...His Wide Mouth Home, Continued
“Galveston Beach Patrol. Coming through.”
“Galveston Beach Patrol…Beach Patrol…Galveston Beach Patrol…” My
voice echoed through the crowd. A path opened before me. The parting of
the
Red Sea. As the last person stepped aside, the situation became clear. A
picture was laid out before me. A pieta. A Madonna and Child framed by
human bodies. The child lay in the sand on his back; a thin, brown boy
with
black hair and purple shorts. Someone had dragged him there, and his
shorts
had nearly come off. I wanted to pull them up for him.
I stepped into the circle. The air was thick with coconut oil, salt water
and
sweat. A woman in a pair of wet blue-jean cutoffs knelt screaming at his
feet. A
black tank-top hung wet from her back. Black hair hung wet from her head.
“Oh
God, don't take my baby. Oh Holy Mary, Mother of God… don't take my baby.
Oh my God, my baby!” She held his feet in her hands.
Hearing the commotion behind her, she looked up. One hand grasped
my
foot. Wild brown eyes squinted with panic. “Save my baby!” One hand on his
foot. One hand on mine.
“Galveston Beach Patrol,” I muttered, loosened my foot, and ran to the
boy's head. A pale old man was trying to give him mouth-to-mouth, blowing
air
into his stomach.
“Please stand aside.” He shuffled back, and I squatted in his place,
pulling
the buoy strap from my shoulder. I checked his pulse.
No pulse. No breathing. Commence CPR.
One hand at the base of his skull, one hand beneath his chin, I
tilted his
head back to straighten the throat. It worked. His stomach began to
deflate.
Bile and salt water pushed up through his nose and mouth as the air was
released. I tilted his head to the side and wiped it off with my hand.
Two breaths. Come on, now. Two breaths.
I pressed my lips around his mouth, held his nostrils closed with
my left
hand.
One breath. Two breath.
He exhaled from deep in his throat. A growl. My breath, not his.
I moved to his chest. Compressions.
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 -
11 - 12 - 13 - 14 -
15
Two more breaths. The cycle repeats itself.
One breath. Two breath. 1 - 2 - 3 - 4
“Oh Mary! Oh Jesus! Lord God, NO! Not my baby.” Her screams slit
the
air.
9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13
“Please don't take my baby, Mother of God…”
One breath. Two breath.
More bile. I gagged.
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5
Behind me, footsteps.
One breath. Two breath.
“Galveston Beach Patrol! Stand back. Get back. Give him some room.
“Tower One to HQ, I'm on the scene. CPR in progress. Jetty Tower
performing. I'll be away from the radio to assist.”
“HQ clear.”
“289 clear.”
“287 clear. Approaching that location now.”
“Jetty, I'll give him breath.”
Thank God. Still no pulse. 1 - 2 -3 - 4
I sat myself on my knees beside the boy's chest while Tower One
gave
him breaths. As he sat back to gag, I looked into the child's face for the
first
time. Six or seven years old. Brown eyes, just like his Mom's. Wide brown
eyes
stared straight into the summer sun. Tower One was having trouble with
that
second breath.
1 - 2- 3 - 4 -5
I began to slip out of my daze.
6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10
I began to hear the people around us.
Breath One. Breath Two.
I began to see this boy as a dead–or dying–human being. A person.
6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10
I felt the bones of his chest beneath my hands.
3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7
The woman's screams were louder now.
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5
Then suddenly sirens.
Thank God… 8 - 9 - 10
Car doors slammed. Others opened.
“Out of the way. Galveston Beach Patrol. Out of the way. Coming
through.”
A canister of oxygen hit the sand on my left.
“Step back, One. I've got oxygen. Keep up a steady rhythm, Jetty.
Count
to five. Good job.”
“287 to headquarters. We have a six year old Hispanic male. No
breathing. No heartbeat. CPR in progress.”
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 psshht
The roar of artificial air expanded his chest.
2 - 3 - 4 - 5 psshht
The roar of an ambulance engine. It backed up.
psshht 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5
“Cool it, Jetty. 287 to Headquarters. EMS on location taking
over.”
2 - 3 - 4 - 5
“I said cool it, Jetty!”
Oh.
I stood up. The blood rushed from my head. The world faded white.
Then
yellow. Then back to the way it was. Bright blues and greens and reds.
Beach
colors. Beach clothes. Beach blankets. Then there was a hand on my
shoulder. Tower One's hand. Jason's.
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