So.

Saturday at Gavin's hockey practice one of the dads spectating got horizontal.

I have that moment of hesitation, you know... EMT expired, out of practice, no business being there, all that. But it all comes down to the same thing. The same question that started all this.

What if I'm the only one who can?

Then shouldn't I?

After years of seeing so much hard core hurt and suffering... all the stick thin children with open sores and flies buzzing around them, lepers on the street, all the guns and fearful silence and oppression, all the fighting and all the poverty and struggle, you know, and you get a sense of your own privilege, your own security, and at the same time how easily

--it could be you.

That's the thing. That's why you do it. That's why you act, do. Jump in.

So someone was saying "start CPR, does anyone know CPR??" and everything slowed down to a crawl and it was things like watching for breath (there) and noticing eye movement despite his being unresponsive, and then he was conscious and oriented and then Hugh was there and some off duty firefighter and eventually I got the AED like he asked and then

I faded to the back.

Spending the rest of the day second guessing everything I'd done, kicking myself for not taking a quick second to see if he had equal strength in both hands because I still think it was a stroke and...

and anyway.

I suppose it doesn't matter. The SJ firefighter said in that tone of voice "probably just a faint," and I felt like saying

FUCK you, you son of a bitch, that's three years, Firefighter I, Firefighter Instructor, Swiftwater rescue Tech, EMT, police and SAR and half way to Washington with the Secret Service, don't talk to me like that.

Instead I said thanks and went back upstairs.

I don't know what it takes to belong there. I don't know what it takes to be taken seriously. It isn't skill, it isn't certification, it certainly isn't my desire or intent.

There's something I'm missing. And I'm not sure what it is, and not sure I'll ever know.

So it's do what I can when I should... and then walk away.


***

Cyrus clocked me in the side of the face with a shinai on Sunday.

Definitely my fault, for being too far in, and for refusing to wear a helmet.

It made a horrible hollow melon sound, in my own head. A sort of a sick "pock."

Funny, unless it's you thinking you just got your jaw broken.

I'm fine, though, and can eat and talk and manage perfectly well if I don't open my mouth too wide.

Obviously giving blow jobs is right out.


***


Got two assists this weekend, one with the Pirates and one with the Hounds. I'm playing on good lines, with people I like. Spoiled rotten, and loving it.

Getting the crap kicked out of me on Sunday before the game wasn't the best idea, though. Between Cyrus' hit and the rather overenthusiastic cuts of some Australian guy I think wasn't too happy to find I actually did know something about sabre... I was pretty mashed again before my game, and unfortunately it made a difference.

Still, playing was good. Dave got the gloves dropped on him, and Buzz yelled imprecations and got ejected and we all secretly hoped it would turn into a bench clearing brawl and of course it didn't.

Playing with Logan and Kristine was especially sweet. Good chemistry, good passes, and Kristine and I seem to make an excellent PK team. Hello, yes, we are in your zone. How did that happen? I don't know. Look! The puck!


***

On the way to the Hounds game traffic was jacked up because someone's inert body was lying across the Wolfe/El Camino intersection. I watched the people bent over whoever it was, yelling at each other while three different people called 911 on their cell phones.

I looked at the time. I thought about what could happen if it were serious, and how I should stop and get out of my car.

I was saved making a decision by the arrival of a couple of engines and PD.

I cried all the way to my game.


***



- posted by Kate @ 10:42 AM