It was probably one of the strangest mornings of my life. It
definitely competes with that time our neighbors (out for their ridiculously
early five-in-the-morning walk,) found a deranged old woman with all her
bedding—feet bleeding from walking several bocks—just sleeping at the end of
our driveway. The police had come that morning too and made for a lot of
excitement, but it was different because my parents were taking care of the
situation and I was only watching with my sister from our bedroom window. But
now I’m a grown up (I guess) and can’t be as passive in emergencies.
I live in a house with three other girls in a downtown location. I woke up at around 6:00 a.m. (even though my
alarm was not scheduled to go off until 8:00). When I came to, I heard screaming.
It was a lot of screaming—repeated noises like somebody was in an awful amount
of pain. I opened our window just to be sure, and there was certainly no
denying that somebody was in trouble. My roommate stirred and I asked, “Nadine?
Do you hear that?” She mumbled something incomprehensible. I continued to
listen. “She’s throwing up now,” I said when the sounds of retching came up
through our window. I shut the thing and went downstairs. Going back to sleep
was out of the question. Being the good social psychology student I am, I
refused to be a victim of the bystander effect. (The Bystander Effect: when nobody does anything to respond to an
emergency because everyone assumes someone else will, or thinks of excuses to
make themselves believe nothing bad is really happening.)
As I walked down the stairs, images flooded my head of
someone being raped, stabbed, beat-up, mugged, and shot. I was afraid, but I
think my fear of neglecting to save somebody when I could out-weighed my fears
of anything that could happen to me. Having to live with knowing I didn’t try
is a nightmare of what-ifs. When I opened our front door, I noticed that the
screaming had stopped. I turned on our porch lights and I was out on the front
lawn yelling, “Is somebody out there? Are you okay? Do you need help?” And
Nadine came outside behind me. I found out later she was planning on staying in
bed until she realized I was actually going outside. Then she came out after me
with her pepper-spray. Good, smart Nadine.
It was
about then when I saw her—a young woman lying sprawled out in jeans and a red
hoodie on our front lawn. She was still. Dead still.
I immediately started crying. I pointed, unable to go
closer, “Oh God, Nadine, someone is there. Do you see her? Oh my God. Is she
dead? Oh God. Are you okay?” I called out. The woman didn’t respond. Nadine ushered
me back to the porch and suggested calling the police. I already had my phone
out and I was dialing 9-1-1.
The emergency people told me that they would send someone to check on her and an ambulance was also on the way. They also asked me if I would feel comfortable keeping an eye on her to make sure no one else came around and so I could call if she left.
So we waited. We went out on the porch to monitor.
It wasn’t long before the woman started convulsing and yelling again.
“PLEASE!” She shouted, “Somebody help me!” I ran out to her (Nadine close behind) and I said,
“What do you need?”
“I’m having a seizure!” She said this between convulsions.
Now, even though I have been around for several seizures, I don't claim to know everything about them. I know there are different
types, but I’m pretty sure there was more happening than just a seizure. She was seizing,
but it was happening for a very long time and in a methodological manor-like substance withdrawal convulsions.
“We have to hold her on her side so she doesn’t throw up in
her own mouth and choke on the vomit,” I instructed Nadine. Just as we did so,
the retching started again. We held her as she convulsed. Good, sweet, Nadine
was rubbing her back. Our neighborhood watch guy from across the street came
out to help us. He didn’t really know what to do, told us he has also called
the cops, and knelt over the woman with us.
I called my dad. I already knew what to do when someone is
having a seizure (there’s not much you can do except wait for it to stop), but
I think I just wanted him to be on the phone with me. Very soon after I called,
the cops came. It was weird because they were not in a car or anything. It was
just two guys just walking from around the corner with their little emergency
bag.
“Is it epileptic?” They asked.
“We don’t know. We don’t know her, we just found her here,”
I told them.
“Oh,” was all they said, and we all backed up as they got to
work. It wasn't long before the ambulance also showed up. Bridget (our other roommate) was at the front door,
wanting to know what was happening. Our neighbor went back to his house, and we
retreated to the porch, explaining things to Bridget. We assessed the
situation, guessing she was probably experiencing effects of a drug overdose or severe substance withdrawal symptoms. After we figured that out, we complained for a bit about being so rudely woken up and how we weren't sure how to clean up the puke from our lawn. I was a little surprised by my own insensitivity. As soon as something becomes someone else’s fault, it's easy to reason ourselves into forgetting about compassion.
The medics put the woman on a stretcher, telling her to stop
banging her head lest she wanted an awful headache (indicating that some of
this was in her control). I was expecting the cops to come and debrief us, ask
us questions or even just say, “Thanks for calling,” or something. But, nope.
They just gave us a little salute, and sauntered around the corner back into
the dawn.
So the three of us had a small de-brief of our own and then
did yoga together.
I began to think about how yes, it was a little
scary that this happened to us this morning, but some people deal with this
kind of (and much scarier) situations as an every day occurrence. However shaken up I was
by it, it did not feel like as big of a deal compared to those who experience traumatic circumstances on such a regular basis that they get to a point of desensitization. What on earth would it be like to live somewhere where people get shot, get raped, OD, and yell and fight right outside the door every single day?
And I could not help but note my own relief as soon as the
ambulance guys came and took her away. What if there were no such people? What
if we had to take care of each-other instead of relying on institutional
authorities set up for that kind of thing? What if we were forced to bring her
into our own home and slowly and painfully walk beside her in her recovery?
But instead they came and removed her. They cleaned up the
matter and we did not have to worry about it anymore. Because what does she have
to do with us?
