Why is it always me who comes upon those in distress?
I just came back from the ER with my neighbor upstairs whom I found sprawled in the hall like a felled fawn. Her eyes, gleaming like prisms, told me all I needed to know.
Drugs, with a capital D.
I was able to get her on her feet while she said things like, “Mommy, I’m sorry Mommy. I wanna come home.” It would have broken your heart and your back since I ended up practically carrying her like a papoose.
I know, why didn’t you call 911?
Because time was of the essence.
I had this happen years ago to a model I knew. The doctors said, if we hadn’t brought her in when we did, we would have lost her.
This came to mind as I dragged this girl into a cab.
And here’s something else I want to mention. The driver was a Muslim who sprang into action like the National Guard. He jumped out of his taxi to help me drape her along the backseat. He then flew to Lenox Hill Hospital, double-parked, and carried her in. This man impressed me more than I can say.
It’s not my favorite hospital, Lenox Hill, more for the way they rip you off financially, but from the looks of it, they saved her life.
I waited while they pumped her stomach remembering that Italian girl. Gemma was her name, also a breathtaking blonde…Elizabethan looking with corkscrew curls framing her face.
But then my reverie was interrupted when a nurse came out and said, “She’s okay, and was wondering if you could go see if she dropped her phone.”
(No, I did not make that up)
Priorities are different for a 20 year-old than a woman of a certain age. Mine would have been gratitude, not voicemail.
God help us all.