On my flight back from Rome, shortly after take-off, the captain made one of those announcements you hope only to hear in films. ‘Is there a doctor on board?’
We all sat up in our seats to see what was going on. Three rows ahead of me someone had been taken ill. At first no-one moved; we held our breath while the cabin crew listened for a response. And then a man appeared who we assumed, and hoped, was a doctor. He was Italian and started talking to the sick man.
He spoke too quietly for me to hear what he was saying – and my Italian isn’t that good anyway – but he sounded reassuring. Moments later another man appeared from the other end of the plane, younger, unshaven and in jeans. He looked like he’d been away on a stag weekend and was most likely a medical student. He only spoke English.
There then followed an extraordinary dance as passengers moved so that the sick man could lie down. Blankets were brought, pillows appeared and the patient was put into the recovery position.
The doctor issued instructions to the crew who translated them into English for the student who worked alongside him to stabilise the man. The staff brought their first aid kit and a plastic tumbler of water – too much water as it turned out, and they had to go and throw away half of it before the doctor mixed some kind of powder into it.
There was a rhythm to the events, a kind of choreography which was mesmerising to watch. No panic, no raised voices, just a calm management of the situation. At one point the companion of the sick man looked at me and gave me a reassuring nod, as if to say, ‘he’ll be OK’.
I realised I must have looked terrified. What if there hadn’t been a doctor on board? Who else was equipped to help this man? Not me, for sure. I’ve never taken a first aid course, I’ve never practised CPR on anyone – despite knowing that the best tune to get the rhythm right is ‘Stayin’ Alive’ from 'Saturday Night Fever'. A piece of information not much use in isolation.
We thought that the plane might have to be diverted and land somewhere mid-journey but it wasn’t necessary. The doctor stayed with the patient, the student went back to his seat and the cabin crew set about serving drinks! They barely missed a beat.
I spent the rest of the flight talking to my neighbour – a Palestinian living in Sicily – who told me that we are all going to hell in a handcart. The world is full of corrupt, greedy, power crazed individuals who care nothing for anything except making obscene amounts of money.
That the warring factions in the Middle East use religion to mask what’s really going on; that foreign Aid isn’t what’s needed in the developing world and that in any case the Arab states are already in a race with China to buy up Africa to guarantee that they have enough space to grow their food.
Not entirely what I was hoping for in a travelling companion, but nevertheless I decided not to feel too depressed. We had just witnessed an act of entirely selfless, unhesitating help for someone in trouble – regardless of their race or religion or ability to pay. And in the end isn’t that all that most of us can ever do? Help the person in front of us. The elderly parent, the lonely neighbour, the sick child. The passenger taken ill.
We can think globally but we must act locally, to paraphrase the Scot - Sir Patrick Geddes – who originally coined the phrase.
When I got back to Glasgow I thought Dad seemed rather flat. He had stayed in bed for days, despite not being ill, and he’s lost weight – probably only as much as I’ve put on, so that's easily remedied.
Perhaps he’d been feeling a little fearful too. Hearing the news from the island of Arran – where we used to have family holidays – about how the place was engulfed by snow and had no electricity. But he needn’t have worried - the islanders all pulled together; the hotel providing food and shelter to residents who had none, volunteers taking hot water bottles to those who needed them, the emergency services helping to save livestock. The same in Northern Ireland.
So hats off to all those rescuers, whatever they’re doing, wherever they’re doing it, and to the doctors and crew on that Alitalia flight. The politicians might want the credit and have to take the blame for much in our lives, but it’s the individuals, especially in times of difficulty, that really can make a difference.
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