when things like this happen.
You write really well.
*hugs*
Hey, Jas! Turns out Diane is okay; apparently, it can sometimes happen when you get a neck and shoulder massage and someone pushes too much on a nerve. Weird, eh?