What Do You Do When You Hear Agony Near You?

It’s December 28. I board a Southwest plane from San Jose to LA for an end-of-year conference with thought leaders. Dan and I settle into the aisle seats across from each other in the exit row over the wings. When the plane roars down the runway, I reach for Dan. Our arms make a V shape as they hang toward each other in the aisle with our clasped hands as the pointed bottom of a heart.

It’s a quick up and down flight. Not worth buying WiFi. Instead I read. After the double ding that signals we’re above 10,000 feet, the flight attendant comes by and takes my beverage order. Coffee with cream and two Splendas. I go back to reading.

Five minutes later, the flight attendant walks toward us with a small tray of sodas, juices, and waters. But he passes me, wordlessly. The coffee must still be brewing, I think. But the coffee will never come.

Within ten seconds, I am startled by a cry a few rows behind me. Someone yells. I Iook back and see the flight attendant recoiling in a crouch meant to protect the drinks he is holding but I feel a drop of liquid hit my head. Or maybe I just think I do. The flight attendant turns around and rushes back to the front of the plane. Children behind me scream a high pitched squeal of fear. Everything happens all at once.

I look back again. Commotion. I sit forward again. I meet the eyes of the people in the rows in front of me who are looking back at what is happening. Some stand. Some peer sheepishly. Over the loudspeaker we hear, “Medical emergency. Is there a doctor or health care professional on board?” I look down at my useless hands. A different flight attendant rushes back down the aisle toward the commotion carrying a tall thin oxygen tank. I follow with my eyes. People are standing in the aisle between me and whatever is happening, but through their legs I can see that a body has been placed supine in the aisle. I look over at Dan. I look around at the other people looking around. We’re all wide eyed and quiet. The lady in the window in my row keeps looking back at what is happening. I reach across her partner’s lap and hold her hand. The children a few rows back wail.

_____

Two years ago, we spent Thanksgiving with family in Mexico on an island off of Cancun. At the conclusion of our trip, we took a large commuter ferry back to the main land. As I stood in line to board, I saw up ahead of us three paramedics maneuvering a wheeled stretcher with IVs attached to a patient who looked elderly and male. When we entered the ferry, I saw that the stretcher had been placed behind the rows of passenger seats, so it would be able to exit first on the other end. I passed it, and found a place to sit ten rows away.

When the ferry neared the open water and began to surge forward, the man began moaning. The moans increased as the boat took up speed. I felt like I should do something. But what, in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language, when I am not a medical professional, and where this is not my business? Yet the discomfort evident in the man’s moaning yanked at me so much so that my spirit said GO. I’m not sure what to do when these messages come. Like, IS this my spirit, I mean like God and the Universe, or is it my brain just grasping for what’s morally required, ethically needed, and physically possible?

What IS possible?

In the year before the pandemic began, I was a volunteer at Stanford Hospital and was assigned to terminally ill persons who had no family who could visit. One patient loved it when I rubbed his feet. Another was hungry for conversation. Sometimes I would sing. Or read aloud. The purpose of being there was to say You’re not all alone in these final moments of your life.

All of my patients died, which was expected. I’d show up for a shift and simply learn that they had passed on.

_____

In the Southwest plane, the flight attendant scurries back to the rows behind me with a small red defibrillator. My breathing slows. I focus. I feel that someone may be dying, or maybe even has died a few rows behind me. I am not the paramedic, nor the flight attendant, nor the health care provider, nor the family member, or even the seat-mate. I sit there doing nothing except wondering what to do.

I want to reach my hands out to any others who feel fearful or helpless. To hold hands to acknowledge our togetherness in our helplessness and our hope and prayer and wish that this person will be okay.

I want to sing Amazing Grace over and over and over with others joining in. I want to fill the plane with song. With love.

But would it be disruptive to the health care workers? Would it be a good idea that turns bad? (Do not cause harm, this I know.)

_____

I keep my head down. I sing Amazing Grace to myself. I vow to write you this story and ask What would you have felt? What would you have done? Comment below.

xo

🏥 When we landed, we all sat as the paramedics boarded and walked back to the place where everything had happened. Next, a paramedic, followed by the man, followed by a paramedic slowly walked past me all the way up the aisle off the plane. This was the first time I knew that the man was alive. I wanted to applaud. When we walked from the tarmac to the airport, I glanced at the man who was younger than I’d imagined and was still being treated by the paramedics, and I also saw a woman, small children, and lots of luggage. A family going somewhere for New Years. Or returning from Christmas or something. I knew he would be okay.

🤗 Here’s a hug for all the empathic compassionate types who wrestle with what to do and when. I’m a candidate for Congress here in the California 16th District (Silicon Valley) and I’m not afraid to show my heart. You can visit our campaign website (here) to learn more.

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