The hour grew late, not quite midnight, but close. A gentle mist obscured the WWII monument, the granite surface slick from the moisture that filled the night air. After a nice dinner at Hemmenway's, a trio walked through the park, relaxed, full and happy. The night called for some fun, and the daughter ran into the mist, her mother chasing her. The chase didn't last long, mom slipped and hit her head at the foot of the monument.
She was dazed, but conscious, and we walked her to the rescue, and sat her down on the bench. Her daughter sat next to her, and let us take vital signs, and ice the bump that grew on her cheek. We asked the usual questions, and the daughter translated out English to her mom's Chinese.
There was a possibility of loss of consciousness, and I suggested we place the patient on a long board, and put a collar around her neck for immobilization. My heart wasn't really in it, the patient had been ambulatory prior to our arrival, but protocol is protocol.
The daughter's phone rang, and she talked to the third in her party, speaking in Spanish, in a voice so soft and soothing I nearly fell asleep.
"Is that your husband," I asked.
"No, just a very good friend, why?"
"The way you spoke, it was just, uh, beautiful."
"He's earned it," she smiled.
Okay, I was hypnotized, I'll admit it. I swear candles and incense appeared as we traveled the quiet streets toward the ER, no board or collar, the daughter simply said no, and that was that.
Mother and daughter sat next to each other a few feet from me. It was if they had never been separated, sharing a bond that transcended time and space, and they communicated without speaking, and the daughter kissed her mother's wound, and I basked in the serenety.