A Hand in the Dark

[CheesePotato, BSN, RN]

It was there. Just there. But I still could not reach.

Humidity laden air choked with the smell of smoldering grass, prickled razor sharp from the relentless Summer drought, dimly aware of the sounds of a woman sobbing some distance away, the dampened moans of a wounded man, the haunting stillness of a hurt woman, incessant chatter of others not injured but no action. Not enough action.

Pain. Blood. Through a haze wondering if it would be wise to be worried but dismissing it in the same breath as each victim is analyzed, checked, dismissed, catalogued: dislocated open ankle fracture, mild head injury with good pupil and neuro checks, broken fingers, terrified tears. Grateful for the pair of gloves keeping residence in the glove compartment of my sedan, ever stable, ever the same, parked carefully on the side of the roaring expressway saturated with life teeming along with the same intensity as the stinging sweat pooling down my brow.

Some try to help. Some stop.

Most drive on, content with a glance, perhaps a stare, a phone call. The most disconcerting are the ones that pause a little too long, phones held a little too steady, memorializing the moment as a photo op, a "hey look what I saw on my way to work" brag to post on some blog, some chat site, some socialization network.

They single handedly rob the moment of what it is. They have no right.

None.

Stop.

Focus.

Pick the splinter of windshield glass from its place nestled in my grimy forearm. Not quite sure how it got there. Perhaps when I was checking around the vehicle, or rather, what remained of it where it lie on its side, crumpled, a seemingly discarded giant child's plaything tumbled to rest on a berm. I know better than to get near the vehicle. Trained as an emergency responder back when I was still cutting teeth of adulthood, I know the rule of thumb: individual safety first. Secure the scene, then the victims.

But there is magnetism. A draw. A pull. A whisper in the part of me, the same part of me that guided my car to the shoulder, that guided me out, that made me stop.

The crunch of needle grass beneath denim clad knees, for once glad of the jeans in the heat, grateful for the protection from the debris. Vision obscured by toppled, crunched car seats, tattered remnants of interior, depressed metal, caved plastic, it's peering into a cave in the broad daylight, hoping to see the treasure in the far alcove. Praying to see nothing.

Finding your worst nightmare.

A hand.

Just there.

A hand.

Intact. Pale. Unmoving.

Calling for attention, for hands, for eyes and knowing the sharp wail from the now pacing woman is that of realization and recognition. One is missing. No one noticed in the chaos. A momentary reflection on life mimicking slight of hand or a street magician's shell game.

Stop.

Focus.

Sliding forward on belly and chest, arm outstretched, oblivious, in hindsight, not thinking. Pulled by some tether, some gossamer thread older than any study of medicine, the raw feeling of humanity seeking to aid another of its own.

Reaching. Aware every movement could spell disaster--could end in a loss of precious balance and topple several tons of suffocating metal, melting rubber and steaming plastic. Unable to stop.

Unable to succeed.

The whimpering of sirens turns to a wailing shriek. More people. More chatter. Pulled away but still reaching with blind determination. Protests are noted but dismissed. Vaguely hearing the words fire, drought, gas leak. Forced to move away. Forced to abandon. Forced to let a life fade to potentially save my own, forced to allow a last breath to be drawn in terror, alone, wrapped in demolished hell, heat, noise. Unable to reassure. Unable to be reassured that it was already too late. Praying it was quick, instant, painless.

Abandoned.

A hand. Just there. A hand I will never reach.

[TheCommuter, BSN, RN]

Thank you for another beautifully-written article, CheesePotato. You really do have a flair for the written word, and it allows the reader to paint a vivid mental picture of what is happening.

Thanks again.

[prmenrs, RN]

Beautifully written account of something very sad, and very frustrating. All I can suggest is to place it in God's hands and pray--if that is within your belief system. We may thing we're in control, but it turns out to be not true.

You did good. Believe that. ?

[leslie :-D]

Your hand could not reach...

But your heart most certainly did.

You are unaware of what might have been, had you attained what you set out to do.

Yes, I agree...Leave it to god/higher presence.

Conviction in what is, can often be more propitious than what isn't to be.

[Pets to People]

Could not tear my eyes away from your words...so beautiful yet so sad, amazing job, both on the "paper" and on the scene.