Part 3

I jabbered for a few seconds about the situation, quickly gave him the address and then said that I needed advice in order to give Stan CPR. I was not trained in CPR but had paid attention whenever I saw it demonstrated on TV. I was unsure as to how many times I should breathe into his mouth and how many times to pump his chest. I laid the phone beside Stan's head on the steps, with the volume turned up, and the 911 operator guided me through the process. I was in an adrenaline induced haze and found myself doing things I never knew I was capable of. I cleared his passage way and found not one, but two dental bridges coming loose in his mouth. As I breathed life into him, I tasted his breakfast and could only wish that he came out of this alive because then he would 'owe me one'. I was hyperventilating and suddenly found myself being very tired, to the point of exhaustion. I was pleading with God to send the ambulance faster and to keep Stan alive. Still no breathing. Still no pulse. Then, as if an angel had arrived, there was a woman at my side, explaining that she had seen the commotion out of her front room window and after watching for a while, realized it was Stan on the floor and maybe her neighbourliness and her experience as a nurse might be needed. She explained that she was a practical nurse, but she had training in CPR. Much to my relief, she pumped Stan's chest while I breathed into his mouth. Minutes later, the ambulance arrived, and I gladly let the paramedics take over.
As they were wheeling the stretcher to the ambulance, Stan was looking blue and the nurse commented that she was sure he was gone. With no pulse or breathing for that length of time her assessment did not surprise me. Donna arrived at that moment and all I could do was very briefly tell her what had just happened and console her. As the ambulance pulled away, not in any great hurry, and the neighbour lead Donna to her house, I retrieved my ladders and planks, loaded them onto the truck and drove away. I was a basket case. I cancelled the rest of my appointments for that morning and went for a long walk. I relived the whole experience over and over again, trying to reassure myself that I had done the right thing, and always chastising myself for having lost so many valuable seconds in the beginning. But more than anything, I was praying for Stan. If by some miracle he was still alive, I pleaded that he would not have brain damage from lack of oxygen and that Donna would be comforted no matter the outcome. I had asked Donna as I left to call me when she had a chance and when she could tell me what the outcome was.
I could not wait by the phone all afternoon, even though I was desperate to know Stan's condition, whether dead or alive. I was in a fog the rest of the day and when Donna had not called by 5 pm, I was resigned to the fact that he was dead and I could have saved him.
Hours later the phone rang. I recognized Donna's voice and instantly wondered why she was sounding so cheerful. Was she glad he was dead? Did I comprehend the words I was hearing? Stan was in intensive care. He was hooked up to every machine conceivable. He was stable. The Doctor had said there would be no brain damage. His heart was beating on its own and he was breathing on his own. Could this be? The relief flooded over me and was overwhelming. Thank you God! What more could I say?
Stan's ordeal was not over for some time. He picked up a blood infection in the hospital that caused his kidneys to fail. After many weeks, he was stable enough for a pace maker/defibrillator implant. Six weeks later I got a call from Stan. He was home and wanted me to come right over so he could personally thank me. I needed no coaxing and was there in 10 minutes. As I stepped into the entry of their home, the panic struck me in the pit of the stomach as I relived the event in a very condensed period of time. I soon recovered as I saw Stan, a shadow of his old self, but nevertheless, alive. I took great pleasure in relating the whole story to him, for he had absolutely no recollection of anything, including what he had eaten for breakfast that morning. His eyes were big and incredulous as I related all the gory details.
As I drove home that evening and recalled Stan and Donna standing arm in arm at the door, waving good-bye to me, I experienced a profound sense of relief and accomplishment.
We never know when we will be called upon to accomplish an impossible task. Maybe some of us will never have that experience. When it does happen, what a relief to know that we are not alone, but our great and all powerful God is there beside us. Had I been late for the appointment that fateful Saturday morning, or had I just turned and walked away after dropping off the ladders, the outcome would have been so much different. If God timed it perfectly, than there is no doubt that he was also there beside me, helping me get the job done. Why did it happen at all? Stan said to me that he does not know why he is alive today or why he had the heart attack. Even the Doctors would agree with him there. But he says, "God must have a purpose for me being alive, and I am listening."