My name is John and I am 63.
In just over 3 years time I’m going to be driving through your jurisdiction just as you are sitting down to your first meal in 12 hours. As your order hits the counter I will experience an odd tightness in my chest and dismiss it as gas.
When you take your first bite my wife of 35 years will watch me clutch my chest and stop the car on the side of the road.
Just as you begin to think your bad day is finally slowing down, the worst day of my life, and possibly the last, has just begun.
I’ve slumped over in the car, releasing the brake pedal and the car drifts into a signpost, discharging the airbags.
My wife is hit by the passenger side airbag as she is leaning over to help me, noticing my unconsciousness just prior to her own.
A passerby has stopped and is now describing a motor vehicle accident to your dispatcher.
Lunch is still warm in your hands when your radio alerts to the accident.
You are tired.
You are hungry.
The kids have been keeping you up late.
The rent is past due.
Big deal. I’m about to die. While you’re cursing me walking to your rig, my MI is moving and my wife’s head injury is complicating what is already going to be a difficult airway judging by the amount of teeth on the floorboards.
As your rig negotiates traffic, my respirations are rapid and shallow, my wife’s now non-existent.
When you pull up to the scene I need your A game. I need you trained to the point where what you are about to do comes as naturally as breathing, because we’re having a bit of trouble in that department.
This is not about you. It’s about me. It’s about us.
So back to your studies, we’ll meet again before you know it.