Thursday, 2 April 2015

B...Blueberry Hill



You might think, if you’re old enough, that this is about a Fats Domino song, and obviously I’m of an age to remember. But it’s not; it’s about a burger place of the same name that used to be in Bloor West Village.

Years ago, when my kids were small, we frequented that restaurant as they made the best burgers. One day we were there and the place was crowded with cyclists as there was some bike race or something going on in High Park.

There were two levels in the restaurant, only steps apart, with the washrooms on the higher level. The upper level was small with only a few tables, the end wall solid glass with a view out over the patio. One of the cyclists walked out of the darker bathroom into the bright sun shine and walked right into that glass wall, shattering it and cutting himself fairly severely in the process.

There were only high school kids working and everyone went into a panic. I told my kids to sit where they were and went to help; I was a nurse after all. The man had a deep laceration to his calf and had slashed his one wrist and was bleeding copiously.

I was joined by another nurse who was in the restaurant and we got towels from the staff, had them call 911 and proceeded to apply pressure to all the wounds. I held on as tight as I could to the man’s right wrist, stopping the flow, and listened to him talk about not being able to feel his fingers. He was feeling pain and shock, and getting more alarmed about his hand as he was a graphic artist.

The other nurse and I talked to him and tried to keep him calm until the ambulance arrived, comparing notes on where she worked, where I did etc. When the ambulance came and carried him off, I returned to the table where my kids had, for once, listened to me and had not moved.

I wasn’t in the mood for my burger anymore and wrapped it up to toss it away. The kids were silent, and staring at me as if I were some alien who looked like their mother, but wasn’t.

They knew I was a nurse, had often been to the nursing home where I worked, but they had never seen me really being a nurse, helping someone in an emergency.


 It was only a few minutes of my time, and it was worth it, the good feeling I get for helping someone in need and for the respect I earned from the kids. I recently read the words Blueberry Hill and this memory came to me so strong I knew it had to be my ‘B’ posting.

3 comments:

Robyn Proctor Hinkle said...

Wow, what a story!

zannierose (A-Z 1304) said...

when I first read about the cyclist walking into the glass I laughed, but that soon changed to shock as I realised the glass had broken and damage had been done- amazingly cool headed response...and good to change your kids view of you too

Deborah Lean said...

So long ago, yet I remember it so well. I often wondered how that cyclist made out. I'm an artist and crafter, so I sympathized with his concern.