It's the day before the fourth Thursday in November, and I have been asked to tell what I am thankful for. I could submit my thanks on Thursday at 11:59:52, which would be cutting it dangerously close. I could try and submit it on Friday at 12:01, under the assumption of "better late than never," though I know that is not the best idea. Yet, I am choosing to publicize my thankfulness, on the eve of this Thursday, at a decent hour. I am ready to let the world know now.
This past summer, I encountered an interesting situation. It happened when I was sitting high in the white, wooden stand of superiority, guarding the lives of those who swim in the quarry. It was not a busy day, a muggy Monday. There were three people wading and washing away beads of sweat. The water was a tempting sparkle of relief which lured me and the other lifeguard to take turns diving in, experiencing a sort of baptismal tranquility. I had just finished a deli sandwich: turkey, lettuce, tomato, honey mustard, and pickles on a kaiser roll. My stomach was slightly full, but I had an urge to stand at least waist deep in the water. I looked down at the view, three middle aged adults still wading. I looked on the beach.
A bronze colored child in a shiny turquoise one-piece came hurriedly hobbling towards the stand. I scrambled down the stand, as quickly as my arms and legs would allow, and met the hobbling child halfway. Her dark eyes were wide and almost saddened as I tried to figure out the problem. She's conscious. She's breathing. Breathing means a pulse. She's not bleeding. She's not crying. She's just staring. "Are you okay? What's wrong honey?" She stares, but begins
to move her arms, which move her hands to her throat. Hands clenched around throat.
Universal sign for choking. Oh god. Our father who art in heaven... No. Stop. Check for an obstructed airway. God. Oh please. DAMNIT! My first month, week, of life guarding and a little girl is choking.
"Are you choking?"
"No hablo... no hablo.."
She doesn't speak English. Oh. Well. This could complicate things.
"¿Qué pasa?!" I collect from my head.
"Yo necesito agua."
"Oh, good! Bueno. Bueno. Bueno."
"Yo tengo agua." I have water. I have water!
It was as simple as that. She was thirsty. She needed water. I climbed up the stand, more slowly this time, and came back down with a water bottle. She grasped the plastic gift and gulped down the water.
Patience is something that is required of a lifeguard. There is a lot of time to fill, and this is where an overexcited mind can go to work. I have plenty of time to think. Later that day, sitting in my place of waterfront hierarchy, I came to a realization. Communication is one of the most valuable things. This is why I strive to be tri-lingual, perhaps quad-lingual some day. I do not want language to keep me from communicating with and understanding others.
I am thankful for language and the act of communicating.
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2 comments:
I have to agree with you about communication. I'm a lifeguard too and I know how scary situations like that are. Especially when where you're working the ratio of spanish speakers to english speakers is at least 2:1. Thank God for simple communications like this. Good job on thinking outisde the box.
Lotzilla that is a scary scary thing. Lifeguarding is much trickier then people think. i remember once there was a woman who came off of a ride holding her neck and I thought she had a spinal injury and I f l e w into that water faster than i ever thought i could move...to discover that she had merely scraped her knee. It's amazing what our bodies and our minds will do so that we can assure someone's safety when it's our job, I can't imagine it being in the place of a loved one.
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