In Such Poor Health I Couldn’t Walk As a Stranger Essentially Lifted Me to a Restroom.
At the age of nineteenth year, my daily commute involved an crowded coach. It was perpetually crowded and invariably became without any seats when I got on.
On one specific day, I was feeling terribly ill as the bus rocked around the bends. I continuously reassured myself to persevere just a little longer until the bus arrived at my destination, so I could then sprint quickly for the nearest public toilet to be sick.
We were coming down the avenue close to my stop and it dawned on me I would not be to hold on. All of a sudden, it seemed a fog descended upon me. Everything just went white and really quiet; as if someone cut the sound. I thought, “I will lose consciousness”.
Fortunately, I stood close to the driver inside the vehicle, so I managed several steps to ask the driver and asked the driver to pull over, explaining to him that I was about to get ill. He promptly opened the entrance and I hurriedly stepped out onto the street.
My intention was to avoid being sick before six lanes of traffic, so I picked myself up and endeavored to stumble to the park across the road, where I believed I’d at least be able to find some privacy behind a bush to throw up. Yet I likely blacked out. I was aware of my physical self, yet I was unable to walk or see clearly, so I began crawling towards the park.
“Everything alright, love?”
At that moment, someone picked me up. I sensed an arm around my waist and heard a man say, “You right, love?” I managed to tell the kind passerby that I had to to vomit. Thus, he practically carried me down into an adjacent building and guided me in the ladies’ toilets. He wanted to know whether I required him to wait for me but I refused.
A few minutes later, I regained my composure enough to sit on the restroom floor and from the other side of the door came his voice asking, “Are you feeling better, dear? Do you need anything?” I wasn’t able to stand up right away but did manage to express my gratitude and after a few more minutes regained the function of my legs. I returned home and spent the next few days healing from what turned out to be a severe stomach virus.
I never glimpsed that man’s face – merely his legs and the big container for tools he held – but he saved me, when I was in my weakest state.
Often this world can make you guarded, hostile, and combative. His was the sort of gesture that reverses that emotional callousness. He served as evidence that our default setting leans toward compassion, a trait I cherish about humanity.
