Went snowboarding today with my step-son's snowboard club. Perfectly beautiful day -- blue skies, sunshine, around 28 degrees. Snow was mostly fluffy and made for carving. The fresh air felt good.
Around 5:00 PM I was standing near one of the lifts, strapping on my snowboard when I saw a ski patrolman on a snowmobile pulling a litter with a young kid in a c-collar and a second ski patrolman sitting on top of him. At first glance of the kid in the basket, kicking, flailing and screaming, I thought it was my step-son, Jake. I quickly released my bindings and raced after the trio.
Just as the snowmobile came to a stop at the First Aid station, the kid in the basket managed to knock the ski patrolman off of him and into the snow. Several other ski patrolmen and women descended and scooped up the kid on the backboard and onto a stretcher and carried him inside the building. I finally had a good look at the kid's face and was relieved to discover it wasn't Jake.
My next question was whether or not this hysterical kid was part of our snowboard group.
The only information the ski patrolmen who responded to the accident had was that the kids name was Travis. So I walked up to the stretcher, right next to Travis' head, and started quietly talking to him. I put my hands over his, helping staff hold him down, but continued talking softly to him. I explained all of the things going on around him, the O2 meter, blood pressure and heart rate. Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he went quiet. One of the staff asked if I was his mother and I said "not his, but I am a mom" and I stroked Travis' forehead.
One of the paramedics pulled out his light and directed the beam at each of Travis' eyes. I know enough to know that what we saw in Travis' eyes was NOT good. I also knew that his combative behavior was another clear indicator that Travis had a very, very serious head injury.
Travis came around again, screaming for us to let him up and trying to kick the straps holding his legs down, loose. I started talking to him again, telling him I knew it wasn't any fun being tied down and asking him questions -- wanting desperately to know that he heard me, could process the questions and give me answers.
Travis was able to tell me his grade (freshman) and his school (not ours) then his eyes rolled up again and he went limp. The paramedics took advantage of the opportunity to start an IV and I continued talking directly to Travis about the pinch he would feel and how his arm may feel cold once the fluid started flowing into him.
He started screaming and flailing again just after the IV was started and then fell silent once again. By then the ambulance had arrived and because I was still holding Travis' hands, I walked with them and helped load him inside.
So, tonight, there is a young man -- a teenager! -- in a hospital. And tonight there is a mother and a father standing by his bed praying that everything will turn out all right, wondering if their lives will ever be the same.
Little do they -- or Travis -- know that something so simple, so easily obtained and utilized, could have made all the difference in the world.
A helmet.
P.S.
After Travis was gone I spotted the young girl who had brought Travis' snowboard to the First Aid station and stopped to talk to her. She didn't know Travis but saw what happened. She asked me if I saw him hitting the ski patrolman and I told her I did and explained that combative behavior is a common sign of a very serious head injury.
Apparently Travis was trying to do a back flip off of a jump in the terrain park (against park rules) and landed on his head. My step-son, Jake, and two of his school buddies saw the accident, too.
A little while later I was standing near a chairlift and overheard a small group of kids talking about an earlier accident and giggling nervously so I asked if they were talking about Travis and they said they were. They are also good friends with Travis.
Around 5:00 PM I was standing near one of the lifts, strapping on my snowboard when I saw a ski patrolman on a snowmobile pulling a litter with a young kid in a c-collar and a second ski patrolman sitting on top of him. At first glance of the kid in the basket, kicking, flailing and screaming, I thought it was my step-son, Jake. I quickly released my bindings and raced after the trio.
Just as the snowmobile came to a stop at the First Aid station, the kid in the basket managed to knock the ski patrolman off of him and into the snow. Several other ski patrolmen and women descended and scooped up the kid on the backboard and onto a stretcher and carried him inside the building. I finally had a good look at the kid's face and was relieved to discover it wasn't Jake.
My next question was whether or not this hysterical kid was part of our snowboard group.
The only information the ski patrolmen who responded to the accident had was that the kids name was Travis. So I walked up to the stretcher, right next to Travis' head, and started quietly talking to him. I put my hands over his, helping staff hold him down, but continued talking softly to him. I explained all of the things going on around him, the O2 meter, blood pressure and heart rate. Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he went quiet. One of the staff asked if I was his mother and I said "not his, but I am a mom" and I stroked Travis' forehead.
One of the paramedics pulled out his light and directed the beam at each of Travis' eyes. I know enough to know that what we saw in Travis' eyes was NOT good. I also knew that his combative behavior was another clear indicator that Travis had a very, very serious head injury.
Travis came around again, screaming for us to let him up and trying to kick the straps holding his legs down, loose. I started talking to him again, telling him I knew it wasn't any fun being tied down and asking him questions -- wanting desperately to know that he heard me, could process the questions and give me answers.
Travis was able to tell me his grade (freshman) and his school (not ours) then his eyes rolled up again and he went limp. The paramedics took advantage of the opportunity to start an IV and I continued talking directly to Travis about the pinch he would feel and how his arm may feel cold once the fluid started flowing into him.
He started screaming and flailing again just after the IV was started and then fell silent once again. By then the ambulance had arrived and because I was still holding Travis' hands, I walked with them and helped load him inside.
So, tonight, there is a young man -- a teenager! -- in a hospital. And tonight there is a mother and a father standing by his bed praying that everything will turn out all right, wondering if their lives will ever be the same.
Little do they -- or Travis -- know that something so simple, so easily obtained and utilized, could have made all the difference in the world.
A helmet.
P.S.
After Travis was gone I spotted the young girl who had brought Travis' snowboard to the First Aid station and stopped to talk to her. She didn't know Travis but saw what happened. She asked me if I saw him hitting the ski patrolman and I told her I did and explained that combative behavior is a common sign of a very serious head injury.
Apparently Travis was trying to do a back flip off of a jump in the terrain park (against park rules) and landed on his head. My step-son, Jake, and two of his school buddies saw the accident, too.
A little while later I was standing near a chairlift and overheard a small group of kids talking about an earlier accident and giggling nervously so I asked if they were talking about Travis and they said they were. They are also good friends with Travis.
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