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10-25-2007 Jim Austin At the top of the stairs, my heart almost stopped. My Anne was lying at the bottom on her back, groaning and sobbing. She'd slipped and fallen down the whole flight. At her side I asked where she was hurt. "Ice!" was her answer. "Ice!" She'd jammed a toe and bent a finger as she plummeted down on her back. Urging her not to move, I emptied trays and made two ice packs. "Where else?" I asked. Through continued gasps, she said, "Bottom of my spine." Anne is a woman with awesome pain tolerance. Without anesthesia, she toughs her way through root canals, and even colonoscopies. That's why her sobs and groans really shook me. "I'm calling 911," I said, and she didn't object. Two years ago, that call would have meant an anxious wait for the Cooperstown ambulance: our own fire department had let its first-responder unit fall apart. Thank God, that's all changed. The new fire company has nearly a dozen first-responders on its roster, all of them with fresh, extended training. Within five minutes after my call, the first help arrived: our friend Wolfgang Merk from right across Oaks Creek. Wolf's a contractor, but also a Cooperstown fireman and a skilled EMT. "Wolf's pulling in the driveway," I told Anne. "Get the tissue box," she said. "Now I'm really going to cry." And indeed she did (and I came close to it) as that calm, kind man knelt down beside her. "My job, Anne," said Wolf, "is to hold your head motionless till the other guys get here with a neck brace and back board. If damage has been done, we don't want it made worse." Wolf then lay on his stomach behind her head and held it steady, waiting. But not for long. Within minutes, five Fly Creek first responders had arrived, one driving their truck full of emergency equipment. As each of these neighbors arrived, their faces full of concern, our emotions welled again. Here came Pam Deane, and then Matt Lionetti, Linda Coe, Pat Schultz, and Betty Staffin. Anne went through a lot of tissues. With gentle skill, the crew got a neck brace on Anne, then rolled her to her side, slid the back board under her, and strapped her securely to it. At each small step in the procedure, they asked her to describe any change in pain. And, bless them, they also joked gently with both of us, easing our worry. Soon the Cooperstown ambulance arrived, and Kevin Preston and his team took charge of the case. "When they lifted me and carried me out to the ambulance," Anne said later, "it was like one of those trust-fall exercises, where you close your eyes and fall backward, trusting that the people behind you will catch you. No worry. I felt I was floating along in the best of hands." In our car, I followed the ambulance to an emergency room so busy that Anne and several others had to be parked on gurneys outside the regular cubicles. But friendly, familiar faces surrounded us there, too. Sam Hoskins, who'd once done fine work on Anne's sprained knee, got extra blankets and spread them over her. He laughed warmly when Anne told him, "I didn't bang the knee, Sam." Another Fly Creeker, Dr. Chuck Howarth, stopped by repeatedly to apologize for Anne's being in the hall. Chuck, an engineer before medical school, is slowly changing the Fly Creek schoolhouse into a home for himself, Jennifer, and their new baby. They're living in the schoolhouse as Chuck works on it, and he put us at ease with very funny stories about the experience. After a bit, Anne was wheeled to x-ray, and then back and into a cubicle of her own. The films, thank God, showed nothing broken. "You're just in for a very painful week or so," said the doctor. Relieved, we were handed the release papers and a couple days' supply of industrialstrength pain capsules. Then came a final kindness. When the nurse who brought a wheelchair saw that Anne had arrived without shoes, socks, or coat, he got socks for her and draped a blanket around her shoulders. "I'll bring the blanket back tomorrow," I promised. He smiled and shrugged. "When you have time," he said. Back home, Anne slept the night on the couch to avoid the stairs. The next day, the flood of kindness continued: telephone calls, visits, gifts of food. The capper was the arrival of Portabello Restaurant's Josh Kantor with a hamper full of delicious meals for us. Anne is up and hobbling around now (standing, she says, is far better than sitting); and she's sporting blacks, blues, and maroons that would please a tattoo artist. Both of us are still awed by the outpouring of goodness by friends and neighbors. When our British friend Michael Thrower faces effusive thanks for something he's done, he always deflects any praise. He does it by imitating an English comic whose tag line for many jokes is a pious, cloying "People are kind." And indeed they are, Mike. They truly are. Read about Jim Atwell's new book, ``From Fly Creek-- Celebrating Life in Leatherstocking Country'' at JimAtwell. com). |
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