Last
night when we finished up at work we went to our favorite little Japanese
restaurant to have a nice, relaxing dinner. As it happened, it was far
from relaxing.
Shortly
after we ordered, we noticed a little commotion with the family at the
table next to us. Apparently there was something wrong with the elderly
Japanese œgrandfather” in the group. In fact it became quickly apparent
that he was having a heart attack, not three feet from us.
The son
was trying to help him as he sat slumped in his chair.
The restaurant
owners were calling 911.
As luck
would have it, there was a doctor eating dinner at one of the other
tables, and she actually came over and offered to help out until the
ambulance arrived, which seemed to be taking forever. I really have
to commend this woman for not being afraid to offer her help, considering
all you hear about how medical personnel won't help for fear of being
sued.
In any
case, there wasn't really much she, or anyone could do except loosen
tight clothing, monitor the vital signs and give him a couple of aspirin
to chew until the ambulance arrived. (Tip: Carry aspirin with you at
all times. Studies have shown that aspirin given during a heart attack
sometimes helps to prevent it from being fatal.)
One couple
was moved to another table to make way for the paramedics. It's a very
small family type restaurant, and there were no more free tables where
we could be moved. Because it's small, it is also never really crowded,
so the event did not have the same sense of anonymity that a similar
event would have had in a huge crowded restaurant. Certainly, it was
almost impossible to separate ourselves from the event as we watched
or rather, tried not to watch what was happening at our feet.
I admit
to finding myself fascinated, and drawn to observe what was happening.
But more than that, I was also extremely agitated and upset by it...we
both were. Even though we did not know the person, we both were quickly
wiping away the tears which started running down our cheeks.
Some
of my reaction was probably prompted by my own experience with 911,
when coming to treat my husband who had a very serious asthma attack
about a year or so ago. It was very frightening, and his survival was
iffy for about twenty-four hours.
Maybe
it also reminded me of my brother's death again, and that there was
no one there for him at the end. Maybe it had to do with my mother-in-law's
stroke, and her sad situation. Maybe it's something akin to post traumatic
stress syndrome; and all of these deaths, or near death situations are
still much closer to the surface than we realize, and any emotional
event can open the valves.
Bear
in mind that in the midst of all of the goings on...they continued to
serve our food...appetizers...then soup...and finally entree. It somehow
felt a little bit crude to eat while someone may have been dying on
the floor beside you, with their entire family watching. All we could
do was to try to be somewhat discreet and wait until they got the man
on the stretcher and on his way out to the ambulance.
It was
a cold meal which I don't remember tasting at all. I have no idea how
we managed to eat it. And I was so happy to be done and to leave.
It was
one of the more absurd and uncomfortable moments in my life, I assure
you. Definitely not a situation for which the protocol is covered by
Letitia Baldridge or Ann Landers.
Once
again, questions about the fragility of life...and having to cope with
the mundane, literally in the face of death, thrown--well--right on
the dinner table. In this case, right along with the tempura.
Food
for thought .