Fifth Person in the Room
George R. Frost
©
Copyright 2025 by George R. Frost
|
Photo by Michael Gil at Wikimedia Commons. |
The
pain in my chest started at one in the morning. It was so intense; it
woke me up from a deep sleep. Amy, my wife 9-1-1 dialed. In
minutes, I could hear sirens in the distance.
I
felt like I was drifting away on a cloud between this world and the
next. Everything got blurry.
“They’re
here.” Amy told me as the doorbell rang.
It
was only a few hours ago that I was frantically trying to turn in my
weekly online assignment for my online master’s teaching class. I
pressed the submit button several times to get it in on time, but
something was wrong, the program kept sending an error notice. What
was going on? The student portal was set up to accept student
submissions, but no matter what I did, I could not turn my
assignment.
Being
late meant I’d receive a reduction in my grade. After spending
half a semester turning in all my assignments on time, the penalty
was like receiving a sharp slap across my face. Foul words began to
flow from my mouth. Amy, my wife, kept begging me to take it easy. Easy
for her to say, she did not have to meet the strict deadline. On the
fourth attempt, the computer finally confirmed the assignment
had been submitted. Success, hallelujah, my blood pressure was
elevated, but I was sure it would go back to normal, right?
I
heard voices at the front door followed by the sound of heavy boots
on the stairs.
The
pain was becoming even more intense. Sleep seemed to be the only
relief as the pain in my chest felt as if an elephant had stepped on
my sternum.
“Paramedics
are here.” I hear Amy say.
I
am struggling to breathe as the world around me grows even darker. My
eyes are becoming heavy. I want to go to sleep. Sleep is the only
place where I can get some relief from this nauseating pain.
“Don’t
go to sleep.” One of the paramedics decreed as I began to drift
away. The next thing I feel is a sharp pain between my eyes as he
flicks his finger on the bridge of my nose.
Stop
it. Stop it, let me go to sleep, because sleep is warm and covers me
like a blanket. He then shoves his fingers in my mouth with two baby
aspirins. “I want you to chew on these.”
My
mouth feels instantly gritty as the baby aspirin dissolves. Yuck! I
spit out what I can. Another flick of his finger between my eyes. There
are four paramedics in the room each with something to do. One
of them attaches a blood pressure cuff on my arm.
“What
is you pain level between one and ten with ten being the highest.”
The paramedic asks as he begins to pump the ball.
I
feel the blood pressure cuff begin to tighten on my arm.
“Ten.”
I managed to croak.
Pump.
Where
am I?
Pump.
I
hear Amy crying somewhere.
Pump.
My
arm is being strangled.
“It's
high.” I hear as the air pressure slowly dissipates.
“Swallow.”
The paramedic orders placing more baby aspirin in my mouth. I cough
and gag, doing my best to get rid of them.
“Stay
calm. We’ll have you at the hospital in a jiffy.” A
third paramedic tells me as he removes the cup from my arm.
“Easy
for you to say.” I shout, but this protest never leaves my
mind. All I can do is grunt, nothing I say can be understood at this
time.
“Heart
attack. Myocardial infarction. Apparent arterial blockage.”
The third member of the crew replies into his radio. His transmission
is followed by radio static.
“I’ll
call ahead to have the emergency room ready.” The second
paramedic takes out his radio. All I can hear is the buzz of static
as he speaks into the radio, “I have a patient in cardiac
distress. We will prepare him for transport.”
“Roger
that.” The electronic voice responds, “We will have
things ready.”
“Roger
that.” The paramedic acknowledges.
I
am scared now. The pain is unbearable, and I must ride to the
hospital in an ambulance parked in front of my house.
Someone
shoves more aspirin in my mouth. When I open my eyes, I see a lady
paramedic. Her voice is calm, and she is smiling, “Please
swallow these.”
“Sir,
we are going to prepare you for transport.” The second
paramedic informs me as they begin to strap me in.
“I
do not want to be here.” My mind sends the message that I
cannot speak since my mouth is filled with cotton dry aspirin.
“Take
my hand.” One of the paramedics tells me.” A fifth
paramedic says to me in a calming voice.
“What?”
I hear my voice inquire. He tilts his head and smiles. Seeing his
face seems to soothe me a bit. I did not see him with the other four.
He is the fifth person in the room.
“Take
my hand.” He repeats his request. There are four paramedics
getting ready to take me downstairs and put my gurney into the
waiting ambulance. I held my hand out to him, and he wraps his hand
around mine. His touch is as warm as his smile.
“I
want to go to sleep.” I say to him as I am wheeled out of my
bedroom.
“You
are asleep.” He smiles at me and puts his hand on my cheek. His
gentle touch reminds me of my father who passed away almost thirty
years ago. His voice has a soothing timbre.
“Who
are you?” I ask as I am hoisted across the staircase by the
other four paramedics.
“I
am here to be with you in your hour of need.” He assures me.
More
aspirin is shoved into my mouth. Then I feel a thumping finger on my
forehead once more. “Hey, don’t go to sleep.”
The
man who was holding my hand is no longer in the room. I do not see
him anymore.
“Where
am I?” I ask as the four of them as they roll my gurney through
the open front door.
“On
your way to the Emergency Room. Just don’t go to sleep and
take these.” He shoves more aspirin into my mouth. The woman
paramedic puts a blood cuff around my left arm. She pumps the
inflation bulb on the sphygmomanometer to determine
my systolic and diastolic, “Blood pressure is still high.”
I
feel as though I am floating down the stairs and realize that I’m
being carried on a makeshift stretcher. The living room is
illuminated by a flashing light from the ambulance on the floor of
the open front door. More radio static and more voices.
“Don’t
worry, I can assure you will be alright.” The fifth person
appears and takes hold of my hand. “This is not your time.”
“My
time?” I cough out some of the aspirin. My eyes fluttered and
once again the fifth person has once again disappeared. I felt as if
he was playing a hide and seek joke on me.
“Wake
up.” More forehead thumping. More baby aspirin. I spit them
out like the others.
They
slid me in through the open door in the back of the ambulance. Two
of the paramedics jump in the front seat while the other two
paramedics sit in the back with me.
I
am awake and aware of the sharp throbbing pain in my chest.
“We
are on our way to Mercy Medical Center.” I hear one of the
paramedics talk into his radio.
“We
should be there soon.” The woman paramedic tells me, “Just
don’t go to sleep.
“I
won’t.” I promise. After a brief pause, I ask, “How
many paramedics came into the house?”
She
gives me a crooked smile as if she had misheard what I was asking,
“How many? We have a crew of four.”
I
had counted five, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.
I
stayed conscious as they examined me. The surgical team determined
that I would need a stint in the artery where the blood clot formed.
They would tell Amy after my surgery that the nickname of the artery
was clogged is known as “The Widow Maker.”
So,
you may wonder who was the fifth person in the room? Why couldn’t
the other paramedics see him? I had some ideas, but I wasn’t
going to tell anybody, because I didn’t want someone jumping to
conclusions about my mental state. I had heard about people who were
on the brink of death and had seen an unexplained presence--call it an
angel or some other heavenly being.
Had
I seen a glimpse of that “undiscovered country from whose
bourn no traveler returns." Perhaps I was given a sneak peek of that
undiscovered country Hamlet had talked about? To this day, I have no
explanation of who the fifth person was. All I know for sure, when I
was hovering between this world and the next, is that the fifth person in the
room came and told me it would be alright. When he held my hand, I
knew it would be so. I know this sounds far-fetched, but I have heard
his voice before, but this was the first time I had ever seen his
face.
This story is about the
heart attack I had on November 5, 2010. My wife has often observed about my life
with her, “If it’s going to happen to anybody, it will
surely happen to you.” While my youngest daughter once asked
me when I told her a few of my stories, “Dad, how come you’re
still alive?” An over-worked guardian angel is my guess.
(Unless
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