More Coffee, Please

Thursday, August 8 was another of my standard shifts at Ritz Camera—not very different than any other shift in twelve years. Like usual, it started at 5, and I expected a quiet evening.

My cell phone rang a little past 5:30. My wife doesn’t call unless it’s important. My wife doesn’t cry unless it’s disaster.

And she never begs for help.

This night, she did all three—our next door neighbor, her best friend, and the fiancee of my best friend wasn’t breathing. She had no heart-beat. She had been fine an hour earlier when they had spoken on the phone—now the ambulance, police, and fire were there.

I shutdown the camera store and raced home. West Street was closed; an ambulance and fire apparatus blocked the right lane. I parked and ran from the Episcopal Church. There was a host of people standing around; most of the neighbors, a few friends, and the fire-crew.

My father’s a firefighter—has been for decades before I was born. I grew up around cops, ambulance crews, and firemen. I didn’t run up the stairs—I could tell from the way they were standing that a few more seconds were not going to make any difference.

The crews tried anyway—there was a lot of prayer that night. The paramedics worked on her for nearly an hour, the emergency room for longer. It was too late, which is the point and what I’ll come back to.

Joana Dean was 25 when she died. Except for what doctors were telling her was a leg cramp, she had no health problems. What killed her was a pulmonary embolism—a blood clot. By the time we realized, it was too late—we needed to recognize it three days before.

I don’t tell the story because I particularly need anyone to know. I don’t tell the story because I want any sort of attention. I don’t tell the story because it relates in any way to school, or education, or any of the things I usually write about.

I tell the story because March is DVT (Deep-Vein Thrombosis) Awareness Month.

I tell the story because her fiancee asked me to.

The simple fact is that it’s a more serious danger than we think. Like anything else, if we know, we make it better. So find out.

It’s worth thinking about, at least.

Gregarious

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