The plane ride had lasted several hours when an announcement was heard over the cabin intercom: Hello, ladies and gentlemen, we currently have a medical situation. If there is a doctor or EMT on board, we request your assistance in the middle of the cabin.

We would be landing in Salt Lake City shortly, which still to my surprise, is my intended destination and not a continuation of the unexpected announcement.  I sat waiting to see if anyone would answer the call, seatbelt unbuckled as though I believed that, if nobody shows up, I could jump into action and offer some form of legitimate aid. Fortunately, it was only a few short minutes until someone hurried toward the scene where several flight attendants stood before an elderly woman exuding a calm usually reserved for medicated psychiatric patients.

I tried my hardest to focus on what the doctor was doing should I find myself in a similar position in the future, but too many heads had turned to watch the scene behind me that I could not get a clear view. I would like to say that it was touch-and-go for a while, but I neither know what that phrase means nor did I have a visual reference to confirm what occurred after the doctor’s pseudo-dramatic sprint down the aisle. The drama would continue while I sat unaware of its development throughout the remaining 35 minutes of our flight.

As we taxied to the terminal, a new announcement was delivered to the cabin requesting that we remain seated so that paramedics may board the plane and determine whether they would prefer to remove the passenger first or assist her onboard. When we arrived at the gate, four paramedics and one airport police officer boarded the plane and rushed to the area where the woman is sitting. Despite the announcement, passengers in the front of the plane began rising and removing luggage from the overhead compartment as though nothing was ever said.

A woman who was seated in the row behind me stood in the aisle and said to another: I’m so glad we were close enough to land here. Death could have really inconvenienced her apparently. I was so perplexed by her attitude that I found myself glaring at her. I couldn’t help but notice that this woman is old enough that she should sympathize with the nearly-departed, but instead I found her plotted in the middle of the aisle, chewing her gum like a cow chews cud and staring longingly toward the exit.

The paramedics had apparently opted to assess the injured onboard as the passengers in the front began to file out steadily. On my way toward the exit of the plane, I notice two young boys sitting alone near the front of the cabin. I overheard that they are the sons of the doctor who is at the back of the plane assisting with the emergency, and nobody, not even a flight attendant, is watching them. I moved into the row of seats across from them hoping to make sure they didn’t feel lost or scared without an adult around.

I asked a series of mundane questions, just trying to distract them from the fact that they were abandoned, and they responded. All I could think at first was that although their father is such a smart doctor, he apparently had not instructed his kids never to talk to strangers. Fortunately, their ignorance was serving to help distract them from what they would otherwise have viewed as a traumatic abandonment when they recount the tale to their therapist many years in the future.

Aidan, the older of the two, was in the first grade and spoke confidently, announcing his younger brother was only in kindergarten. I asked the younger his name, but he spoke much more softly, and I was unable to hear what he had said. Aidan told me all about how they were on their way to see their mother in Utah while the quiet one nodded and climbed on a chair. Before long, the elderly woman was wheeled down the aisle by the paramedics as the doctor followed behind. He thanked me for watching his boys, and I departed.

Outside the plane a congregation of emergency personnel met the sickly passenger and were provided an update on her condition. They immediately relaxed upon hearing she was well. One of the crew turned to another and announced that this was their fourth incident today; I was not surprised to hear that there was growing proof that the mere thought of being in Salt Lake City was enough to cause a person physical trauma. I follow the emergency crew as they escort the patient up the jetway and into the terminal where I continue on to meet my connecting flight.

As I passed the restroom area near the gate we had just emerged from, I notice the woman from before who was in such a hurry to disembark the plane. She stood near the exit of the ladies’ restroom speaking with another woman who was on our flight. The two were in mid-conversation about something inconsequential when she noticed the sick passenger back at the gate. She turns to the woman with whom she had been speaking and said in an indifferent tone: Well, it’s a good thing she is okay. I don’t know what I’d do if…

She trailed off, not because she didn’t want to finish the thought, but I suspect because she no longer felt compelled to think about it. I desperately didn’t want the weight of this incident to in any way effect this woman, so now, I too felt a sense of relief.