Better than TV

I decide to put on another piece of clothing before leaving for dinner with my mother. It's chilly out, and we are walking to a Korean restaurant nearby my house. After a minute of contemplation, I decide to wear my Hospital sweatshirt, which I hadn't worn for months. On the front, it says "Emergency," and on the back, it says, "Hospital ER, Better Than TV."


My mother and I walk to the restaurant, and are seated at a table for four. We order the combination tofu soup and bulgogi, which is a better deal than if you were to order them separately.


As we wait for our banchan to come, my mother waves hello to someone at the table behind me. "My students," she smiles. My mom is very popular. I think that if she had a Facebook, she'd have more friends than I do. I turn and look.


At that moment, a peculiar scene catches my eye: seated at the head of that table, an old woman in a wheelchair. Her back is facing me, but it's apparent that she has choked on something. The uncles are prying into her mouth and patting her back. I turn back to my mother and we continue talking.


I tell my mom a story in which one of the doctors at the office told me that in an emergency situation (like for example, a birth on an airplane) if someone asked, "Is there a doctor here?" she would not volunteer. Ophthalmology is a very specific field, and she said she would not be useful in any emergency. My mother chuckles.


A minute or two later, there is commotion at the table behind me. "She's turning purple!" a waitress exclaims. The old woman who choked is apparently not breathing. The waitress hoists the old woman upright in her wheelchair and tries the heimlich unsuccessfully. At this point, the entire restaurant (which happened to be full) turns to watch. One of the grandchildren starts to cry. An aunt calls 911. The uncles lift her out of the wheelchair and lays her down on the floor.


At this point, a waitstaff starts CPR. I get up from our table, and tell her that I am also trained, and roll up my sleeves. I instruct the uncle to take the chopstick out of her mouth (what the heck?) and tilt back her chin, and take over the chest compressions.


The old woman was completely purple. How did no one notice at the table? Perhaps she wasn't very verbal to begin with. I actually feel the sternum crack as I compress, but I don't stop. There is no stopping. Not until the paramedics get here. 


The paramedics arrived with their fancy equipment and take over CPR. I stand up awkwardly, slightly sweaty, and avoid the eyes of all of the diners. I look at my mother. Her face is stern but relieved. What should I do? Sit back at my table? The waitress who brought our food is standing and sobbing with the tray of banchan.


I decide to just stand by and pray. I tie my hair back, since it flounced back and forth into my face while I did compressions. I really hope no one is looking at the words on my sweatshirt. Oh, the irony. A paramedic interrupted my selfish thoughts and asked me to do CPR again. They cut away the old woman's clothing and suction out food to try to intubate her. I pump, pump, pump.


I'm not sure what happened after. At some point, I was told to stop so the woman could be strapped into a gurney and whisked away. I straighten up. One of the uncles thanks me for helping his mother. I nod. The entire family of perhaps twelve people leave the restaurant in tears. My mother waves a sad goodbye to her students.


I sit down next to my mother. We stare at the food, now cold. Neither of us really wants to eat. A woman at the adjacent table asks me if I'm a nurse, and I mumble something about volunteering at an ER. She said, "It was good that you are here!"


Was it really?


Earlier in the day, D and I talked about the cost of pursuing medicine. I prayed in that moment that I would receive affirmation from God that this is the way that He wants me to live. Was this it? What makes the pursuit worth it? A life saved (or not)? Or is it the purposefulness of being able to stand up, and take action when everyone else watches helplessly?


How different it is to do CPR in an emergency room, than to do CPR at a restaurant. My mother and I tried to eat our dinner in peace, which is hard to do after that ordeal. My arms are quivering from the compressions, and I can't quite use chopsticks correctly. We eat slowly and sullenly, ruminating on life and purpose. I pray that the old woman made it, and for the family to remember to love each other more.