The boy looked down at the small pocket knife in his hand. It had been a treasure for him, being his grandfathers pocket knife. Now it was his, but the price had been too high. His grandfather had passed on, and now the day after the wake, his father had put some small items in his hand.
"He'd have wanted you to have these." his father told him.
The boy looked at the things that he'd always thought of his grandfather having on him. The almost tiny two blade pocket knife, a small pocket flashlight that only held a single AAA battery, the old dented Zippo lighter that the old man had lit his pipe with. All treasures, but the boy would have given them all away if only to have his grandfather back.
The boy grieved, but time moved on, and the boy became a young man off to school. The little jackknife had become a fixture in his pocket as had the little flashlight. An interest in people and medicine led to medical school at the Georgetown University Hospital. Commuting to Georgetown everyday on the Metro system, gave him time to study while beginning his new day. Often he'd find his hand in his pants pocket, gently caressing the worn smooth bone handles of the little pocketknife. Often, when confronted with a problem, he'd ask himself "What would granddad do?"
Then came the disaster.
It was a morning like any other morning, the slight rocking of the Metro car and the ticking of the rails, and reading up on the function of the gall bladder. Suddenly, a shock, then a tilting of the still moving car and a screeching of tearing metal and a crash. Everything went dark as the train derailed and crashed, and he felt himself thrown forward against the seat in front of him, and coming to rest laying on the floor. People were screaming in fear and pain, and finally the train car came to rest at a steep angle. The yellow emergency lights flickered on for a few seconds, then blinked out, leaving a stygian darkness.
Reaching into his pocket, the young man found the little flashlight his grandfather had carried on so many fishing and camping trips. Turning it on, he saw chaos. People were laying on the floor, some getting to their feet as they saw the dim yellow beam of his flashlight, some others lay badly injured.
"Somebody help us, my wife can't breath!" a frantic call rang out, and the young man shined his light toward the rear of the wrecked car. A man was cradling his wifes head and she was trying to gasp, with her hands clawing at her throat. The young medical student quickly made his way back to them. By the light of the small flashlight, he could see that she had been thrown forward and hit her throat on part of the wreckage that had been a seat support. As he was checking her out, she passed out from lack of air. The young man knew what had to be done, and done quickly.
"Your wife needs an emergency tracheotomy or she's going to die." the young man told him, "Hold her head up with her chin pointing up."
The young man reached into his pocket and took out a small bottle of hand sanitizer, and cleaned his hands well. After that , he swabbed down the victims throat area where he was going to cut. Then he took out the knife. The very same little bone handled knife he'd seen his grandfather use to gut the pan fish they had caught on the river. The knife that his grandfather had used in all the weekend adventures they'd had while he was growing up. The knife he'd been carrying all these years for small cutting jobs, and had kept sharp like his granddad had. He pulled open the main blade, and with his left index finger, gently felt the ridges of the cartilage of the trachea. Gently, he made a vertical incision over the cartilage, and then spread the cut flesh. There was surprisingly little blood, and he could see the trachea itself, looking like a corrugated tube. He touched the fine point of the sharp little blade against one of the low spots in-between the ridges, and pushed firmly. The knife slid into the tough cartilage with ease.
"Anyone have a pen?" the young man yelled to the crowd.
A chorus of shouts answered him, and people held out pens in the dim yellow beam of the flashlight.
"No, no, yes, that one," he told them as he looked at what they were holding out to him. "Unscrew it and take out the filler and everything and give me just the lower part of the pen". He took the offered pen barrel and inserted it into the cut he'd made in the damaged trachea. A thin whistling was heard.
"What's that? asked a voice from the darkness of watchers.
"That is the best sound we could hear. It's the sound of air going through the pen body. She's getting to breath again. She's going to live."
"Doctor, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, for my wife's life." the woman's husband told him.
"Well, uh, I'm not a doctor, I'm a medical student at the university at what was supposed to be our next stop." the young man told him.
For a frozen moment in the dark wreckage of the train car in the underground tunnel, there was total silence. Then the husband held out his hand.
"Well son, when you hang out your shingle, you can count on my family coming to you!"
Bright lights were now coming down the metro tunnel as the rescue team had arrived. It was a good thing too, as the tiny pocket flashlight was going dim as the battery was almost depleted. People were slapping him on the back and the EMT's looked over his work, didn't touch a thing and transported the injured woman out. The young man looked down at the bloody little knife in his hand, and wiped it off with a piece of paper towel he found in his jacket pocket.
Later, on the weekend, he found himself at an upscale sporting goods store looking at small flashlights. He was surprised at how high tech they had become, and he ended up buying a new LED light that was no bigger than his grandfathers old one, but much brighter, and with a longer run time the clerk assured him. Next to the flashlights was a glass case gleaming with new knives. The clerk saw him glance over.
"Can we sell you a new knife today as well?" he asked the young man.
The young man took out his grandfathers old bone handled pocket knife and looked at it.
"Boy, that's an oldie you have there. We could set you up with a way better knife than that. Why, right over here we have…"
The young man cut him off.
"Mister, you don't have any knife that could replace this one. Just ring me up for the flashlight."
The young medical student walked out with a new, brighter, longer running flashlight in his pocket right next to his grandfathers old bone handled knife. Some things were just too good to replace.
"He'd have wanted you to have these." his father told him.
The boy looked at the things that he'd always thought of his grandfather having on him. The almost tiny two blade pocket knife, a small pocket flashlight that only held a single AAA battery, the old dented Zippo lighter that the old man had lit his pipe with. All treasures, but the boy would have given them all away if only to have his grandfather back.
The boy grieved, but time moved on, and the boy became a young man off to school. The little jackknife had become a fixture in his pocket as had the little flashlight. An interest in people and medicine led to medical school at the Georgetown University Hospital. Commuting to Georgetown everyday on the Metro system, gave him time to study while beginning his new day. Often he'd find his hand in his pants pocket, gently caressing the worn smooth bone handles of the little pocketknife. Often, when confronted with a problem, he'd ask himself "What would granddad do?"
Then came the disaster.
It was a morning like any other morning, the slight rocking of the Metro car and the ticking of the rails, and reading up on the function of the gall bladder. Suddenly, a shock, then a tilting of the still moving car and a screeching of tearing metal and a crash. Everything went dark as the train derailed and crashed, and he felt himself thrown forward against the seat in front of him, and coming to rest laying on the floor. People were screaming in fear and pain, and finally the train car came to rest at a steep angle. The yellow emergency lights flickered on for a few seconds, then blinked out, leaving a stygian darkness.
Reaching into his pocket, the young man found the little flashlight his grandfather had carried on so many fishing and camping trips. Turning it on, he saw chaos. People were laying on the floor, some getting to their feet as they saw the dim yellow beam of his flashlight, some others lay badly injured.
"Somebody help us, my wife can't breath!" a frantic call rang out, and the young man shined his light toward the rear of the wrecked car. A man was cradling his wifes head and she was trying to gasp, with her hands clawing at her throat. The young medical student quickly made his way back to them. By the light of the small flashlight, he could see that she had been thrown forward and hit her throat on part of the wreckage that had been a seat support. As he was checking her out, she passed out from lack of air. The young man knew what had to be done, and done quickly.
"Your wife needs an emergency tracheotomy or she's going to die." the young man told him, "Hold her head up with her chin pointing up."
The young man reached into his pocket and took out a small bottle of hand sanitizer, and cleaned his hands well. After that , he swabbed down the victims throat area where he was going to cut. Then he took out the knife. The very same little bone handled knife he'd seen his grandfather use to gut the pan fish they had caught on the river. The knife that his grandfather had used in all the weekend adventures they'd had while he was growing up. The knife he'd been carrying all these years for small cutting jobs, and had kept sharp like his granddad had. He pulled open the main blade, and with his left index finger, gently felt the ridges of the cartilage of the trachea. Gently, he made a vertical incision over the cartilage, and then spread the cut flesh. There was surprisingly little blood, and he could see the trachea itself, looking like a corrugated tube. He touched the fine point of the sharp little blade against one of the low spots in-between the ridges, and pushed firmly. The knife slid into the tough cartilage with ease.
"Anyone have a pen?" the young man yelled to the crowd.
A chorus of shouts answered him, and people held out pens in the dim yellow beam of the flashlight.
"No, no, yes, that one," he told them as he looked at what they were holding out to him. "Unscrew it and take out the filler and everything and give me just the lower part of the pen". He took the offered pen barrel and inserted it into the cut he'd made in the damaged trachea. A thin whistling was heard.
"What's that? asked a voice from the darkness of watchers.
"That is the best sound we could hear. It's the sound of air going through the pen body. She's getting to breath again. She's going to live."
"Doctor, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, for my wife's life." the woman's husband told him.
"Well, uh, I'm not a doctor, I'm a medical student at the university at what was supposed to be our next stop." the young man told him.
For a frozen moment in the dark wreckage of the train car in the underground tunnel, there was total silence. Then the husband held out his hand.
"Well son, when you hang out your shingle, you can count on my family coming to you!"
Bright lights were now coming down the metro tunnel as the rescue team had arrived. It was a good thing too, as the tiny pocket flashlight was going dim as the battery was almost depleted. People were slapping him on the back and the EMT's looked over his work, didn't touch a thing and transported the injured woman out. The young man looked down at the bloody little knife in his hand, and wiped it off with a piece of paper towel he found in his jacket pocket.
Later, on the weekend, he found himself at an upscale sporting goods store looking at small flashlights. He was surprised at how high tech they had become, and he ended up buying a new LED light that was no bigger than his grandfathers old one, but much brighter, and with a longer run time the clerk assured him. Next to the flashlights was a glass case gleaming with new knives. The clerk saw him glance over.
"Can we sell you a new knife today as well?" he asked the young man.
The young man took out his grandfathers old bone handled pocket knife and looked at it.
"Boy, that's an oldie you have there. We could set you up with a way better knife than that. Why, right over here we have…"
The young man cut him off.
"Mister, you don't have any knife that could replace this one. Just ring me up for the flashlight."
The young medical student walked out with a new, brighter, longer running flashlight in his pocket right next to his grandfathers old bone handled knife. Some things were just too good to replace.
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