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| Gavin DeGraw playing at Soldier's Memorial as part of the Celebrate St. Louis concert series. Photo courtesy of Lindsey Weber. |
Have you ever had something so strange happen to you, that no matter how hard you try to ignore it, it plagues you until you decide to share it with others?
A few weeks back I went downtown to check out
Gavin DeGraw as part of the
Celebrate St. Louis concert series (insert shameless plug for my favorite musician here). The sun was hot and the humidity unforgiving, but I insisted on standing outside to hear Gavin plunk out a few tunes on his piano; always worth it, in my book.
It wasn’t long before I noticed a quirky security guard working nearby. I still haven’t found words to describe his actions throughout the night, but he certainly was a character who took his job very seriously. A friend later likened him to Alan from The Hangover. I suppose that helps. I just smiled a lot, and as soon as the concert started I took him off my radar. After all, Gavin was playing, and this required my full attention.
But somewhere near the middle of the show, I felt a little commotion to my side. I was about to shoot someone the evil eye – how dare they disturb me while in music heaven!? But when I looked to the side, the only commotion I found was the quirky security guard lying flat on the ground and all eyes staring, but no hands helping.
A moment of utter silence and slow motion followed. I surveyed the crowd around him. Everyone was just staring. I had a quick internal conversation with myself, and my Red Cross training kicked in. I thought, “Holy heck. I’m going to perform CPR in the middle of this concert.”
Real time kicked back in and before I knew it, I had thrown down my belongings (and apparently gravity) and hopped the 3 or 4 foot fence that separated me and the guard. I checked the scene for safety. All signs clear. I took a deep breath, and knelt down on the hot, gravely pavement. I tapped his arm and asked him if he was okay. Mentally, I prepared to roll him over and begin chest compressions. But before I could even get to the next step, my “unconscious victim” piped up quite quickly, “I’m just lying down. I’m fine.”
My heart stopped. “You’re what?” I said. He again replied, fully conscious, “I’m just lying down.”
I looked at him once again, but he was right. My unconscious victim was, in fact, quite conscious and really just taking a little cat nap during his shift. I was perplexed beyond all belief, but considering his mannerisms earlier in the night, I suppose it shouldn’t have been that surprising.
I looked up to find all eyes staring, except this time they were inquisitive and all on me. I shouted, “He’s fine. Uh…er…He said he’s just taking a nap?” I questioned my own response. The crowd groaned a unanimous sigh of relief. Some folks chuckled, and I’m still not sure if the laughs were at his expense or my own. There was also a little applause. That, I think, was for me.
I was mortified. As a gentleman helped me back over the fence, I questioned myself. Had I overreacted? I ran through the situation and my Red Cross training about a hundred times. I hoped I could just go back to enjoying the show and people would eventually stop looking at me.
A few security guards came over and relieved my “victim.” I imagine the day’s heat took a toll on him, and he just needed to rehydrate. Shortly after, he returned in happy health to work the rest of his shift. It really was mind-boggling.
So almost a month later, I find myself still sitting here thinking about it. I’m not really embarrassed anymore; at the time, it appeared to be a very serious, scary situation, and I did what I was trained to do. There’s no doubt in my mind the situation could have played out very differently (my experience with the Red Cross and the
Lifesaver Program has taught me so). It could have been anything; Cardiac-arrest, a heart-attack, a stroke.
But what scared me the most wasn’t the situation. It wasn’t the fact that I jumped a fence with seamless ease, or even my fear of performing CPR. The thing that scared me the most was that I was the only person who knew what to do.
It only takes a few hours to
learn Red Cross CPR and first aid, and the outcome of using those skills can change the course of someone’s life. Luckily for me and my quirky security guard, that night’s experience wasn’t a matter of life or death, but I’m still hoping I, in some small way, changed the course of someone’s life. Maybe someone from that crowd will
take the class that they’ve been putting off for a while. Or maybe this story will serve as a reminder for you to get recertified. It did for me:)
And if all else fails, perhaps my embarrassing moment is a simple reminder never to take a nap during a concert. For, I am certainly not far behind jumping a fence to your rescue – whether it’s to save your life or your taste in music:).
Thanks for reading.
Lindsey
Lindsey Weber is the Marketing and Communication Specialist for the American Red Cross St. Louis Area Chapter.