This post has nothing to do with government waste. No criminals, greedy politicians or crazy headphone ladies, even. Rather, I need readers’ help to find some people who helped me when I lost consciousness while jogging.
I really need to find them. I need to thank them. I was utterly helpless and I’m not sure the outcome would have been as favorable for me if those folks had not stopped and acted. People who do things like they did deserve to know how much their actions meant. But, here I am, three days after my ignominious faceplant, frustrated and even embarrassed that I haven’t been able to find my rescuers.
I’ll admit that my story probably isn’t very dramatic; these types of things must happen quite often. But for me, it was one of the scariest experiences of my life — and some complete strangers came to my aid.
Several times each week, I take my lunch break at the Business Depot Ogden gym. When the weather is as amazing as it’s been lately, I’ll go outside for a jog-and-walk of two to four miles. Tuesday’s outing was routine. I’d just turned around from the Weber County Fairgrounds entrance to head back into BDO when I suddenly felt exceptionally strange. Things started spinning. They got bright, almost white. It was frightening and I didn’t understand what was happening. I staggered to the edge of the road and fell into a crouch, hoping the psychadelic trip would subside. I remember hearing cars go by and hoping someone would stop, because I retained enough wit at that point to realize I was in some kind of serious trouble.
Apparently that’s when I blacked out. Next thing I saw was the waving oakbrush trees, their leaves lazily obscuring the noonday sun. I was on gravel, face up, my side and legs crammed against the chainlink fence of the fairgrounds.
How I ended up against the fence with a scrape on my forehead, I’ll never know. I’d passed out or had some sort of seizure or stroke-type spell. My glasses were bent and on the ground. I’m really nearsighted, so my blurry natural vision wasn’t any help clearing things up.
Vaguely, I comprehended a woman’s voice, saying something like, “Sir, are you OK?” Soon, the voice was beside me and the woman was talking to me, asking questions. She said something about my breathing not seeming normal. Soon, it sounded like she was talking to someone else. I slowly started coming around and thought it might be a good idea to let them know I was not mute. I must have mumbled some incoherent things, because she told me to relax and stay down. Then another woman was standing over me and taking me up on my effort to converse. I heard a man’s voice, I think another passer-by.
A couple of minutes later I was sitting up beside the fence and fuzzily wondering about the fuss. By then there was a small crowd. Some guys in blue T-shirts surrounded me and started asking tough questions, like my birthdate, today’s date, my name. They didn’t seem impressed by my answers. I seem to remember the today’s-date query really stumped me. Soon, they put me on a gurney and strapped me down and slid me into the ambulance that I hadn’t realized was idling right there.
The rest of the afternoon, I slowly but gradually regained my mental capacities. The whole ambulance ride was a struggle to understand what was happening to me. I’d never been inside an ambulance. The paramedics had me take some pills and they started an IV. They put oxygen tubes in my nose. They did an electrocardiogram as we rolled toward the hospital.
In the emergency room, it was more questions, needles, tubes, noises. I figured I would live, but they hadn’t yet told me what they thought was wrong with me, and at that point my IQ was probably still not threatening 60.
Only Tuesday evening, back home and safe and being comforted by my family, did I start trying to reconstruct things. I realized with disappointment that I knew nothing about those two women and probably a man who saw me convulsing or collapsed by the road and rushed to my aid. On Thursday, I called Weber County consolidated dispatch and the sheriff’s office and the paramedics. No one had my rescuers’ names; the written report had no names.
I want to meet those folks. I want to look them in the eye and thank them for jumping to the plight of a stranger. They deserve more than anonymity.
If you know these people, please ask them to call me at the Standard-Examiner, (801) 625-4251. They did the right thing. I might even owe them my life.