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100facesof.me

Day 76 of 100

Close-up portrait of a bearded man in a dark cap and blue t-shirt, weathered face and graying beard, looking directly at the camera.
Day 76 / 100 Weight 345.1 I feel good na-na-na-na-nana Sony A7R5 24mm f/1.4 1/160 ISO500

“I should have been better.”

Davis, where I went to college, was beautiful in the fall. Not in a New York fall way, but in a respite from 100 degree summer days way.

And people in Davis loved their bikes. It is probably because there is a university there, but man, there were bikes everywhere. Even the symbol of the city was an old-time 1900’s era bicycle. There were honestly more BWIs than DWIs in that town.

I was walking back from class and there was a small overpass that people biked under. I was not on a bike because, well, fuck bikes, but everyone around seemed to have gotten a different memo.

As I walked under the overpass, an older gentleman rode by and when he was about 15 meters ahead of me, he leaned over and crashed.

I, having been a lifeguard for years and taught first aid and CPR at UC Davis, leaped into action.

Only I didn’t. I froze and freaked out.

After about a minute, I walked over to the fallen man yelling “you go call 911” to five or six people that had started to mill around. I remember not having my first aid mask in my bag (this was for protection while doing mouth-to-mouth not to protect me from COVID) and being grossed out by the saliva and debris that was on his mouth.

Everything felt like it was slow motion. I pulled the man away from his bike and it felt like an hour passed. I flipped him over. Another hour. I shook him asking if he was alright. Another hour. I checked his airway, I checked his breathing, and I checked his pulse. No on all three, and I am pretty sure we were in the next year at this point.

Just as I was leaning into start CPR, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and it was a fireman. “We got this,” he said.

The relief I felt was large, only to be swallowed by the guilt I felt for not moving faster.

A few weeks later I got a card in the mail from the man’s wife. She told me he was ok and had suffered a heart attack. She asked if I wanted to come over for dinner.

“I didn’t do anything,” I remember thinking.

I think about that day now and again, and remember the feelings of relief and guilt simultaneously. I know I did the right thing, that calling 911 probably saved the man’s life. But I can’t help thinking I should have been better.