Welcome to Substack, Mike. I look forward to reading more! I am a nutritionist married to an orthopaedic surgeon. Most of the people he has helped outside of the office or the OR have been on planes, at the gym, or on the ski slope and once his scrub tech who had a heart attack during an ortho surgery. So we have lots of medical stories around our dinner table and I look forward to yours too🧡
There’s definitely something very special about people who running toward danger when everyone else is running away. I understand that well: my husband is a retired LEO, with a career’s worth of stories.
While not an airborne emergency, I saved the life of my principal. Twice.
I’m a retired elementary school administrator. One summer, wrapping up the school year—yes, in summer; admin doesn’t finish until mid-July—my principal and I were in our offices. I could hear her bracelet jingling as she typed. Then everything went quiet. I sat for a moment then heard her bracelet bang on her desk. Hard. Not the gentle clink of a bracelet on a moving hand. Once more. Thinking it was odd, I went back to her office to find her, white-faced with a terrified look in her eyes, pointing at her throat. I asked if she could breathe. Yes, in hindsight it seems like a silly question but a necessary one. A quick shake of her head was all the answer I needed. I went behind her desk, helped her stand then calmly did the Heimlich. Out popped a peanut fragment. She had been eating a cookie. (Peanuts also seem to be a problem for people without allergies.)
Shaken, but relieved, we sat in silence gathering ourselves and calming racing hearts. I told her she was not to eat anything if there wasn’t someone else in the office. She readily agreed.
The second time was at an evening assembly. I was in the gym talking to a teacher on mat leave. She had brought her little one for everyone to see. I heard my name, looked around to see who was calling for me, saw no one, and went back to my conversation. Again, I heard my name but louder. This time however, there was panic in the summons and heads were turned looking at me. I looked again, toward the door, to see a parent frantically waving at me while still calling my name. Of course, I was at the back of the gym, the farthest corner from the door. Heading to the door with eyes on me, I went to where the parent was. She pointed at my principal who had that same terrified look on her face. I didn’t have to ask this time. Stepping behind her, applying the Heimlich once again, out popped a mint: relief for both of us made more so by the looks on the faces watching this drama unfold. Assuring the assembled crowd that she was indeed okay parents asked how I knew what to do. Staff had already heard the story and asked a parent to find me.
While it is something you learn in a basic first aid course, most people go through life never having to perform that life saver. I was told by another parent—a doctor—he hadn’t known anyone to have done it twice.
Welcome to Substack, Mike. I look forward to reading more! I am a nutritionist married to an orthopaedic surgeon. Most of the people he has helped outside of the office or the OR have been on planes, at the gym, or on the ski slope and once his scrub tech who had a heart attack during an ortho surgery. So we have lots of medical stories around our dinner table and I look forward to yours too🧡
Just discovered you. I’m am now a happy follower.
There’s definitely something very special about people who running toward danger when everyone else is running away. I understand that well: my husband is a retired LEO, with a career’s worth of stories.
While not an airborne emergency, I saved the life of my principal. Twice.
I’m a retired elementary school administrator. One summer, wrapping up the school year—yes, in summer; admin doesn’t finish until mid-July—my principal and I were in our offices. I could hear her bracelet jingling as she typed. Then everything went quiet. I sat for a moment then heard her bracelet bang on her desk. Hard. Not the gentle clink of a bracelet on a moving hand. Once more. Thinking it was odd, I went back to her office to find her, white-faced with a terrified look in her eyes, pointing at her throat. I asked if she could breathe. Yes, in hindsight it seems like a silly question but a necessary one. A quick shake of her head was all the answer I needed. I went behind her desk, helped her stand then calmly did the Heimlich. Out popped a peanut fragment. She had been eating a cookie. (Peanuts also seem to be a problem for people without allergies.)
Shaken, but relieved, we sat in silence gathering ourselves and calming racing hearts. I told her she was not to eat anything if there wasn’t someone else in the office. She readily agreed.
The second time was at an evening assembly. I was in the gym talking to a teacher on mat leave. She had brought her little one for everyone to see. I heard my name, looked around to see who was calling for me, saw no one, and went back to my conversation. Again, I heard my name but louder. This time however, there was panic in the summons and heads were turned looking at me. I looked again, toward the door, to see a parent frantically waving at me while still calling my name. Of course, I was at the back of the gym, the farthest corner from the door. Heading to the door with eyes on me, I went to where the parent was. She pointed at my principal who had that same terrified look on her face. I didn’t have to ask this time. Stepping behind her, applying the Heimlich once again, out popped a mint: relief for both of us made more so by the looks on the faces watching this drama unfold. Assuring the assembled crowd that she was indeed okay parents asked how I knew what to do. Staff had already heard the story and asked a parent to find me.
While it is something you learn in a basic first aid course, most people go through life never having to perform that life saver. I was told by another parent—a doctor—he hadn’t known anyone to have done it twice.
I’m just happy I was there to help.
The courage to stand up, even if it took a few moments to find that courage is what makes you an amazing MD.
Great foreshadowing in this story.