Bill
I'm writing this more as vehicle for healing rather than to tell the story, but I suppose its serves that purpose too. Be advised, the details may be graphic for some readers but I'll keep them brief.
To start the story, I'll provide a little background. I arrived in San Diego in late February of 2010 and was introduced to the social scene at a friend's house for a Super Bowl party. On the two-year anniversary of my arrival in California, I went to the same party with some friends to watch the game. Dan (danlmarmot) and I were floating around the yard and between the rooms, chatting with game-watchers throughout the afternoon. We saw that the party hosts recently had an electric car-charging station installed on the side of their house and a few of us were commenting on it, as nerds do. Bill walked up beside us and made a joke. We introduced each other, engaged in small talk and after awhile, parted ways.
I was impressed with his ability to walk up to complete strangers and just strike up a friendly conversation. He seemed genuinely interested in talking and my fine-tuned sense of ulterior motive was not flashing any warning signs; I could tell he was someone I wanted to know better. We communicated here and there online, though sporadically, because his aging computer was more of a chore to operate than it was entertaining. We moved the conversation to texting; I believe I was the reason he had to change his phone's service plan to accomodate more texting. Knowing he had a flip-phone (and that he was quite proud of his beat-up relic), I commend him for sticking with it.
One cloudy Sunday afternoon in March, I was in the mood for a road trip and hopped in the car. As I was driving, I decided to head over to Coronado and explore. Just then, I got a text from Bill and through a series of messages, I convinced him to join me. We spent the afternoon dodging rain clouds and walking on the beach on Coronado, becoming acquainted and building the foundation for a friendship. Before long we were going on dates, grabbing thai food, going hiking, watching old movies, or just going for drives. Everywhere we went, he would point out a property he had done landscape work on. It was obvious he was very proud of his work, as he walked me through the decisions for why he designed the outdoor spaces in the natural ways that he did - "No squares!" he would say. I was continually impressed with the amount of attention to details he paid to each client's needs. It seemed that most of his clients were more than pleased with his talents and passion, because he never went looking for work. After having such a hard time finding close friends in town, our friendship was a breath of fresh air. We didn't always see eye to eye on things - sometimes dramatic differences in our values - but we could always make each other laugh.
In late May I started having trouble with sciatica, to the point where I was having trouble walking and sleeping. Bill, the nurturer, did his best to help, but eventually I think he realized that there wasn't much he could do. He invited me to his house for the 4th of July and spent most of my birthday with me (even patiently sat through embarrassingly long phone calls). Among other things, the possibility of me taking a job in Los Angeles did not sit well with Bill, even though he didn't voice it, and he began to distance himself. By August I was beginning to recover from my ailment, but by then it was clear to both of us that a friendship was the extent of our relation. Saddened, I distanced myself even further and it wasn't until September that I started to reach out again. For awhile, we met up at least once a week to catch up and hear each other's anecdotes over Thai dinners, beer, or a movie.
Mid-October rolled around and I had a lead on a new job in Denver. We hadn't met up for dinner for what I thought was because I was busy preparing to go east for an interview. He had eluded to a GI illness, but didn't stress to what magnitude; Bill was very sick. His friends persuaded him to seek a medical evaluation, which he reluctantly did. The Wednesday before I flew to Denver, I took him out to eat at Sala Thai (I still have the receipt and mint he left in my car's cup holder). Apparently it was the first real meal he was able to hold down in two weeks. He was pale and had lost a lot of weight, and I scolded him for not speaking up. Even though I told him to let me know if he needed anything, being the stubborn and self-reliant Texan he is, he said nothing. He told me of how he was being forced to go for a panel of blood work, as he hadn't been to a doctor in quite some time before that. I started to give a speech on how he needed to take care of himself better, like eating breakfast every day, but he had already agreed to follow through. We talked about the job in Colorado and he gave me advice on where to go explore in Denver. He told me of the few times he went backpacking up the mountains and how he had to carry an injured hiker 20 miles back down to the trailhead. He was able to relate to anything with a story of his own.
The next day I went to Denver and returned at the end of the weekend, full of anecdotes to share. He was still recovering from his illness, but had gone back to work for the first time in over two weeks. This left him tired throughout the week, so we didn't get to share right away. I got the job offer on the Tuesday, his roommate got home from a trip on Wednesday and we made plans for Thursday.
That morning, I got a text while at work from Bill to the effect of "I need feeding, what's for dinner?" I had purchased some food from Trader Joe's earlier in the week, so I invited him over for dinner. He arrived a little later than we had discussed, but he brought me a can of peas to make up for it. While I was cooking dinner, I told him about my weekend in Denver and how beautiful it was with the leaves changing the color. This reminded him of a gift he had brought for me, "a taste of home" he called it: leaves from New England that his roommate had brought back from her trip; easily one the simplest, most thoughtful things anyone has done for me.
I served dinner and I told him all about the job and the city. At that point I hadn't given them an answer to their offer yet, but Bill was encouraging me to take it; he was thrilled for me. In fact, he was more excited about the opportunity than I was! Our conversation continued onto other things, like his health and how his week was going. I remember he was excited about his roommate being home and that he was ready to get back to work because he didn't like being so skinny. At some point he was talking about a story he had watched on the news about how a kid was being bullied for using a fork upside down, "like the British do." We laughed about how stupid that was to be bullied over. I can't remember the details of the conversation after that, but Bill started to talk and made a noise that I thought was meant to emphasize his disgust for the topic; a noise that sounded like he was clearing his throat but continued on, as if he were straining. He was upright, but leaning on his right arm, which was on the table. I asked if he was okay and it was when the noise didn't stop that I realized I had heard this before: it was a seizure.
Calmly, I got behind his chair and reached under his arms, grabbing my wrists on the other side of him, and lowered him to the carpet. I cleared the area around him and made sure his airway was open, but the tonic phase (muscle rigidity) of the seizure continued. The noise I was hearing was the air being expelled forcefully out of his lungs by his body. Shortly after, the noise subsided and he entered the clonic phase (convulsions), though his body was still tense. For a few moments I played with the idea of calling an ambulance or letting him seize and then take him myself, but his muscle rigidity persisted and prevented his body from being able to breath. When his face turned purple, I knew something was very wrong. As I clamored for my EMS bag to find a bag valve mask, I somehow called 911. My mind was competing for both shock and Paramedic mode and I wasn't able to concentrate on both the phone and getting Bill to breathe at the same time, so I ran next door, threw my phone at Al, my neighbor, and had him talk to 911. What happened next felt like 30 minutes, but was actually more like 5.
As Al talked to the dispatchers, I went to work. First, I tried the bag valve mask to get Bill some oxygen but his goatee didn't allow for an adequate face-to-mask seal. He was gasping for air at this point and I was pleading with him to breathe for me; the whole time his blue eyes focused on the ceiling above us. Al tried to relay what the dispatchers were instructing, but I was way ahead of them. Bill's gasps slowed and he started turning pale, as I tried two more times to get him at least room air. I felt for a pulse, but I couldn't feel anything, likely because my hands were shaking so badly. I began chest compressions, instructing Al to ready a pocket mask. After 30 compressions and two broken ribs, I tried the pocket mask with minimal success. I remember completing 2 more cycles of CPR before the fire department arrived.
I gave them a quick report of what happened, moved some furniture to make room, and then stepped outside. The adrenaline was pumping and my hands were shaking wildly. I was having trouble concentrating on giving answers to the police officer's questions. I don't remember the paramedics arriving. The next few minutes were a blur. At some point I realized I needed to call someone, but wasn't sure who. I couldn't find his phone and I didn't know how to get ahold of his roommate. I didn't have the number of the only mutual friend I knew of, Henry. I tried calling my old neighbors and finally one of them picked up. I had them tell Henry to call me immediately; I wasn't sure what else to do. I vaguely remember hearing the police outside joking about a local sports team's recent performance and then going inside to watch the medics work. They shocked Bill twice, announcing that he had persistent V-Fib. They did a full workup, CPR continued and they transported red, though I don't remember them leaving the apartment with him. I stood in my living room in shock, as the fire department cleaned up empty wrappers and cardboard boxes in silence. I stared at the recently-used dishes on the table, his Coke was still dripping with condensation. I noticed the blood stain on my carpet from the IV they started in his right AC. It took a minute or two for me to get moving again. Grabbing a phone charger and a sweatshirt, I got in my car and raced to the hospital. Thankfully Henry called while i was en route and I made him meet me there.
The nurse at the counter was busy chatting with a morbidly obese black woman, who was possibly a coworker of his. I politely but quickly interrupted, explaining that my friend came in by ambulance with CPR in progress, that I was a paramedic and asked him to take me to his room so I could be there. He practically rolled his eyes, sighed, explained that he has a job to do and to let him do it and that I should take a seat while he figured out what was happening. I paced the busy waiting room, and I'm sure someone must have thought I was crazy, but the adrenaline was still pumping and I couldn't sit still. Reality crept in as I went outside for fresh air. I was alone, my good friend quite possibly died in front of me, and I didn't know what to do next. Realizing that there was nothing more I could do, I began to calm down. I went inside and waited impatiently for the nurse to return. Ten minutes later, he called my name and brought me to a hallway, where we met another nurse. Greetings were half-heartedly exchanged and she brought me to a room in the ER with the curtain drawn. She began to ask if I knew of any family they could call. I didn't hear any commotion, ventilation or EKG machines weren't beeping, so I stopped her mid-sentence and asked if he was alive. The nurse looked shocked that no one had told me yet, and, embarrassed, she began the "We did everything we could" speech. I cut her off, telling her to stop, and went behind the curtain.
There laid Bill, motionless on the hospital gurney with a gown draped over his chest (I had pulled up his shirt for chest compressions). His face was whiter than before, and his blue eyes, now lifeless, remained open. My friend was gone. I had seen people die, sometimes in front of me, and I had lost friends, but never at the same time. I hadn't been trained for that, and it wasn't until Henry arrived at the hospital did the gravity of the situation set in. I lost it.
William Hart passed away, without warning, around 7:00pm on October 25th, 2012 at age 51. The Medical Examiner concluded the cause of death to be a massive myocardial infarction. Short of being in an operating room, there was nothing anyone could have done. That night I drove out to the beach on Coronado, where we had first gotten acquainted several months earlier. I was distraught, numb. I didn't want to go home, I didn't want to be alone. The worst part was that it was the exact scenario where I would have called up Bill to talk about it.
The next few days were strenuous. I took a day off of work and I had to sign the paperwork for the new job. I am so incredibly grateful for the efforts and support from Henry, Al, Sylvia, Jerry, Chris (cpratt), Steve, and a handful of others. I found that distraction was the key to healing. For awhile, it seemed it that there was evidence of Bill surrounding me, but I kept occupied with one job concluding and the preparing for another. Bill's memorial service was held the weekend before I left for Denver at the home of his good friend, Robert. I was fortunate to meet and reminisce with Bill's family and friends. This jovial, sarcastic and thoughtful man had touched the lives of so many people and, even though I only spent a few months knowing him, I am beyond fortunate and thankful for that time.
The consolation I take from this experience is that I was able to share dinner and a laugh with a good friend one last time; that he was able to share his excitement for my new adventure. I take comfort in knowing that, if any of his friends were at all qualified to handle the situation, it was me. I'm glad I was there at his side during his transition, but, selfishly, I still really miss my friend.