Hard Times, Strong People

Right now, Kansans who live anywhere near Wakeeney can only shake heads and wring hands. As they survey profound destruction wreaked upon homes and farms by gust-driven ice missiles the size of baseballs, they reveal the tenacity of prairie residents. They don’t lament, “Woe is me.” Instead, they count their blessings.

More than one battered resident has remarked that they lost property, but no one died. Even in instances where people lost livestock or pets, they express gratitude that family members are well. I can relate. I was relieved to hear my own mom’s voice telling me she was okay after that monster storm battered her house and yard.

Via radar, I watched that white mass layered in purples, pinks, and reds as it cut a swath across Western Kansas. I called Mom to be sure she knew it was coming. She didn’t need me to tell her. Her Nex Tech device alerted her to danger so she was heading for shelter.

Knowing she was protected inside her home comforted me.  At Brownie Scout camp decades before, we faced an evacuation through golf-ball size hail. I recalled welts and bruises ice balls rising on young campers and couldn’t imagine facing even larger wind-driven projectiles. After I saw storm-damaged vehicles, windows, and roofs, it was clear anything alive and outside suffered trauma during that assault.

A friend posted the storm in real time on Facebook so I imagined everyone experiencing that icy barrage felt like they were entombed in a continuously battered barrel. It had to be the closest to war that citizens who’d never served in the military experienced. Mom confirmed this when I contacted her following the storm.

Afterwards, the real ordeal began. As people inventoried damages, they found shattered windows, punctured roofs, damaged siding and fences, destroyed lawn furniture, naked trees, and vehicles pocked with more dents than a golf ball has. Some even discovered that the knife-like wind flipped trailer s, trucks, and grain bins topsy-turvy. It stripped fields of ripening grain to toothpick-like stalks.

While those viewing devastating photos bemoaned their friends and loved ones’ fates, I saw so many grateful responses. Caveats such as “Others had it much worse,” or “It can all be cleaned up,” echoed through social media.

A friend with his own troubles helped Mom patch her broken windows. A cousin with carpentry experience drove over two hours the next morning to seal a roof so punctured it could function as a colander. He found a reliable repair company to restore her property. His guidance is a blessing because he has insights the rest of us don’t.

My friend on the farm who noted that others had things much worse than she did brightened lives when she posted a story about her Great Pyrenees pup that found a storm-battered dove and carried it to her. She protected it and watched to see if it would mend enough to fly away. Distant and close friends smiled when she reported it flew off despite significant feather loss.

Right now, it’s hard to think about normal for folks living in this battered region. But like that dove, life will take off. 

Golden Hour in Good Hands

Rapid care in the golden hour after an accident or major health issue such as a stroke or heart attack gives hope to patients and their loved ones. For those of us who live in remote areas, time between when a cardiac incident or traumatic injury occurs and treatment begins depends on how swiftly emergency services arrive on scene. For most of us living on the high plains, that means we depend on neighbor/volunteers during crises.

When 911 systems and dispatchers send that initial page to first-responders, recipients drop what they’re doing to head for either an ambulance or fire station. That first call may wake an EMT or firefighter out of exhausted slumber or buzz as a volunteer is working at the top of a grain elevator. Maybe one of those local heroes is cuddling a grandchild while sharing a favorite storybook. These individuals set aside normal life and switch into lifesaver mode, which allows them to focus on providing the best emergency care possible to increase survival chances for the patient.

In big cities, emergency crews usually aid strangers. That’s not true in small towns like ours. Often the responders know the casualty and his or her family well. Their children play ball together, or they worship in the same church on Sundays. Sometimes they’re even related, which adds an extra poignancy to what they do. I asked a friend who serves as a first-responder if knowing their client causes more concern when they go on an emergency run. He said, “No, the first thought is to get there and help.”

I recall the time our youngest daughter blacked out and turned blue as a toddler. My fingers could barely punch the required 911 into the wall phone. From the moment I reached the dispatcher to the second those whirling lights pulled into our drive, I felt less alone. What a comfort that people I knew provided oxygen and assessed my baby’s condition as they raced her to the emergency room. Their concern and professionalism reassured a frightened little girl and her mother as we sped toward Hays. Later, their calls to make sure our child was okay lent additional support.

This is a difficult job performed under rugged conditions. By the time an ambulance crew arrives on site and begins treatment, it’s still a long way to a trauma center with facilities necessary to care for serious medical situations. These rescuers make snap decisions with minimal resources to care for complicated emergencies that involve friends and loved ones. They understand the feelings of grandparents waiting  at home praying for injured grandchildren. They can contact an accident victim’s loved one without looking it up on a computer. Maybe that person’s number is listed on their own cell phone.

In communities with dwindling populations, we’re fortunate so many sacrifice to receive the necessary training to perform emergency treatment. Once they learn these skills, we’re blessed they wear that pager and respond when it buzzes. It’s good to know that golden hour is in the hands of people with hearts of gold.