Depending on where you are on the planet, the New Zealand mining disaster might seem a whole other world away. For many of us, it hit headlines as soon as it happened, with regular news broadcasts keeping us informed of survival possibilities.
Sadly, that vigil ended yesterday with the loss of 29 young lives.
I can only imagine what it’s like to wait for the news of a beloved trapped beneath the earth, a victim of a mishap, a potential winner in a battle over the elements and Father Time. I can only imagine (thank God) what it’s like to be down there. I cannot imagine the desperation families must feel as they stand around, waiting. As life goes on and they wait, hoping, praying, getting frustrated, venting anger. Crying and begging for rescue teams to tunnel in, locate, unearth.
It’s times like this that I’m reminded of first aid. The cardinal rule of anyone providing assistance — whether it be a police person helping a car crash victim, a neighbour assisting with a fall from a ladder, a gym instructor dealing with an injury — is to check for dangers to SELF.
It’s the ultimate in selfishness, isn’t it? If I come across a relative lying on the floor in a room that’s had a gas leak, I have to have the wherewithal to ensure that I’m not the next casualty, that I’m still conscious enough to help him/her.
It makes perfect sense. No one wants a dead first aider/paramedic/doctor/nurse. What the cutter use would they be? Yet is sucks! In situations like the mining tragedy, where the dangers are lethal, volatile, pretty damn sure, the folk providing assistance MUST wait.
And how excruciating that is for all concerned. Yes, even the rescuers. Especially the rescuers, helpless inside their apparatus, watching the suffering of families, looking for ways around the disaster … ultimately accepting the hopelessness.
It’s like the non-swimming mother observing her children getting into trouble in an ocean rip, standing on the shore as a sudden onset of white-water pounds into young flesh, drags them under, threatens to race them out to sea with the speed of a power boat. She has to wait. For help, a floatation aid, the beach lifesavers, a maritime miracle.
But they’re drowning and she can see it. She’s never learnt how to swim, the beach is relatively quiet and if she just stills the chaos of panic driving her forward to calf-depth, knee-depth of water, maybe she can sprint up the sand for help. Somewhere. But they’re her kids and they don’t stand a chance … she has to help, she has to provide first aid …
Sometimes, life is all about the no-win.
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2 Responses to Unearthing What’s Mine
The news of the second explosion was shocking. There’s always hope, right? What do you do when that hope is extinguished and you have to give up on your loved ones? I can’t imagine their pain, the not knowing, the unimaginable loss. It’s natural for us to want to storm in and help. It takes great restraint to stand back and wait or watch helplessly. It’s a dreadful tragedy, and my heart goes out to all connected to the mine, the miners, their families, friends and community.
I think there’s always hope, hon. Not sure how hopeful I’d be in the situ, but I HOPE that I’d have it.
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