Dr. Ken, Medicine Woman

So, my weekend with my college friends was awesome. I won't bore you like I usually do with every last detail but instead, I'll just share the biggest moment of the trip...

We had picked Emily up that morning and after hitting lots of little shops and visitng a winery and tasting 14 different wines we had run back to Marla’s house to change our clothes before dinner at her parent’s house. We were running late, which wasn’t totally unexpected because that’s what we’ve been doing since we moved into our house on Lincoln Ave ten years ago when we were juniors in college. (Sidebar: After typing that it was 10 years ago since my junior year of college I actually counted out the years on my hands because I couldn’t actually believe that it has been TEN FRIGGIN YEARS since my junior year of college. So I have poured myself a glass of wine and have come to terms with that fact but good Lord, ten years? How the hell did that happen? But, um, I digress…) Anyway, we were running late and running around and trying to get ourselves out the door when pandemonium broke out.

Marla and Em were already out the door and I was, of course, frantically searching for my phone or lip gloss or mints or some other essential item when I heard the screeching of brakes and a loud thud. My stomach dropped as I walked out the door to see a guy laying in the street and his bike in a heap next to him. As I walked to the street, a man stepped out of the car looking dazed. The guy on the bike, who was more of a teenaged kid, really, stood up and walked to the sidewalk. I couldn’t believe he was conscious, much less up and walking around.

“Shit. My bike is ruined.” He put his hands up on his head and I saw some road rash on his elbow.

“Why don’t you sit down on the grass for a minute?” I asked as I glanced at the rest of his body looking for injuries.

“Yeah, ok.”

Marla called 911 as the guy kept talking about his bike. Not all that long ago, I’d gotten my first aid and CPR certification but given that I’d spent the afternoon drinking lots of wine, I was a bit foggy. But as is often the case, I became quite confident in my skills thanks to the buzz. Suddenly, I was certain I could help and I silently prayed that he couldn’t smell the Shiraz on my breath as I asked him to follow my finger with his eyes. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I attempted to diagnois the man who had been HIT BY A CAR. I asked him if he knew his name. He did. I asked him if he knew the date. He gave it to me but then I wasn’t even sure of it (vacation hazard – never knowing what day or date it is). He said he had a knot on his head. I asked him what he hit his head on and he pointed to the car and said, “The windshield.” I hadn’t even noticed that the windshield was busted up into a million little pieces. I asked him if he had pain anywhere else. He said no, not really. I touched the bump on his head which was about the size of a walnut and decided to prescribe an ice pack. I ran into the house and threw some cubes in a ziplock baggie. I walked back out as two patrol cars were pulling up to the corner…or scene of the crime, as I like to call it.

I handed Travis (the victim) the bag of ice as the officers asked Marla, Emily and I questions. Right about that time, two fire trucks pulled up followed by an ambulance and some sort of first responder SUV. The paramedics came over and started asking Travis questions. When they asked him where he got the ice he pointed to me. I explained that he had a bump on his head and I was worried about swelling. I then went on to tell the paramedics, the trained professionals that he was alert and tracking well with his eyes. They sort of looked at me and one asked me if I was in the medical field. I responded that I wasn’t but that I did have first aid training. I’m certain they were quite impressed. As they checked Travis for themselves*, one of the paramedics mentioned that I seemed really calm after seeing an accident like that. From behind me I heard Emily whisper, “Well yeah she’s “quite calm”…it’s because she’s “quite drunk.” Marla giggled and I did what I could to stifle my laughter.


*In the end, Travis was ok physically. The paramedics said he’d probably be really sore for a few weeks but that was about it. I think the cops ended up giving him the ticket because he was a) going down a one way street the wrong way, b) riding on the sidewalk and c) ran a stop sign. I tried to argue that he had probably learned his lesson, what with getting hit by a car and all, but I don’t think the officers enjoyed my line of reasoning.