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The snow was falling so hard and fast that I could not see the highway through the windshield. I had been told that it was possible to catch the Greyhound bus to the city if I could flag it down in front of the gas station. Thanking my driver, I set my suitcases on the cement platform that the pumps were standing on and awaited the bus.
Nearly noon, I’d have to wait only fifteen minutes or half an hour, but it was getting pretty cold standing there and if I’d eaten breakfast, my stomach didn’t know it. Feeling very out-of-place in my good coat and upswept hair, I ventured into the dusty grime of the station’s joint workshop and dirty little lunch bar. My stomach was past being fussy at that point so I ordered a bowl of soup, feeling that it, at least, wouldn’t be too greasy. The radio, my symbol of civilization, was the only thing there to remind me of the city.
After my soup, I wandered around the room with its’ dusty telephone crammed under greasy sheaves of paper. Every so often I’d attempt to peer out of the filthy window but even if it had been clean, I’d never have seen past the sheet of driving snow. Feeling very conspicuous and just as impatient, I alternated sitting on the now clean window sill with wandering around my hateful surroundings.
A man came running in to espcape from the tumult of the weather and I felt four times worse…but at least the coveralled attendant had something else to occupy his mind as he fried two eggs for the farmer. They kept up a running stream of chitchat for which I was grateful, and after checking me over once, started hockey talk. Still impatient I watched for my bus.
The door opened again letting in a chilly blast but I ignored the intruder. After a few soft words to the attendant, the two men disappeared to the back room. I’ll never know why I thought the words were addressed to me but I reacted unfeelingly. “Do you know how to stop bleeding” Unaware of the importance of his words, I asked “What’s bleeding?” Looking at the floor I saw a trail of blood and realized that I had been aware of the man as he stumbled through the doorway but had wanted to be untouched by my surroundings. Still calmly, the man said, from the back room “An artery, I think”
Feeling a little bit stupid, wondering why I was being called on to administer to what I assumed was a nose- bleed, I stepped into the back room.
The attendant and the intruder were standing at an old -fashioned sink with their backs to me, and the farmer stood off to the right side. I stepped up to the sink where the intruder, semi-crouching by now, was holding a towel to the right side of his face.
I asked him to show me the wound but he was reluctant to do so. He looked at me, all prim, proper and helpless looking and said “Don’t touch me, or you’ll get dirty”.Telling him not to be so silly, I put my hand up to the towel and removed it. His face was covered with blood. The flow from the wound had made a trail down the neckline of his shirt and I would not have been surprised if it had started pouring out of his shoes.
Gingerly, I attempted to find the injury itself but couldn’t see anything but the hot sticky flood. The attendant gave him another clean towel and rinsed the sodden towel in a gush of water. I had never seen such a sight, the gushing water poured red! Dumbfounded, I pressed the dry towel against the wound and removed it briefly to check the damages. On removal of the towel, a stream of blood spurted forth to at least four inches before it started its’ descent to the floor. But the cut at the temple wasn’t the only gash he had suffered. Around his ears there seemed to be as many as five smaller seeping wounds…all helping his life to escape.
Somehow calm in an emergency, I quietly asked for the town doctor to be called. There was no such thing. A nurse? She was about ten miles away, possibly bringing a new life into the world. The town telephone operator could think of no other means of assistance .An ambulance could be ordered from the city but I felt that we didn’t have enough time to wait for it. After asking the farmer to drive us to town, I made sure the hospital would be notified of our impending arrival and that the man’s wife would be notified.
Then I attempted to convince the injured party that we should go immediately. Not realizing the gravity of the situation, although I seemingly lightheartedly attempted to get them to rush, both men dawdled. With a tea towel pulled tightly around his head and secured only by our hands, his bloody jacket replaced with a clean one from his truck, and nothing left to allow him to stall any longer, I persuaded him to get into the car. At all times I concealed my worries because I felt that if the patient were agitated he would lose more blood and perhaps die.
After what seemed to me and interminable wait, we were seated and ready to go. Feeling that it would be better to have him sitting so I’d know if he lost consciousness, we all piled into the front seat.
For the complete trip, I pressed both hands to his head. When one arm started to ache I let up only to find the blood leaking down my arm. To prevent undue loss of blood it was necessary to press with all my strength and I spent most of the time in self scolding because a life should be more important than an aching arm.
To keep his mind off the situation, I asked him what had injured him. I was astounded to hear, a snowplow passing him had thrown up a chunk of ice which shattered his passenger window, shards of glass had nicked him several times.
Our driver stayed within the speed limit despite the empty highway and my constant urgings to step harder on the gas. By the time my surroundings were familiar to me, I told the driver to go through all red lights if possible and to break the speed limit…When I had convinced him that I would gladly be responsible for any traffic charges, he complied. Moments later we reached the hospital. The man was taken into medical custody.
Shaking, I sat down to answer the ward clerk’s queries. As I didn’t know the name of the injured party or of the driver I wasn’t much help but I told her that his wife had been notified and would soon be there. I signed something but I don’t know what it was. Feeling so personally involved and yet an intruder, I asked if I would be able to learn of his condition. It was suggested I go home and phone later.
I went to the lobby phone to inform my mother that I was home.
To me, that was the whole story, but thanks to the kindness of his wife, I learned more. She informed me that I had saved his life. Suddenly all my feelings of self-importance dwindled into a feeling of gratitude to this woman for being thoughtful enough to notify me of his condition and I then felt that I had not done anything great, instead, I was permitted to be there when my abilities could help. I thank God, every time I think about it, that I could be of service.
The family thanked me by having me over and gave me perfume and chocolates. I felt as if they were paying homage to a nonexistent person and that I’d not even been there. The statement made by his doctor that he had only ten minutes to live made me feel decidedly strange. The main artery in his temple had been severed, he would have to be careful for a year to avoid sneezing and other forms of stress.
I am only glad that he lived….anything to make me remember my “heroism” just makes me feel uncomfortable.
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