*edit*
I suppose I could expound a bit more. The day started off rocky. I had the standard laundry list of Shit-That-Needs-To-Get-Done-Right-Now and was plugging away until I had to start touch-typing because I couldn't focus my eyes any longer. I'd resigned myself to Monday.
Then things got worse.
A usually-offsite employee was visiting the office because he was in the area. He's a nice guy who's gone out of his way to say very nice things about what I do and has given me a place to vent some frustrations. Let's call him Joe.
Joe sat in the cubicle across the way from mine and diligently typed away at whatever work he had. I marveled at his posture. All the way back in the seat, back straight, wrists also straight. A man familiar with long days in the same position and doing his best to avoid stress injuries.
The dull clacks of his keyboard couldn't compete my headphones as I delved deeper and more completely into my responsibilities. It was early afternoon--what passes for lunchtime with my schedule--when I finally allowed myself a break. My eyes ached and I wanted nothing more than to take a nap. I glanced over to Joe and he was leaning back with a towel against his eyes.
Hell, if Joe can do it, so can I. I slouched a bit, interlaced my fingers behind my head, and closed my eyes for a few minutes. And no, I didn't take that nap!
I was better. I could see again. And wouldn't you know it? There were more emails to address! Happy coincidences!
I was in the home stretch! Twenty-five minutes and I was done for the day. Eight hours was all I had the stomach for today.
I heard a thump.
I looked over to see Joe just finish falling out of his chair and under his desk. I smiled. He'd taken his nap at last, but didn't consider the low coefficient of friction that our chairs provide. Rookie mistake.
He lingered there too long. I walked over to help him up. His eyes were open. Locked forward.
"Joe?" I grabbed his arm to give a little shake. Room temperature never felt so cold. What do I do? Who do I tell? I know this stuff.
I start asking for a second opinion. No. I know this stuff. 911. We need an ambulance. Joe's not responding to his fall; close enough to non-responsive for me. Cold can't be a positive symptom. Was he breathing? Shit, I don't know. Does that matter? No. I live my life noticing anomalies. Small things change everywhere every day and I notice them. These are already big damn anomalies. Something is wrong. The rest doesn't matter. Not my job to sort through the minutiae.
I'd meandered to the front desk during my musing (not that far, I promise), "Beth, we need 911. Joe fell out of his chair and he's cold to the touch." She did as requested.
What now? I can't just wait. I also can't leave him squeezed under that desk. Sally's come over to help. We roll him on to his back and get a cushion under his head. He's still cold. Shit. I don't remember CPR that well. I learned long ago that rubbing knuckles against a sternum hurts like hell. I also happen to know that's an EMT-y thing to try.
He responds! Only a grunt, but it's life! He can't grunt if he's not breathing and and can't breathe unless his heart's working. He's still in bad shape, but he's alive.
And I don't have to do CPR! Fine, not all my thoughts were altruistic. Sue me.
Then he vomits. Gross. Involuntary muscles are working. Brain's still processing stimuli. Obstructed airway? Fight-or-flight response? Doesn't matter. He's still alive, but in danger of choking. Sally helps me get Joe onto his side. At least now whatever didn't escape his jaw won't fall back in and cause problems.
Somehow, someone else in the building is here to help. He works in a quasi-medical office down the hall. Steve, I'd guess. Steve finds the pulse. Good thing to check. Joe's still clammy, but only cool now. There's a pulse. Sure, that's implied by everything else, but feeling the surge of blood is reassuring.
Where the hell is that ambulance? How long has it been? Still doesn't matter. Joe is still alive and about as safe as I can make him.
The ambulance arrives and does its thing. The baton is passed and now it's someone else's turn to do their best.
I don't yet know if a life was saved, but I take solace in knowing that I did my level best at keeping any more slipping away. For now, small victories are still victories. I'm thrilled that I could do something more than just stand there. I'm thrilled to think that Joe might've dodged a bullet. I'm happy to hear nice things said about me--better than mean things. What apparently seemed like calm knowledge to others was a barely-controlled panic in my head.
I still feel like I'm fighting off the adrenaline-shakes.
How was your Monday?
*edit for new info 8/31/10*
Joe's fine. Too much insulin in his system. He may spend another night in the hospital, but we're assured it's just for observation.
