A girl about my age got hit by a bus today. Right by the station. I was coming out of the Hoog Catherijne (I’d been to the Albert Heijn to buy the aforementioned toilet paper) and I waited for the bus in the intersection to move so I could cross the street. But it didn’t move, and finally I saw a transportation guy come hurrying toward the bus and jump inside and shut it off. So I assumed the bus was broken down, and I followed the stream of people going around the front of it. Once on the other side, I got the real story. There was a crushed bicycle under the front wheel, and a blond girl around my age in black pants was lying facedown in the street next to it. There was blood, but I didn’t stop to gawk and see where it was coming from – just crossed the street. Then I parked my bike and turned back toward the bus. I could see what had happened – she’d crossed against the red light (or maybe her brakes went out like mine), realized she wasn’t going to make it, swerved left to avoid the bus, but not far enough. Her one stroke of luck was that she was thrown off the bike – the bus wheel was sitting on top of her bike, but had just missed her, thank goodness.

My automatic reaction was to go over there and help – I had pulled my gloves off without realizing it, although I still don’t know why. There were no medical personnel there yet, just a few young guys, and if it were America, I wouldn’t have thought twice. The same unconscious impulse that made me pull my gloves off would have also carried me right over across the street to the girl. But then I stopped and thought about the language thing. I didn’t want to get in over my head with something this important. I was no better than any of the other rubberneckers then, just standing there undecided. It seemed like forever, but it must have only been about half a minute before I talked some sense into myself – all I had to do was go over there and ask the guys if I could do anything. I’m no doctor or nurse, but I know a lot about medical things and I did work in a hospital for four years. I could do *something*.

But just as I’d made up my mind, I saw two guys on either side of the girl hoisting her to her feet. She was crying and her face was all dirty and skinned up, and then I saw where the blood was coming from – her mouth. They helped her inside the bus, and THEN the police finally arrived and came running over. For crying out loud, there’s a station less than a block away, and the cops are always hanging around that intersection trying to stop people from running red lights. But when you really need one, you can’t find them. Sigh. Anyway, then the crowd started drifting away, leaving the crushed bike and the puddle of blood. I still had that ‘sense of duty’, and my adrenaline was still racing, but there was nothing I could do anymore. I definitely need to investigate that paramedic class when I get back to Florida – as sorry as I am that things like that happen, the fact is, they do, and it gives me a rush to be able to help. That’s why I like being a lifeguard, reading medical books (or, as Mom calls them, ‘death-and-dying books’), watching ER… Anyway, so the girl is okay as far as I know, and that’s what counts. I tried to look the accident up on the Net, but couldn’t find it.

Other news: picked up my residence permit so now I’m legally a resident until 15 July. Oh, and I need to look up a topic for my linguistics paper. Aaaannnnnd… I get my Boswell results tomorrow. Wish me luck!