The phone rang.
We both knew what it would be. In those days of land-line phones, no one called that late unless there was an emergency.
“You might as well answer it,” said Linda, as we stopped what we were doing.
When I had finished my part of the call, which was summoning me to a mountain rescue, I handed the receiver to Linny and got up. Now that we had a daughter, Linny no longer came out on rescues. Instead, she was a caller for quite a large area of Cape Town. She and five other strategically placed people were responsible for summoning appropriately qualified search and rescue personnel and making sure that they got to the assembly point on time.
A party of students from Linda’s old school had gone away for a hiking and camping trip in the mountains above Dutoitskloof Pass They were led by someone who had been her favourite teacher, who was also the sports coach. When they went down to the river to swim, one of the girls—let’s call her Julie—had fallen and hurt her ankle. It seemed broken, and she couldn’t walk. She also hit her head when she fell, but had not lost consciousness.
We mustered at the Emergency Services headquarters and travelled out to the pass in two minibuses and an ambulance. The moon was just rising as we set out to walk about two kilometres across some easy terrain on a breathtakingly beautiful night. We were anticipating a nice easy rescue and being home in time for breakfast.
When we got to the scene, Julie was in good spirits, although in pain. The teacher was most apologetic for the inconvenience. We assured him that he had done the right thing in keeping Julie immobile. After the doctor had examined her and pronounced her fit to travel, we loaded her onto the stretcher and got going. Apart from the scrambling section above the river, it was an easy carry. The moon was so bright that we didn’t even need torches. Our patient was conscious and we bantered with her as we went. I recall that someone said:
“I hope this doesn’t sound sick, but if you hadn’t fallen, we wouldn’t have got the chance to go up the mountain on a lovely night like this. So—um… thank you.”
“Pleasure”, she replied, with a touch of irony. We all laughed.
We got up a goodly speed, and the relief party had to jog to keep up with us. If one can call carrying a laden stretcher across uneven terrain by moonlight ‘enjoyable’, this was truly an enjoyable carry.
In no time, we were back at the vehicles. The doctor and I got into the ambulance with Julie.
Unfortunately, our doctor had a problem with motion sickness. On the way down the pass he couldn’t hold it any more, and tossed his cookies into a paramedic’s hard-hat that was lying next to him. Unsympathetically, I pointed out that EMS (stencilled on the side) wasn’t shorthand for emesis. Julie and I had a good laugh at the poor doc’s expense.
He was still so ill that, when we got to the Accident Unit, he asked me to see Julie through the admission process. We went in and I answered all the necessary questions.
As I was leaving, I stopped where she was about to be X-rayed. I thanked her for being such a fun patient and left with my usual farewell: “Hope we never meet again!”
“Likewise!” she responded, smiling. I could still hear her laughing as I walked out.
In the car park, two people approached me. I presume they guessed that I was part of the rescue team by my clothing.
“Hello. We’re Julie’s parents. Is she alright?”
“Right as rain. I’ve just spoken to her,” I replied cheerfully, and gave them directions to find her.
I arrived home on a high. Usually the guy who fetched bodies, I felt that this was a time for rejoicing. Imagine that! A live one! I forced myself to have some poor quality sleep for an hour, then had breakfast with my family, and went to work. I enjoyed telling my colleagues what had happened. I thought I might take a few hours off in the afternoon when sleep deprivation caught up with me.
Just after lunch, my doctor friend phoned me. Oh no! Not another rescue! They have a tendency to come in batches. I don’t know why.
“Hi! If there’s another rescue like last night’s, count me in,” I chuckled. “It was fantastic!”
“Haven’t you heard about Julie?” he asked, sounding puzzled.
“No?” Suddenly, I felt less festive.
“She died at seven o’clock this morning. Subdural haematoma.”
I hung up and went home.