On Valentine’s Day, I Performed CPR on a Homeless Man – the Next Day, a Limo Arrived at My House with My Name on It

“Sir,” I said. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“I need someone to flag the ambulance!”

Breathing was barely there. Pulse weak and wrong. Lips turning blue.

“I need someone to flag the ambulance!” I shouted.

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No one moved.

Fine.

I laced my hands and started compressions, hard and fast, counting out loud to keep from panicking. My arms burned. Sweat froze on my back.

Paramedics rushed in, and one dropped beside me.

The teenager’s voice shook on the phone. “This lady’s doing CPR. We’re behind the bar with the neon dog sign.”

The blazer guy stepped farther away. Like compassion was contagious.

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Sirens finally cut through the night. Paramedics rushed in, and one dropped beside me.

“You started compressions?”

“Yes,” I panted. “No effective breathing. Weak pulse. Cyanotic.”

I stumbled back, shaking.

He gave me a quick look. “Good work.”