Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 457.

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Bike 457.
by Angharad

We went to lunch in Tom’s old landrover. It was such a heap these days, but not so long ago, I was more than happy to ride in it. Maybe this time he was making sure he didn’t have to walk back to work, I had abandoned him last time after my row with Mumblestiltskin. Despite the noise of the engine I fell asleep before we got to the restaurant.

“Come on, Cathy, time to go back to work.”

“What? What time is it?”

“It’s after two.”

“Two,” I repeated to myself trying to work out what it meant. Eventually, my slow brain decided it must be something to do with the time. “Did I have lunch?”

“No, you slept through it.”

“Gee thanks,”

“I decided you must be more tired than hungry, besides you were snoring fit to scare crows.”

“I don’t snore,” I said indignantly.

“I thought you’d say that, so I sent a copy of this to your website.” He switched on his mobile phone and played the video. I was snoring and it was quite audible. I blushed to my roots.

“I didn’t know I did that.” I said in disbelief.

“Of course you don’t, you’re asleep when you’re doing it.”

“Oh, that makes some sense, did you get me a sandwich?”

“Here,” he said and passed it to me. I snatched it and tucked in, I was ravenous.

“Trouble with youngsters is they have no stamina.”

“Hmm,” I mumbled, my mouth full of tuna sandwich.

“When I was your age, we used to work all day and party all night.”

“Was that during the prohibition?”

“Prohibition? That was America.”

“Was it? I wondered if you’d got Al Capone’s autograph?”

“You cheeky bugger, I’m not that old.”

“Sorry, I thought you were,” I hoped my eyes were twinkling, because my mouth was still full of bread.

He gave me a Paddington hard stare, shook his head and started the car. Of course we got stuck at a jam caused by an accident. People were flapping around and one in particular, I thought I recognised. I did, my goodness! I jumped out of the car, “Where are you going?” called Tom to my back.

“Where is she?” I asked and saw her lying on the road, her body in an unnatural position. People were stood around. I frantically pushed them out of the way and kneeling down felt for her pulse. There was none.

“She’s a gonner,” said a voice, and as I examined her, I noticed bleeding from her ear, suggesting a fracture to the skull. I laid her flat, and started CPR. There was nothing else I could do.

“Thirty to one,” I muttered to myself as I began pumping her little chest.

“Shift over, I’ll pump you blow,” said a young copper who appeared at my side.

“Don’t do it too hard then,” I cautioned and blew twice into the little mouth. My helper pumped. We did this for several minutes when I heard the sirens in the distance. I knew from experience that even when they arrived they’d need time to set up. “Keep going until they tell us to stop,” I gasped to my colleague.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” he was looking quite hot and bothered.

I blew again, “Come on Jemima, it’s Cathy, don’t leave us, you hang on in there.”

“…thirty, you know her?” asked the copper.

“Sort of,” I said after inflating her lungs.

“Let us through,” called a voice and the cavalry in the form of the Hampshire Ambulance Service, arrived. “Keep going,” he urged us, so we did.

“We have a pulse,” he said, it’s very weak, “so why isn’t she breathing?” He checked her airway, having stopped the policeman and his compressions. He shoved a bag thing over her nose and mouth and began pumping it with his hand, her little chest rose and fell.

“How long was she stopped?” he asked me, and his companion began to strip her clothing and put on an ECG machine leads.

“I don’t know, maybe five or ten minutes.”

“Shit!” he said and he kept squeezing the bag, “Can you do this for me while we get her on to the stretcher?”

I nodded and moved towards him, “Make sure you keep it over her nose and mouth.” I nodded again.

I kept squeezing as they fitted a neck brace and then ever so gently lifted her onto the stretcher. They raised it up to waist height on it’s telescopic legs and the paramedic took back control of the bag. “She’s not yours then?”

“No, I just happened on the accident, her mother’s here somewhere.” I pointed to the woman sobbing on the shoulder of another copper.

“Okay,” he went over to her, his colleague had taken over the bag squeezing and the gurney was shoved into the ambulance. Moments later, Jemima’s mother was shoved in after her and the paramedic, shut the door and drove off at speed: the lights and wailing siren clearing it’s path through the traffic.

The young policemen took my name and address, I was sort of a witness after the fact. I then got back into Tom’s car.

“What happened?”

I began to realise the enormity of what had happened. “A little girl was hit by a car, I think. The problem is, I think I know her.”

“Who is she?”

“Jemima, the little girl who has damaged my ear drums many times. I think she may never do so again.”

“Bad?”

I nodded, “Fractured skull, there was no pulse when I got there, so I started CPR, a young copper helped me.”

“Oh dear, said Tom, “I’m taking you home.” Which is what he did. He also poured me a stiff brandy and almost forced me to drink it. It burned and I coughed, then I gave a big shudder and started to cry. He put his arm around me and I sobbed on his shoulder. How could so much happen to one person? Did it happen to me, or did I provoke it in some way?

I could see the limp, battered, little body lying in that awkward shape and I never thought I’d be able to get it out of my head as long as I lived. She looked so pale, with her blue lips. Was I too late? I suppose I might never know.

I actually went to bed and slept right through until about six in the morning. When I awoke, I felt physically refreshed but still sad after yesterday’s incident.

“Stay home, go back to bed.” This was Tom’s exhortation and I did wonder about it. I felt like shit, despite my catch up on my beauty sleep.

“I wonder if I called the hospital?” I mooted.

“They won’t tell you anything?”

“No, I suppose not. Poor little bugger, what chance did she have at life? If there is a God, he’s a miserable bastard. That’s two people I know, he’s taken in the last couple of months.”

“Cathy, I’m no expert, but I don’t think that’s how it happens.”

“I don’t care, all these Bible thumpers, they’re all so stupid, can’t they see through all that crap for what it is?”

“And what is it?”

“Crap, that’s what.”

“Cathy, you are justifiably angry, but maybe your anger should be directed at the driver who hit your little friend, or the council for not providing a crossing. Cussing and blaspheming helps no one, and it makes you look rather silly.”

I was about to tell him where to go, when he smiled and melted my heart. He was right–a-bloody-gain–and he held me as I wept some more. Some days I felt so helpless and others, so useless.

“You did all you could, it’s up to her doctors and luck if she survives.” He cooed as he held me. “You did your best, which is all you could do.”

I calmed down, and had a cuppa, then still feeling bad, went back to bed. I wondered how much more could happen, World War Three? I could just see it now–a nuclear sub docks at Portsmouth on a goodwill visit, I go to look around and while doing so stumble and my hand strikes a button which launches Trident missiles at Russia. Yeah, that was my sort of luck. I must have fallen asleep, because I was awoken by the doorbell. It took me a moment to realise what it was.

I struggled out of bed, and grabbed my dressing gown which I wrapped around myself as I descended. I opened the door, half expecting it to be the Russian Ambassador asking why I’d declared war on his country.

Instead, behind a large bouquet of flowers stood an oldish, well fifty something-ish man, with a large moustache. “Are you, Cathy Watts?”

“Yes, why?”

“These are for you.”

“Why?”

“You helped to keep my granddaughter alive.”

“She’s alive?” I shrieked and kissed him on the cheek.

“Yes, she’s in a coma, she’s fractured her skull and they’re keeping her unconscious until the swelling goes down. She is very poorly, but if you hadn’t started to resuscitate her, she’d have been dead on arrival.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get there earlier.”

“You did what you could, please accept these flowers with our family’s gratitude, she has a slim chance of survival.”

“I can’t take those, I didn’t do anything to deserve them, please give them to Jemima.”

“They said you knew her.”

“I showed her some of my dormice at the university, they nearly had nervous breakdowns at the range of decibels such a small body could produce.” We both laughed and he agreed.

“Please take them, we’d all like you to. It’s not much, but it’s important for us to acknowledge what you did.”

“Thank you, would you like a cuppa?”

“No, thank you all the same, I’d better get back to the hospital.”

“Please, “I gave him my mobile number,” let me know how she gets on, won’t you?”

“I’ll do that,” he said, and I accepted the flowers.

“I do hope she’ll be alright.”

“Aye, so do I lass.” He left.

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Comments

I loath children

But I don't wish them to be chucked out in the street under a car! Cathy must have been a Scout, "Be Prepared" and all that. When it's time to step forward or bow out, Cathy steps forward. What a girl!!!

KJT

PS: Cathy's best is very, very good!

"Being a girl is wonderful and to torture someone into that would be like the exact opposite of what it's like. I don’t know how anyone could act that way." College Girl - poetheather


"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin

I'm not too keen myself but ...

... I know it's just as well everyone isn't like me because after all someone's got to pay my pension :) Angahard's a mischievous bugger playing on our sympathies like she does but I suppose that's what we sign up for when we follow this soap opera aka 'an everyday story of TS folk' :)

Geoff

Definition of a hero

Somebody who is at the right place, at the right time, with the right training, and a willingness to act. The last is crucial, without it none of the rest amounts to spit.

KJT

"Being a girl is wonderful and to torture someone into that would be like the exact opposite of what it's like. I don’t know how anyone could act that way." College Girl - poetheather


"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin

That's true.

I found a dead body on my way to work about this time of year some time ago. It was a smartly dressed woman, about 60, laying tidily supine on the pavement on a quiet suburban street, eyes open staring at the sky. To be honest, I thought (hoped) it was a Guy some kids had abandoned as it was just before Bonfire Night. Unusually, I was in the car (rather than my bike) on my way to a training course and I was dreading having to give the kiss of life, so I was relieved when I checked her pulse and it was non-existent. I wonder, sometimes, if I'd had a go she might have been brought round but I'm afraid I was found wanting, so definitely not a hero.

Funnily enough when I got to the training centre I found I was a week early - the course I was supposed to be attending wasn't until the following week. There's a story there somewhere, I guess. One which I don't come out of with much credit.

Geoff

I learned the hard way

A few years ago there are tell tale signs of if it's to late to help and there especially helpfull to know if the person passed in a heated water bed as their body stays warm.If they've been passed for a little bit the blood will move to the low points and you can see it.I also learned if they had a heart attack the right arm is usually raised up and curled in towards the chest.I tried because I knew the person but may not have in your situation in stopping and checking you did more than many others would have.One of the joy's of getting older is becoming more experienced in how people pass and funeral etiquette.Glad that Angharad at least had Cathy try and I don't mind kids especially since I can give them back when I'm ready.Do what you must with Jemima but I detect a glimmer of hope.Amy

Karen, children are quite nice ...

if properly prepared, seasoned and slow cooked with a moist heat technique such as braising.

Oooops! That was from the Cannibal Cooking for Dummies book, my error.

Ang, you are a mean, rotten, evil … I loved it. But don’t do too much child bashing, okay? And hurting cute furry little animals is right out!

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

I just got to say

I'd bet she'd taste like maple syrup instead of chicken since her name's jemima.Could be good for breakfast on pancakes.Might want to change your cooking technique John.Lol Amy

*I*, on the other hand, avoided any Aunt Jemima jokes ...

as they might be in bad taste where as cannibal jokes are always in good taste, or is it taste good?

Hum, a different technique? Brine in Pepsi Cola, salt and some spices -- hey they do this in the South, really, see America's Test Kitchen -- and either bake like a turkey or low temperature cure over many days in a smoke house. That later way you get ham, and bacon and …

Don’t use lawyers as they are notoriously difficult to clean.

Ang, BC’s mistress of the cliffhanger.

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

Bury the lawyers

I heard they now bury lawyers at ten feet deep rather than six feet, they have found that deep down they are nice people.

Well, you know....

what they call 10 lawyers at the bottom of a lake... A Start...

And 100 lawyers, layed end to end... A better start.

Would this be considered

Would this be considered "thread drift" ? ;-)

Could be, perhaps I should rope it back...

You know, we've not seen MANY lawyers - well except for the estate lawyers & that one solicitor (student's dad if memory serves)... Maybe cause Ang's dumped the bad ones in a lake? Are there any lakes that seem to be filling up over there?

Annette

Stringy

John, do you recommend marinade or dry rub? or both?
I hear par-boiling tends to reduce stringiness if they have freezer burn... Oh, thats from the Coastal Gourmet; 365 recipes for seagull, never mind.

children

well i cant have any nor would i want one full time. but being Auntie suits me find. And umm, I get partners to take to cartoon movies w/o looking silly ... OH YEA ... best part is fill em up with sugar and give em back to unsuspecting parent ........... (((giggles)))

Gawd

you're good

Several have said...

Angharad's picture

...they wanted more of Jemima in the story. You know me, anything to oblige. I have to go to bed, night night all.

Angharad

Angharad

Brat

brat brat brat

Yay Mima!

Caffy's a hewo-een!
Yippee!

Jemima Is Back

But what a way to return. No doubt Cathy will hound that driver for hurting the Banshee Child. Chin up Cathy, the press will want to interview you for saving Jemima.
May Your Light Forever Shine

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

Oh, Why?!

It's only a story...

It's only a story, so why does it make me cry?

It's only a story.

Cathy would make a great

Cathy would make a great "First Responder" (Police/Fire/Medical) as she is willing to jump and at least try to save lives. CPR and the portable Defibulators now in public use should be taught in ALL Schools and Businesses everywhere and USED when needed.
I don't know if Great Britian has the "Good Samaritian" law as most of the U.S. does, but it does keep many people willing to at least try.
For those who don't know what that law is, it simply means a person doing as Cathy was doing; you, as a "Good Samaritian", providing help prior to the arrival of medically qualified personnel are not to be held responsible if the person at risk dies before they arrive.
As a First Responder in my other life,(Police work), now Retired; I commend Cathy for her willingness to at least try and thankfully, it did turn out good for her. Hooray for Cathy!! J-Lynn

I was hoping to run into Jemma again...

But NOT this way. What a way to find her.

A lot to this chapter. Dad Tom takes care of her again... And again.

Thanks
Annette

I like to think...

that in 15 or 20 years, when Cathy is an established and famous professor and naturist, that she is visited by a new graduate student/instructor named Jemima...

Janice

Cathy a Naturist?

The mind boggles. Is this a side of Cathy we haven't seen yet? A naturist eh? In the UK, the word "naturist" is another way of saying someone is a NUDIST! Cathy could better be described as a naturalist

As the the earlier discussion as to what to serve up with Jemima, it has to be Orange Sauce—because of Beatrix Potter's Jemima Puddleduck

Gabi

Gabi.


“It is hard for a woman to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to express theirs.” Thomas Hardy—Far from the Madding Crowd.

This Story Just Keeps on Getting Better and Better!

I am **so** enjoying this!

You are definitely a craftswoman, Ang. I do read other authors, many of whom do not have your ability to tell a story in clear sentences and no spelling or grammar errors.

Thank you again!

Yours from the Great White North,

Jenny Grier (Mrs.)

x

Yours from the Great White North,

Jenny Grier (Mrs.)

Jemma

Cathy could wind up as God Mother to this child, which in itself would ironic. Hope she recovers.

Diolch

No matter how hard she try's to say otherwise, Cathy is a hero. Doing single 30/2 is brutal, two-man is exhausting, did it once, took 2hrs to recover. EMT stopped me. Can a knighthood be bestowed on a woman ? She crawls into a flaming car for a child, does CPR on a child. Cathy hates children??

Cefin