The Gift of Life

Wes sat quietly, relieved that the crowd had dispersed and he could finally catch his breath. Hero status didn't appeal to him at all and the spotlight wasn't his friend. With the hard, cold concrete of the curb under his butt and the cool metal of the light pole against his face, he let the replay of the scene run through his mind.

His training told him it had only taken a minute. 30 compressions, 2 breaths, and on the 27th compression of the second set, her eyes had flown open and she had gasped in a huge lungful of air on her own. He'd been prepared to stay at it for as long as it took. It was a given for a first responder; once you committed to trying to save a life, you didn't give up until someone else took over or a technician or doctor told you to stop.

In that space of suspended time that comes with such moments, Wes had been acutely aware of the crowd that surrounded him and the unconscious woman as he'd checked for a pulse, listened for breathing and checked her airway. He'd heard the shouts of “I'm streaming it live!” and “Yeah, this is going to go viral!” He'd also noted that not one of those onlookers had offered to help when he started CPR. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, but it came as no surprise.

Fortunately – no, miraculously, help hadn't been needed. Wes knew the odds of successful revival and hers was nothing short of phenomenal. He felt a bit guilty, but couldn't help being extremely relieved that he hadn't had to keep going. Yes, he was certified and re-tested annually, but he was also 68 years old. These days, he was more likely to be the victim, not the rescuer.

Even so, he hadn't been tired after such a short stint. It was the aftermath that had exhausted him. EMS and police were on the scene in no time, and with them came more gawkers. The press arrived at roughly the same time, as far as he could tell and they swarmed him when witnesses pointed him out. There was a moment of respite while LEO's cleared a path so the victim could thank him before she was loaded, now stabilized, into the back of ambulance. He thought she was never going to release her hug on his neck.

He was glad to have saved a life. He had simply done what he'd practiced and his training took over automatically, just as it was supposed to. His reward was to be shoved and buffeted by a crowd of strangers, while other strangers shoved cameras and microphones in his face, hurling questions like darts. The stress was almost enough to make him regret having stepped in. Almost.

Seemingly hours later, he had finally received a parting pat on the back from one of the officers who had eventually cleared the crowd. As he and his partner sped off in their patrol vehicle, Wes had sat on the curb to still the chaos in his head and relax enough to finish the walk home. Finally alone, he checked his own pulse at his wrist and found it to be 100 bpm, at the upper range of normal. Given his anxiousness to get the hell off these crazy streets, he'd call it good enough.

Rocking back a bit, he grasped his shins and pulled his feet underneath himself. He shifted his weight slightly and stood up. His vision went dark for a moment, but there was no reason to panic. It's just a little syncope was his last thought as the pavement rushed up to meet his face.

One minute later, a crowd began to gather at that spot for the second time that day.

***