I went to a football game recently with three friends. One of them is the father of the other two. I’m going to be intentionally obscure on some details to protect their privacy, but I want to tell this short story because, well, I think you’ll understand by the time I am done.
We drove to a venerable football stadium to attend a college football game between two power conference teams. It was a beautiful day for football, if a bit warm, hot even.
As we approached the stadium, which we had never been to, we asked for help finding the best place to drop off a 70ish year old man with some mobility issues. The various gatekeepers were respectful and, more importantly, helpful. Kudos.
After dropping them off, I went in search of a parking space and found one (at a mere $40) within a twenty-minute walk of the stadium. All things considered, not too bad.
By the time I rejoined my friends, the father was in a first aid station at the stadium. Leaving my car and walking in the heat and humidity had exacted a quick and heavy toll. A few minutes sitting in the air-conditioned first aid station while drinking cold water refreshed him.
We entered the stadium and watched most of the first half without further incident. Sometime in the middle of the second quarter, we started walking toward the concessions and bathrooms. We had taken only a few steps, when the father of my friends became very weak and couldn’t continue. His son held him up. When I noticed what was happening, I returned to assist. We asked the usher to call for a medic, which he did.
A woman walked by, and said “my husband is a doctor, should I get him.” Yes. A step in the right direction.
The son and I continued to hold the father upright, hoping the medic would show up quickly. A man walking by noticed our situation and said “I’m going to get on my hands and knees. He can sit on my back.” He dropped to the floor and we settled the father on his back.
After just a few seconds, a doctor showed up (the woman’s husband) and asked us to place the father flat on his back with his head pointing down (we were on a ramp). By now another doctor had stopped to help, followed by a third. The man, who had hitherto been on his hands and knees, returned with a cup of water. He was my favorite of the good Samaritans.
The doctors were terrific. They spoke calmly and authoritatively, reassuring the father that they would stay with him as long as necessary. One was constantly monitoring the father’s pulse, which remained strong and steady throughout.
The father had not lost consciousness and had not suffered a stroke, heart attack, or anything else with a specific name, he had simply become extremely fatigued extremely quickly. Eventually the medic showed up, he was in high demand as the heat intensified, and the father was put on a stretcher and taken back to the first aid station, which was full. (Somewhere along the line, a fourth doctor, a cardiologist, had stopped to help, though we were already in good hands.)
At the first aid station, the father rested in a bed, receiving hydration and some much-needed air conditioning. He remained conscious and aware of his surroundings throughout the incident and was able to converse while watching the game on TV. He acted and sounded like himself, just weaker than normal. Ultimately, he was transferred by ambulance to a local hospital, where he was admitted and spent the night. He is now home, still weak, but otherwise little the worse for wear.
The “crisis” did not last long, but the number of people who helped in small and large ways was impressive. It was a wonderful reminder of the kindness of strangers. It heartens me to realize that Americans are willing to help others in distress, whether in small events like ours or large events like Hurricane Florence.
We are a great country, always have been, always will be.