I think that the traffic is because of a bison, but as I round the corner I see a woman laying in the street with a pool of blood around her head like a halo. Traffic stops, and I immediately jump out of the van and run towards the scene with my med kit clutched to my side. The woman has her eyes closed, and is breathing heavily. I kneel down and do what I can to assess the situation. A young girl, her daughter, says that she fell. Two nurses, an anesthesiologist, and me and another EMT are all trying to help. We apply pressure on the wound, and do what we can with what we have. There is no cell service, so some spectators drive away in search of EMS.
The woman starts to cry, and I clutch her right hand tightly. She doesn't let go, and moisture starts to pool between our hands. The red blood looks thick on the pavement, sticky. Tears cling to her long eyelashes. Her eyes part only for a second to reveal a blue lake of tears.
"I'm going to die. I'm losing too much blood. I'm going to die," She repeats over and over again.
It does not seem to me like she is on death's doorstep after the assessment, but her insistence on her death puts a twinge of doubt in my head. What if she does die? What will it feel like as her hand loses the strength to grip mine? The fears dance across my mind, and quickly vanishes. She can't die, not with so much medical help, right?
15 minutes go by, and we all are waiting with increasing tension for the sound of sirens, or the flicker of blue lights. My mind and body feels numb, like I am on autopilot.
"Can someone say a prayer? I'm Mormon. Can someone please say a prayer? Andy?" The fallen woman says.
I have no idea who Andy is, and none of the men respond to her. There is silence. I try to dig up something that sounds like a prayer and I cannot, partly because all I can focus on is stopping the blood oozing from her head, and partly because I don't have the language of words spoken to a god. My words are aimed at things that rise from the earth - green or rocky, scents in the air, shapes in the sky, currents in the water. I open my mouth but nothing comes out, and it is something that I regret. I keep quiet because I think that I can't speak her language, but who doesn't speak the language of what we're created from? Her blood flows into the dirt, her eyes blink at the bright sky, the wind kisses her wet face, and the earth cradles her fallen body like a mother would.
Sirens pierce the still air - a welcome sound. Medics approach the scene and I just want to yell walk faster because this woman cannot die. They see her like one of the many people they rescue in the park every day, but I can't help but see her as a woman whose hand I've been clenching for nearly twenty minutes. After some time, they have to load her onto a backboard, and I tell her that I have to let go. She doesn't let go. I gently pry my hand away from hers, and her face twists into an expression I can't describe.
A police tells the other EMT and me that we are no longer needed, thanks us, and says goodbye. I glance at the woman who is now being carried into the ambulance, then turn and walk back towards my van. It's hard to feel my body moving, but it does. I wipe my wet hand on my shorts, and hope that my hand did what my voice could not.
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