Sometimes you're better off not knowing

I wrote this on June 21, 2008, but forgot to post it until now.

Last night, I was enjoying myself at the 3rd Thursday Street Fest in Willimantic, CT, when I happened to bump into a guy named Rich. Not only had he lived next-door to me at my old place in East Hartford, but coincidentally also dated a woman named Dawn, with whom I worked for five years (1999-2004).

I'm still reeling from what Rich told me: namely, that Dawn passed away last November. Dawn was all of seven months older than me!

Seems she was at work one morning and suddenly stopped breathing. Since none of her co-workers knew CPR, by the time the EMTs arrived Dawn's brain had been without oxygen for close to seven minutes, and her heart had stopped.

They were able to get Dawn's heart pumping again, but she was brain-dead with zero chance of recovery. So the next of kin instructed Dawn's physician to pull the plug on her life support. At 42 (my age now), Dawn was no more, and her two teen-aged daughters were now orphans. (Dawn's ex-husband is a junkie scumbag whose sense of responsibility is about what you'd expect from someone like that.)

A few weeks ago, as part of my new job at a group home, I was trained in both CPR and First Aid. If Dawn's employer (a pharmacy) had been that diligent, she might not have died.

Suffice it to say, during the ten minutes or so that I spoke with Rich last night, my mood spiraled from upbeat and festive to bummed out and depressed. I still haven't fully recovered. Of course, it doesn't help that I'm out of anti-depressants and the State of Connecticut has kicked me off medical assistance, because with two part-time jobs I now make too much to qualify. Never mind that neither job offers medical benefits. But that's a whole other rant.