Life Lesson #3: Rubbernecking is not nice

You know when you are driving along and all the sudden traffic comes to a halt?  And you think… “Oh no! This has got to be either construction or an accident.  I’m going to be here all day.”  Then – as fast as you came to a stop … you start to speed back up.  That’s when you spot it – the thing everyone else has spotted.  An accident – but it is already off the road.  Everyone is slowing down to rubberneck.  You know – turn their head to get a good look at everyone and everything involved. It has always bothered me. Now – it is entered into my book as a moral, “no. no.”

Life lesson # 3.  Rubbernecking is not rude – it is wrong.  Now, I know that we have all done it.  I can remember standing on my own front porch to see where the fire trucks were headed when they went through town.  And – I wasn’t alone.  Everyone went out to their porches to see what was happening and to whom it was happening to.  So please don’t think I’m taking a moral high ground here and giving a one-man lecture.  I’ve just altered my perspective….

This photo is one from a Hellicopter ride we took to Hershey. 
I was able to ride - this time.  And these pictures are very
benign... But they are not always...

Yesterday, Alexander had a seizure he couldn’t break.  Thank goodness my father was there – he tended to the twins while Ray and I dealt with the seizure.  We gave his emergency medicine.  It didn’t break.  We had to call for the ambulance.  When they came inside, one man said they already had a chopper on standby.  Another EMT said hi because we recognized each other.  We are “that” family.  You know…. The ambulance family.  The family everyone whispers about.  The family everyone wonders, “what is going on over there?  Why do they have an ambulance come so often?”  You have redneck neighbors, snobby neighbors, the rude neighbors, the loud neighbors, the neighbors with the terrible children, … and then there is us.  The neighbors who have medical emergencies several times a month. 

Usually (isn’t it crazy that I’m even going to say this sentence?) the helicopter lands in an open field down the street.  It is nice because it is private.  It is also nice because the closest house is a home with their own special circumstances. Yesterday, we got a different helicopter.  This helicopter landed at the church right behind my house.  This was the sight of the week!  Look at the helicopter! Landing so close to the neighborhood. I packed up my things, Alexander’s medicine, clothes, feeding supplies, etc.  I grabbed my purse and kissed the kids and Ray goodbye.  We took the ambulance (which provided a bit of privacy) to the church parking lot where I was given CRUSHING news.  I would not be able to ride with Alexander to Hershey (over an hour drive).  I wish I could say that I handled it gracefully.  I wish I could tell you that I just told them Alexander’s most vital information and went along my way.  But the truth is – that would all be a lie.  I sobbed. Those huge, ugly tears.  You know – the sobs that you cannot speak through. I’m trying to tell the doctors that Alexander is a hard stick and they need to use the IV in his head.  And that Alexander doesn’t react to Ativan; they need to use Diastat instead.   I’m trying to tell them what the signs of a seizure look like, I’m trying to explain the “do’s and don’ts” ….. while my heart is breaking, over and over again.  I know the EMT’s on Life Lion must have felt like complete jerks because I wouldn’t stop talking about my 9lb baby.  FYI…. I sobbed like that the entire way to Hershey. But this wasn’t the worst of the story – or the life lesson.

When the decision was made to put Alexander on the helicopter, I got out of the Ambulance with my things and walked to our car.  I had to walk through a crowd of people.  People with cameras. People who gathered to watch the scene.  I got to walk through a crowd of my neighbors at one of my most vulnerable points.  As they watched a mother sob so hard she could not speak because she just put her tiny baby on a helicopter and now has to drive to meet him.  My head was filled with a million worries – not only about the care, but all those “extra” things doctors should know about my son.  I literally could not get a grip on my emotions and it was something that should have been embarrassing to watch.  And yet we do.  We rubberneck.  What happened? Whom did it happen to?  What can I see?

This was someone's pain.  How many
people do you think slowed down
to check it out?

Yesterday I felt like screaming, “Did you all get a good enough look at my heartbreak?”  “Did everyone get a full view of my pain?”  I told you Yesterday I almost broke.

When people rubberneck, it must be to see what is going on.  It must be because they would like to take a good look at someone else’s tragedy.  I can tell you – from the other side of the tragedy – It is embarrassing and lowers your view of society about 100 notches when you become the object of the rubbernecking. 

Remember that…. Every time you look – it is someone’s life at a terrible moment you have chosen to witness.  Maybe the more compassionate thing would be to just look away and allow that family to grieve in private.