19 May 2014
San Francisco
We were flying at about 30,000' in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean when we heard the call bell. This was just another of many that had sounded from a plane full of restless passengers - wanting a glass of water, a pillow, a blanket, or maybe it was just to see if there was actually somebody around who cared.
Or perhaps it was just a mistake. Customers often pressed the flight attendant call bell a few times trying to turn out a light or whatever. Not getting the desired result from the first try, they repeat the process several more times, presumably expecting a different result.
Boongg! Again went the chime, as if we hadn't heard it well enough the first two times it rang in quick succession. The light was lit above seat 33L. I could see it glaring in the distance as I made my way with difficulty up the narrow, dimly- lit aisle of the DC-10, trying in vain not to step on toes stuck out in the aisle, trip on purse straps, or shoes, or bump seats of those weary travelers who were making futile attempts to sleep on this daytime transatlantic flight from Paris to Houston.
Expecting the caller to request a glass of water "to take a pill," as they always say, I toddled up the slightly rocking aisles with a full glass of agua fría, in hopes this meager offering would stave off some more complicated request.
When I arrived at the area where the seat in question was located, there was, now I could see, a bit of commotion. Drawing closer, I saw two ladies - one middle aged, the second somewhat older.
Upon seeing me, the younger of the two ladies jumped toward me and began shouting excitedly in Serbian - something about a heart - a sick heart - and she pointed to the older lady who was breathing heavily and was clutching her chest.
I raced to a nearby interphone to summon help. Almost immediately I was joined by two of my colleagues, and very soon thereafter I heard a request for a doctor or nurse being made over the PA. The lady once again gripped her chest, and said with a moan: "to boli!" It hurts!
Serbian is close to Russian, in a way, but it's not the same language. To make matters worse, I am far from fluent in Russian... but mid-Atlantic at 30,000', my best was just going to have to do.
The doctor came and I translated as best I could. What I gathered was that the lady was on her way to Houston where she had family, in order to get more advanced care - probably an operation - for a bad heart condition.
Ordinarily I'd give her a gold star for trying to make it to Houston: if you're going to have any kind of heart trouble, Houston is hands-down the best place in the world to do it.
I say I would have, except that she took a risk in traveling all the way from Serbia via Paris in what turned out to be a delicate condition, heart-wise.
As luck would have it (luck or just maybe something better than luck) there was a heart specialist aboard. We didn't have defibrillators as part of our medical equipment back then - that would really have come in handy!
The look in the Doctor's eyes was all I needed to see. She was not having a massive heart attack. Her condition was bad, but with rest it would stabilize, giving us time to get to Houston, where she could be taken to the hospital that had already prepared for her arrival.
The lady who was traveling with her turned out to be her caregiver - some sort of nurse, and she was visibly shaken by this episode, almost as much as the lady with the bad heart.
"She needs absolute rest. Calm her down," the cardiologist instructed me. "Talk to her - do whatever you can, but she's having a panic attack, and it could make her condition worse." So, I sat on the aisle seat next to her and talked to her, in my lousy Russian, throwing in whatever Serbian words I could come up with for good measure.
She was from Belgrade, she told me, and was so looking forward to seeing her daughter and family in Houston. She hoped she could hold on just a bit more so she could see them just one last time...
Remembering foremost the doctor's request, I asked her if she could try to sleep, and told her I knew a Serbian lullaby. She smiled at me for the first time, despite her being worried. So then and there, at 30,000' above the mid-Atlantic, I softly sung that Serbian lullaby to her. God only knows if I got all the words right, but I sang on and she calmed down, and soon slipped off to a peaceful sleep.
As I sang that beautiful song of silent night, I swallowed hard and kept my composure, knowing full well that the song about a peaceful night from her homeland might just be the very last thing she heard.
It weighed heavily on my mind as I walked to the back of the airplane, leaving her in the care of her nurse - trying not to think the worst. I tried going back to my job to take my mind off of it, but I found myself breaking away now and then to check on her - even though there was nothing really I could do.
We landed ahead of schedule, and the paramedics arrived, equipped with a defibrillator! She was doing much better. She was in good hands now, I remember thinking, as I left the plane along with the rest of the crew.
I went through Immigration and Customs, though I have no recollection of doing so.
As I exited the Customs area I saw the lady once more, lying on the gurney. The paramedics had stopped briefly as there were about a dozen other people standing around her.
I approached, and through the crowd she saw me, smiled at me, and motioned for me to come to her, which I did.
She sat up a little and hugged me, and gave me a kiss on the cheek, saying "Do-vidjenya!": until we meet again.
I bit my lip and smiled at her. She looked much, much better now.
"Do-vidjenya!" I returned the goodbye, gave her a wave, and started for the exit.
Just then, someone came up behind me, and called: "Sir - please...!"
I turned to see a pretty, younger lady, her eyes full of tears, and a look of bewilderment in her face.
"I don't know who you are," She told me in a thick Slavic accent - her voice wavering; "My mother... She LOVE you! What have you done for my mother that she says goodbye to you like that?"
I told her that I was on her flight from Paris, and that she got sick, that was all.
"No... No you do not understand. My mother never speaks like this - except to family only. You must have done something, something wonderful!" She said, her face reflecting a dozen emotions at once.
"I did nothing," I said. She then gave me a hug and kissed my cheek. "Thank you!" She said softly, and started to turn away.
"I would like to ask you one favor, if I might..." I asked.
"ANYTHING!" She responded; I had hardly finished my question.
"Would you let me know how she fared with the operation?"
"Of COURSE!" She said, taking pen and paper from her purse to give to me.
We parted company, I drove through Rush-Hour traffic as if on autopilot - without listening to the radio or without listening to anything at all.
_________________________
Some days later I got a phone call from her daughter: her mother's operation was a great success. She made a complete recovery.
Toward the end of the conversation, she told me in Serbian: "I didn't know you spoke Serbian!"
"I don't," I answered truthfully.
"Well, you SANG well enough in my language!" She said.
"Hvala!" Thanks! I told her.
"NE! Hvala VAM!" NO - thank YOU!
About a month later I got a nice thank-you card from the lady, and a note from her daughter, conveying many heartfelt thanks and very best wishes from the whole family in America and in Serbia.
_________________________
The open roads I once traveled by car have become the open skies. The years go by, and the wheels keep turning, and those jet engines keep on roaring. I deal with melancholy, boredom, and separation from loved ones by turning a job into a paid vacation, seeing the world, one day at a time.
I also listen to folk music from all over the world. It's the New Millennium, and I have my favorite songs synced onto my iPhone. Lying in a bed in a modern high-rise hotel in San Francisco, I listen to my tunes, while watching the evening sun kiss the mountains good night. The next song starts, and I hear that clarinet play, and hear the beautiful harmony of a folk group from Serbia, as it sings one of my favorite songs: Tiho Noći , that lullaby from Serbia. My mind wanders back to that night on the plane long ago, and I smile.
"Tiho, noći, moje zlato spava Calm night during my sleep
za glavom joj od bisera grana Her head is like the pearls on the branch
a na grani k'o da nesto bruji And on the branch as if something is shining
to su pali sicani slavuji It was the slaughter of slaves
"Zice predu od svilena glasa The wire is made of silk
otkali joj duvak do pojasa She dug her belly to the belt
pokrili joj i lice i grudi She covered her face and chest
da se moje sunce ne probudi" That my sun does not awake "
Here is the song, Tiho noći as I first heard it so very long ago:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5gAzn0rRAMg
♫ I say to people I like country music ... I just didn't say WHICH country! ♫
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This is an whole other story!! Please check it out!
F http://kennyduke.blogspot.com/2014/06/institution-of-aggravation.html
F http://kennyduke.blogspot.com/2014/06/institution-of-aggravation.html
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