Sheila

the last of the myspaz reposts. and now back to your regular scheduled blogging.

It started as any normal day does. I did some running about, errands, etc...I parked in my normal spot several blocks away from work and started my normal route to work...walking along 102 ave I opted to cross the street to walk under the pedestrian tunnel by the construction site (I like the grafitti in it)..which is where I found Sheila.

she was lying on the ground having a seizure, her boyfriend cowering over her trying to hold her still as she jerked and spasmed. he knew to turn her on her side so she wouldnt choke on her own puke, but he was mumbling, "she ain't breathin', she ain't breathin!". I looked and saw her eyes rolling back in her head. he rolled her onto her back and was hitting her on the chest. "breathe! breathe!" he yelled, desperate for a response. he obviously had no clue what to do.

I was paralyzed - I didnt know what to do either. I stood up and looked around and by that time there was about a dozen business-types on the ground, looking at this poor woman, just staring...I yelled, "does ANYONE KNOW WHAT TO DO?!"...

...and as those words escaped my lips, it hit me. All the first aid that I learned in babysittng class in grade 6, in swimming lessons in jr. High...everything came flooding back - I snapped into help mode and I dropped to the ground beside her. "call 911" I said to the guy next to me, but he was already dialing. I grabbed her wrist. weak pulse. I put my finger under her nose - soft breath, but breathing nonetheless. the boyfriend was now crying. "she's hungry, thats all. she's just weak. and asthmatic."

"but why is she having a seizure? what did she take?!" I demanded
"I don't know, I've never seen her do this!" the guy replied. "Sheila, sheila, come back honey, stay with us".

the guy on the phone starts asking questions -

"is she still breathing"
yes.
"does she have a pulse"
yes. speeding up, all of a sudden.
a courier breaks through the staring crowd and drops down beside me.
"we need to figure out her heart rate. count them...Now."
I count. 19 in 10 seconds. 104 in a minute. that's fast.

sheila is spasming less now, but now foaming at the mouth, and I see something in her mouth - dentures. I hold her mouth open and tell the boyfriend to pull them out. only now do I get a look at her. she's maybe 30. tatoos on her face, hands, neck. massive goose egg on her forehead, probably from when she fell. her eyes are dark and vacant. I dont think she can feel a thing.

I look at the boyfriend, straight in the eye. "what did she take?"
he looks away.
"methadone," he says really quietly. "and lots of it. she's trying to kick. she hasn't eaten anything, she's asthmatic. it all added up just now".

I tell this to the guy on the phone. he tells the 911 people. an ambulance is on its' way. the spasms have stopped, she's a little more alert now, reacting to our use of her name. she's drifting off, eyes rolling back. we're all yelling her name to keep her with us...the ambulance arrives...they take over, and I stand up. everyone has left - its just me, the courier, the guy on the phone, sheila and the boyfriend. we're all shaken. I realize that she's safe now, and I put on my headphones and walk away. about a block later I began to shake inside myself - I couldn't (and still can't) get the image of her eyes out of my head. so dead, so...absent. I'm still a little shaken.

I hope she lives to see next year. I hope she lives to see next Christmas. I fear she won't.

sorry to be all depressing; I needed to write that out so I know that it happened.