My family was returning from a weekend in the mountains, all packed snugly into our white minivan. My boyfriend was at the wheel. Music was playing and I was trying to focus on that, and not on the road. This twists and turns road has always made me nervous, no matter how many times I have traveled it since childhood. Running through Reservation land and firmly out of cell-phone range, one side of this two-lane switchback road through the mountains is sheer rock and the other side drop several hundred feet to the bottom of the canyon.
The sun had set and we were guided only by the reflective paint of the road and the side rails on the drop-off side. Blind turns made occasional headlights of cars suddenly appear in front of us. As we went around one such turn, a pickup truck going in the opposite direction flashed its headlights at us, warning us of something ahead. My boyfriend slowed down.
As we turned the corner I saw through the darkness a white minivan on its side in front of us, its front window smashed out. It had come to rest firmly against a side rail, the only thing keeping it from tumbling into the darkness below. I saw another smashed vehicle sitting in the middle of the road. There were about ten people who had already parked and gotten out to try to help. There were no reassuring flashing lights of an ambulance. There was a lone patrol car, and one officer waving his flashlight to stop any traffic trying to drive through the scene.
I didn't even question it. I had to help. As soon as our van stopped and I saw that the road was clear, I threw on my coat and stepped out into the sharp wind and ran to the van. I said, "I'm a nurse! Can I help?" One of the women by the van introduced herself as a trauma nurse, the other was a neonatology nurse. She said the patrol car had just called for help, but it would be awhile before they could reach us. The woman in the van was unreachable. She was talking to us through the shattered windshield and said it hurt to breathe. Someone had a flashlight shining on her face from time to time to check her color. Still good. She asked me to check on the man in the other car.
The whole front end of the car was smashed in and his legs were trapped. The steering wheel was firmly against his chest. Another man appeared and said he, too, was a nurse-- ER in a local town down up the mountain. Our patient was moaning and pale, and not oriented. I crawled into the passenger side and used a flashlight to assess as much of him as I could see, which was not much. He had a large deep laceration on his head. And then another nurse appeared and identified herself as such. Within ten minutes of being there on this road in the middle of nowhere, there were five nurses on the scene.
An hour went by on this dark cold mountain. Another patrol car showed up but no ambulances. The hour seemed like an eternity. There was no oxygen available, no monitors, no medical supplies. Just our presence. We were told that two ambulances and two helicopters had been dispatched. We kept talking to the two trapped people, reassuring them that they were not alone, and help was coming. The trauma nurse was truly amazing. She directed the rest of us on how to help and kept running between the two cars.
As the roads above and below the accident backed up with cars, people ran to the perimeter offering blankets, water, and flashlights, being careful to stay out of the way of those who were working. The two trapped people were covered in blankets and jackets to keep as warm as possible.
Finally, we heard helicopters. Their lights shone down as people moved their cars to make room both above and below the cliff at two hairpin turns where they could land. Then the first ambulance arrived and paramedics, and oxygen! Relief!
A generator was set up and two jaws of life started to work on the two vehicles. I was asked to help, and for awhile I was in charge of the oxygen tank and holding the vital signs monitor to the side of the jaws of life. But as more help arrived and took over, I stepped to the side and stayed out of the way. Finally, the man was free of his car. He coded as soon as they put him on the stretcher. They took him to the ambulance and worked on him for a very long time, but he didn't make it.
After two hours, the woman was still trapped in the van but alive. Someone had broken through the back window to let themselves inside to start an IV and oxygen on her. The van rocked precariously as the person walked through it to reach her. I looked down the cliff to the winding road below and saw miles of head lights waiting below.Even though I was no longer helping, our van was not going anywhere. At least I could still do something. I could pray.
Three hours in, those of us no longer needed received permission from a trooper to slowly drive around one of the helicopters and out of the canyon. My boyfriend, who had been sitting with the kids in the van the whole time, saw us safely home just after midnight.
As I warmed up in my bed, cocooned in layers of blankets, I kept replaying the scene over and over. Five nurses. Within minutes there were five nurses who appeared on this dark mountain road. Five nurses who stayed on duty until it was time to hand off our patients, and then disappeared quietly and anonymously into the night. Not heroes. Just five nurses, doing what nurses do.
