This is a collection of my writing and correspondence with a few bits of poetry and random thoughts mixed in. I started this blog after learning that some of my letters had an uplifting quality.
In the pages of this blog you will find my real life trials and tribulations, the nature of what I think is truth, and the dust and grit of my real life.
Here is another letter to Cassi for who this blog has been named. I’m sending it through the real mail so it will be up on the blog before she gets it, but she always told me she prefers paper letters anyway.
22nd May 2011
A few weeks ago I walked out of class to see a man on his back with his foot pointed the wrong way. There were already two other students at the man’s side helping him, but you know it’s never been my inclination to walk away.
I approached the situation with little a thought and could see that the man had dislocated his ankle. No bones or jagged bits protruding. We waved over the parking authority and asked him to call in a medical Emergency.
The afflicted man was in shock, and the pain of the ordeal had yet to fall on him. As we waited for help he told us that he had been on his skateboard before his wheel had caught on a planter, and he had taken a tumble. He knew he shouldn’t have been riding in that part of the campus, but he had done so just the same.
Then the police arrived. It was a campus police woman who looked to be in her mid forties. I took most note of the yellow Taser she had in her belt. Funny that it was so brightly colored, but I suppose it would be catastrophic if they mistook it for a firearm.
The police woman looked at the wounded man then took to her radio to call for help. I admit he was stable and his life was in only moderate danger. However, it comes to me that when you see a man with his foot pointed in the wrong direction that he’s not going anywhere without some form of medical aid.
As the ambulance approached the wounded man began to feel the pain of his injury. Twice he asked the police woman if help could come any faster, and twice we told him all that could be done had.
It was a relief when the fire truck came and the other two students left to get to class, but I staid having no better place to be. As the medical folk worked I took it on myself to look after the wounded man’s breathing. Keeping him from hyperventilating was all I could do for him.
Fear of the most mundane things gripped him for a bit as he worried on how he would drive for the rest of the semester. I told him to focus on deep low breaths and just think about getting through the next moments. When they got out the stretchers the firemen asked me to help get him onto it, and as they took him away he called out thanking me. The police woman thanked me and so did campus security. Words for actions are a poor pay, but nothing asked and nothing gained.