Sick passenger

Dave and I got on the downtown D train this afternoon (yes, the subway, the MTA subway!) on our way to Penn Station (I was on my way to Boston where I am right now, and the 1 train wasn't running from Columbus Circle for some reason). We were standing near the door in front of a woman sleeping with her head on the shoulder of a man who I assumed to be her boyfriend. Midway to 7th Avenue, the woman sharing the three-seater with the couple said to a woman sitting across from her, "they're going to go to the hospital." This is when I first realized that the woman was not in fact sleeping, but passed out, her head and hands limp, her stringy hair falling in front of her face. I began to worry that she was going to awaken and vomit on my shoes and began to tactfully inch away from the space in front of her.

When the doors open at 7th Avenue, the woman who had mentioned the hospital stands in the doorway of the train while a man she's been talking to runs to the conductor's car to alert him that there is a sick passenger on board. The conductor appears in our car and asks what's wrong with the woman. "We think she's had alcohol, maybe drugs," says her boyfriend. You think? He continues, "I'm not with her, I was just trying to help her out." It turns out the woman holding the door and the "boyfriend" had been on the train at 125th St. when the sick woman boarded, looking disoriented, and the two had been trying to help her when she passed out. At this point, a middle-aged Asian man appears, clad in a while shirt emblazoned with the MTA logo. He informs us that EMS is on the way. The helper woman begins to tell him about the sick woman's condition. "We can't do anything until EMS arrives, we cannot move the train until she is off." The woman says that she understands but that she's simply trying to alert him to the situation to which he responds, "I'm not EMS, don't tell me, I'm not going to be here when they get here, I have to go back upstairs," and disappears.

Meanwhile, a young Indian man wearing a canvas jacket and sporting a black leather backpack pokes his head in the car, "is she okay, can I be of assistance?" "Are you a doctor?" asks helper woman. "No, a med student." "Oh, a med student." Med student enters the subway car and begins ministering to sick woman. "Miss, miss, wake up, wake up. Miss, what is your name, what have you taken, miss, miss." None of this works to revive her, but med student rises and assures us that she has a pulse and that her blood pressure is normal. "Yeah, I can see her breathing, look at her chest," helper woman chimes in. By now, "boyfriend" has liberated his shoulder from under sick woman's head and she is passed out at a 45-degree angle. Med student re-crouches in front of her and, this time, is able to rouse her. At first she half opens her eyes, re-crosses her legs in the opposite configuration, and closes her eyes again. After another minute though, she lifts her head, wipes her face with the shirt she is holding in her hands, and gets up. "Do you know where you are, you're on the train, where do you live," helper woman begins bombarding her with questions. The sick woman grunts out some answers and steps off the train.

"Good, now she's off the train, we can get moving," I make eye contact with the mother holding her baby as she says this and we exchange knowing smiles of frustration/let's-get-this-show-on-the-road. However, we can't get moving as there is no MTA employee in the area to note that sick woman is now off the train. The conductor has gone back to his booth (as per the instructions of the Asian MTA man) to announce to the train that we are being held in the station due to a sick passenger, and is in the middle of providing alternate routes to passengers when the woman steps off the train.

As I have a train to catch, I make an executive decision to take a cab, and Dave and I step off the train into a mass of angry and confused passengers from the surrounding train cars. As we are exiting the turnstile, three EMTs are making their way through the gate. I want to say, "don't waste your time," over my shoulder but I refrain and follow Dave out of the station. During the short cab ride to Penn Station I don't know at whom to be more outraged: the woman for passing out on the train and causing the commotion in the first place, or the inefficiency of the MTA workers and the fact that someone should have stayed at the scene. I have been on trains in the past that have been stopped due to a "sick passenger," but never in the same car as said passenger. In those instances I've imagined someone dropping to the floor due to a heart attack, or some other serious condition requiring emergency medical attention, not some drunk girl passed out on a Saturday afternoon. I don't know if I'll ever have the same patience for such an announcement again.