MY BABY’S NOT BREATHING!

Our flight left Boston fifteen minutes after the scheduled departure time. Our airline was taking another group of sightseers to the British Isles.

With many families and numerous children on board, Nancy and I had our hands occupied filling baby bottles, handing out junior wings, and entertaining youngsters bored during the six-hour flight.

“Can you help me?” a young mother asked as I walked toward my station in the rear of the plane.

Her toddler was crying and trying to escape her grasp.

“Here, try this,” I said, handing her some paper doilies and a crayon. The boy immediately became occupied with drawing and stopped squirming.

“I’ll bring you some juice. That should help.”

While I was going about my duties, Amy, a ten-year-old with blond braids, followed me. She wore a blue pastel dress with white lace around the collar.

She and her parents were going to visit their extended family in Ireland. Throughout the flight she tugged at my skirt and asked never-ending questions.

“Why do we have to put seat backs and tray tables up?”

“Because, Amy,” I answered, “in an emergency the seatbacks and tables can hinder passengers from leaving.”

“Why do you want us to have our window shades open when we land?”

“Again, Amy, in case of an emergency it helps the rescuers see inside.”

She was obviously very smart. I let her wear an extra uniform smock and added junior wings to the outfit. She loved being a little flight attendant, and her parents were thankful for the attention she received.

After the dinner service Amy fell asleep and I returned to the back of the plane to continue my chores. Nancy finished cleaning the aft galley while I stocked supplies in the lavatories.

Finally, we sat down to enjoy our own meals. Nancy and I parked next to each other on the wide jump seat and chatted as we ate.

A young man approached the rear area. He didn’t interrupt our conversation and never said a word. He just stood there and looked at us. I thought he was waiting for one of the restrooms.

“They’re not occupied,” I said. “Just open the door.”

He murmured, “My baby’s not breathing.”

He said the words so calmly that they didn’t seem real. I quickly placed my tray in the galley and followed him to his seat. His teenage wife was cradling a limp baby, tears falling down her face as she rocked back and forth. Hearing her husband’s voice, she looked up.

“What’s wrong with your baby?” I asked.

She couldn’t answer and kept crying.

“Please, give me the baby. Let me check.”

Hesitantly, she handed the two-month-old infant to me. I held him in front of me and looked in his mouth. I shook him lightly. No response.

I turned him over and hit him firmly in the center of his back. Again, no reaction. I turned him face down for a second time and solidly struck him between his shoulder blades. I smacked him so hard I feared I might have broken some bones.

All of a sudden the infant let out a piercing scream and started crying. The parents joined in, but these were cries of happiness. I held the baby for another minute and checked his back and mouth. Everything seemed to be in good order, so I returned him to his mother.

She embraced the infant, supporting him in the crook of her arm, and gave him a bottle of milk. The father shook my hands and thanked me profusely. He stayed in the aisle, lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply. I think he had been holding his breath the whole time I held his son.

If the infant had not responded, I would have raced with him to the rear of the plane, starting mouth-to-mouth resuscitation along the way. Nancy would have begun heart palpitations on the baby while I continued forcing air into his lungs.

Since we were over the Atlantic Ocean, it would have been a couple of hours before we could have made an emergency landing. Thank goodness the infant’s blocked airway opened.

A tragedy had been diverted. I was shaking from both happiness and fear. Nancy and I smiled and cried, hugging each other and thanking God for His help. Amy appeared and stared at us.

“Why are you crying?”

I explained that we had just saved a baby from a tummy ache. She was incredulous.

“My mom doesn’t cry when I get a tummy ache,” she said.

“Come. Help Nancy clean the galley,“ I said. “I have to go up front.”

I was unsettled when I entered the cockpit and reported the incident. The senior flight attendant recorded the names of the infant and parents, the details of the baby’s non-response, and the subsequent result.

Although I never saw an object expelled from the baby’s mouth, I suggested a blocked airway. At that time SIDS, or Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, was barely known to the general public. In retrospect, that might have been the reason for the child’s inability to wake up.

The next couple of hours were a fog to me. Amy followed me everywhere, but my mind kept going back to the infant and how I had responded. Did I perform as we had been instructed? What else could have been done?

Finally, we landed in Shannon. I stood at the bottom of the rear ramp, thanking everyone for flying with us. Amy came down the stairs, proudly wearing her junior wings and beaming from ear to ear.

Soon after, the infant’s parents deplaned and we warmly embraced. Our airline had medical personnel waiting for them; their baby would be thoroughly checked before they could continue their travels.

Yes, it was a beautiful day in Ireland.

Дата добавления: 2015-08-27