On Friday night we hosted a group of rowers from the club I have joined. It was in celebration of the end of the year and a board member briefing. Business meets fun and a chance to meet a few more residents from this tiny island.  There was probably about 17 guests milling about, filling glasses of wine and nibbling on a pot-luck buffet of finger foods.  I was standing sentry, as I do, near the sink, handing out towels, finding more corkscrews, cramming avocado toasts into my mouth – you know, hosting.  My husband came running into the kitchen screaming “call and ambulance!” and then ran back out.

My heart dropped, was it one of the kids. had someone fallen off the stairs. My husband had looked ash like in that brief moment and I couldn’t imagine what on earth had happened.

I grabbed my phone off another counter and I, and many party goers bolted towards the living room.

It was one of us. Well, it was one of them. it was a rower, an older man, a local doctor and he appeared to be having a stroke, or a heart attack, we weren’t sure. He was vacant in his stare and slumped over on the couch next to my daughter (who thought he was taking a nap). he was not napping. He began to sweat, and drool, and did other things I won’t share. Several hovered around him, including my husband, tending to him, lifting his legs, trying to figure out if he needed CPR or simply a glass of water. What was happening?

I stood on the porch getting updates while staying connected to the 911 dispatcher. Another man (I don’t even know who he was) volunteered to stand at the road and wave to first responders. The lights flashed and swirled and the sirens blew from  down the country road.  I came in to find our patient coming back awake, unbelievably and trying to talk.

“Have you see The Great British Baking Show,” he murmured to me, sweat pouring off him and his body weak. I was taken aback. Was he really talking baking to me? He had obviously taken in my history gazing at awards and pictures on my wall, before his incident occurred, and he was now changing the feeling in the room – as a doctor does – to distract from the issue at hand. The scary part.

Everyone around us looked at me. They were shocked and confused too.  I had to respond.

“Isn’t it the best PBS show since Downton Abbey?” I cheerfully responded, and then he, a mess and I an equal mess, described this epiphany of  a baking show to the other guests while paramedics streamed into the room and absorbed the space.

I was shaken. I still am. In the end this man had a cardiac related syncopated episode (???). He passed out, kind of. He passed out because his heart and lungs stopped operating – so it was a little more serious.  Everything stopped working actually. His whole system shut down and then rebooted, right there on our couch.

He was quickly whisked away with loved ones who had been summoned, and the paramedics cleaned up behind themselves, and we set to cleaning up farther…and I haven’t really heard much since, except that he’s home and resting.

The funny thing is, I don’t know this man’s name.  I have since learned his first name of course(“Burt” we’ll call him), I had to while all the fuss was happening, but I couldn’t tell you his last. I know he’s a doctor, but I’m not quite sure where or in what specialty. I don’t know a lot about him except that he clearly has a serious underlying cardiac issue, AND, he’s a big fan of British baking shows.

It’s eerie, isn’t it? Eerie to have someone travel through your home, through your space and to only really know very little about them.  We never know what will happen one moment to the next and wouldn’t it be nice to see a familiar face in your last moment (god forbid…)?

I’m not sure where I’m going with this, only to say that this is one more confirmation that we can’t waste time with getting to know people, with seeking out friendships. It’s best I think, to throw ourselves at the world, so that we know someone if we fall down.