The plane comes to a screeching halt on the runway. The ground crew guides the pilot into the terminal. Eventually the plane comes to a full stop, the seat belt signs go off, and we jump up ready to deplane. We march out, single-file, receive a passing pleasantry from the flight crew, and we’re in the terminal. Almost there. Just a few international checkpoints – passport control, customs – and we are basically home. Families locate each other and assemble outside the jetway, ensuring they’re together for the long trek through serpentine hallways, all leading to a large room with rope lines. A bottle neck of foot traffic where a few agents check documents for the hundreds, maybe thousands waiting patiently for their turn.
The moment I entered this large room it was clear that something was amiss. In the distance a small group of people signaled for help. A passenger was having difficulties and needed immediate medical attention. Through the crowd I could see an older man, struggling to stay on his feet. An acute and life-threatening problem was developing. In what felt like a few blinks of an eye other passengers with medical training were on the scene, pulling him out of line, and off to the side of the room. Once isolated from the crowd they immediately went to work – chest compressions, mouth-to-mouth, shots of epinephrin collected on the fly, all trying to jolt the man back to coherence, life. His spouse stood just off the side, held away by a police officer, her wails and cries – pleas really – for the man to fight and survive were deafening.
For those of us in line, powerless to help, shaken by the screams and the vision of someone fighting for his life right in front of us was almost too much to handle. I could see the pain in people’s eyes, young and old, confronting an eventuality that always seems distant. Couples held each other a bit closer than usual. Their eyes better trained on their children to ensure they were alright. It was like we had been let in on a secret or were part of an ad hoc community, all asking ourselves the same questions, thinking the same thoughts. In the exchange of quick glances, and welled up eyes, I could see and feel the most basic human emotion. The will to survive. The need for love. The hope that someone out there is fighting for our survival. That through these liminal spaces we’ll come out better on the other side.
Eventually we made our way to the front of the line and through to customs just as the man was being loaded onto a gurney and rushed to a hospital. It was hard to make out what was actually going on through the proverbial fog in the room, but I think the heroes who jumped into service were able to save his life. We can only hope.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally left the airport. Home, for now.
GLAZ 