Death on the Street

** Before you start reading this post, I have a necessary disclaimer: The story that follows is horrific. Don’t read unless you are comfortable with the possibility of being disturbed, saddened, revolted, and angered. This is no rainbows and roses post. The title is no exaggeration.***

I was walking home from the BTS station when I saw something amiss in my peripheral vision. A taxi appeared to have clipped the tail end of a motorbike, the motorcycle dipped to the right, over-corrected and plunged to the left. The helmet-less rider was thrown from the seat and was immediately struck by an oncoming vehicle, the body was tossed back towards the point of origin. The landing was obstructed by passing vehicle but when it passed a limp, broken body was splayed in the middle of the street. Long black hair radiated from her head and two sparkly shoes laid haphazardly near her. Traffic finally came to a halt, both on the sidewalk and the road. People just stared. I waited for someone to move, certain that in a city filled with the perpetually smiling, helpful, selfless Thais that a crowd would surge to this woman’s aid. A car made the first move, driving around the body and bike. Another followed. No one on the sidewalk moved. It was as though someone had hit a ‘pause’ button on life.

I dropped my bag and walked into the street, ignoring the passing cars who were rubber-necking enough not to be a threat. My mind was rapidly recalling everything I had learned in the numerous first-aid, life-guarding, and hospital volunteer training courses I have taken. In the three steps it took to reach her I made a mental list. I would first check her vitals, being careful not to move her. I would then access where she was bleeding and apply pressure to the areas of most severe injury. If necessary, I would attempt to sweep out her airway and give rescue breathing. I was wearing an over-shirt that I could use to apply pressure and started to unbutton it as I took the last step.

I bent down, bracing for what I might see when I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. It pulled me back with significant force. I looked up to see a man in uniform. He was a police officer of some sort, panting from having run to the scene. He spoke in rapid thai that I couldn’t comprehend. I made a frantic pantomime motion of checking my pulse, trying to indicate that she needed help, hoping that he would step in. I glanced down, noticing a thin trickle of blood emerging from below her hair, near her temple. Her hair was damp with blood, or some other bodily fluid, and it was evident that she had suffered a traumatic head injury. I must have dipped my knees again, succumbing to the the instinct to try to help her.

The officer spoke again, this time I picked up the word ‘Mai’ repeated. No?!, I thought. He motioned with his arms a large cross, firmly indicating that he didn’t want me to touch her. Surely, he’ll help her, I thought. I stepped aside, minding the rigid structure of authority that dictates everyday life here. He was not yelling, but he was firm enough that I was shocked into submission. I stepped back to the sidewalk and waited.

Instead of helping her, the police officer called to someone. A street vendor shuffled towards him, covering her eyes as she held out a wad of newspapers. Upon delivery, she lept back to the safety of the sidewalk. I watched in horror as the police officer daintily unfolded single pieces of newspaper and laid them over the woman, layering them until she was nearly obstructed from view. Only her hair and bare feet were visible. He then proceeded to stand in front of her body and direct traffic around the accident, blowing sharply on his whistle and making exaggerated motions with his hands. All the while, the woman laid crumpled, presumably dying under the flimsy cover of paper.

I looked around. The crowd had dissipated and many people walked by nearly oblivious to what what taking place a few feet away. Is this a dream?, a voice inside my head screamed. I pinched myself and clenched my hands in a combination of frustration and shock. Why is no one helping her? Precious minutes ticked by and my mind kept repeating the first-aid checklist I had developed earlier. Five minutes passed. My scientific training told me that this the witching moment, the fuzzy line between life and death in an individual who has experienced profound trauma. I found myself starting to dismiss any prompt to perform first-aid and instead felt an overwhelming urge to simply hold her hand. No one should be alone at this moment, I kept thinking. The urge became so profound I found myself moving back towards her, only to here a shrill whistle and see a foreboding glance from the officer in my direction. I obediently stepped back, my stomach lurching. No, no, no, no, no. I felt so helpless. I couldn’t imagine how alone she was feeling. In hindsight, I hope she wasn’t feeling anything.

I heard the whine of a siren. At least ten minutes had passed by the time the red and blue lights flooded the scene. A man hopped out the of truck, surveyed the scene and made a motion to drag her out of the road. I had opened my mouth in shock when the police officer sounded his whistle in his direction. Clearly, this was not acceptable behavior. Thank god.

I was so traumatized at this point that I decided to walk away. I couldn’t bear the thought of watching someone heartlessly drag her to make room for traffic. I watched an ambulance weave through traffic towards the accident and hoped that someone in there had a smidge of human decency. I was so upset with myself that I hadn’t persisted in helping her, at the very least comforting her. I fell into a haze, placing one foot in front of the other, while I was lost in my thoughts. At one point during the walk I stepped to the side of the sidewalk and retched violently into a bush, thankful that I had delayed my dinner. It was difficult to believe that the events I had just witnessed were real.