What would you do if you saw a semi-haggard woman lying in a pool of her own vomit on a New York City subway platform on a Monday afternoon? … Nothing? Stare with disgust? Shake your head in pity? Walk away in fear?
Fellow passengers were doing all of the above on my behalf during my sickest hour last week.
That morning I woke from an unusually long slumber feeling a bit nauseated, but I made myself a semi-bland breakfast and headed to work. By 11:30 the nausea hadn’t subsided, so I ran downstairs to buy some Pepto-Bismol. Another hour passed and I was only getting worse. The queasiness was building, and now I was sweating, shivering, and feverish.
I had to get home quick. I wrapped up a task, jammed on my ski cap (I was shivering with cold even though the day was unseasonably warm), and headed out the door. I tried to hail a cab, but one look at the traffic-clogged streets and I knew I didn’t stand a chance. Forget it.
Descent Into Subway Hell
I ducked into the subway with visions of my comfy bed filling my head. But about midway home, while switching from one train to another bound for Brooklyn, I knew I was in serious trouble. I had a weird slow-motion sensation. The chills ratcheted up, my ears were ringing, and I broke into a sudden sweat. It was clear I was going to throw up, so I fumbled with a plastic bag in a desperate effort to keep the floors clean.
Out it came and out I went—passed out cold on the concrete floor.
Confusion transformed into fury as my fog lifted nearly 30 minutes later. I saw dozens of strangers standing around me, but nary a do-gooder in sight. I scraped myself off the floor.
I was too weak to flex an evil eye. Dragging my shoulder bag and the plastic baggie—which I soon realized was filled with vomit and dripping—I forced my way onto the insanely packed train car.
Crying and shivering, I begged a teenage girl for her seat. She rolled her eyes. When I told her I was going to be sick, she slowly got up—but not without rolling her eyes again.
I called out to no one in particular, "Can someone please help me if I pass out again? I’m really sick." No acknowledgment. After more pain and heavy cold sweats, I slipped into unconsciousness again. Luckily I snapped back before the train reached my stop and somehow made it home.
The rest of Monday and Tuesday were spent in and mostly out of wakefulness (bad dreams took turns with achy, feverish reality). On Wednesday my energy returned, accompanied by unrelenting diarrhea. By Thursday—finally—I felt glorious.
Ascent to Humanity
It surprises me that no one was moved to help me on the subway platform that day. Coming from the famously hospitable South to New York over a decade ago, I’ve found New Yorkers—despite their tough reputation—to be among the kindest people I’ve met. The courage and pure heroism I’ve witnessed here has left me in awe.
To be fair, passersby may have thought I was a hopeless drug addict or something; sprawled out on the floor with the ski cap, vomit in my hair, makeup smeared by sweat and tears, I wasn’t a pretty sight. I myself am ashamed to admit that I’ve widened my path around iffy-looking people curled up on the ground, out of fear of catching cooties or being harmed.
I have averted my eyes when some poor soul was on the cold sidewalk calling "Excuse me, Miss," selfishly thinking that I’d be late for this or that or rationalizing simply "I can’t help everyone." I now question my own ethics. I wouldn’t ignore, say, a dog who’d been hit by a car, so why breeze past a human being in pain?
I didn’t expect (or want) anyone to hold my hair back for me or sweep me up into their arms, but someone could have shouted "Are you all right?" They could have told authorities that I was down there. Hell, they could’ve thrown things to rouse me.
One New York Transit slogan says "If you see something, say something." It is meant to apply to unattended packages or suspicious activity, but let it roll around in your head next time you see a person in apparent need. Be compassionate; find someone who can help if you can’t. It could be you looking up for a hand one day.
Comments (5)
I am sorry this happened to you. I will think twice if I see someone in trouble.
I have an x-bf who had a similar experience. He was sick and on the subway. He passed out cold. When he awoke it was with a young black teenager who was waking him, calling him Bon Jovi and helping him out while commenting on the other passengers lack of commitment to assist. He said he didn’t know what he would have done if it weren’t for that kid. This was in the late 80’s, maybe people gave a damn then? That same bf also helped out a guy who was getting mugged and ended up with a broken finger, The hospital bill was covered by a NYC program for people who help people out during crimes.
wow, Libby, this is really disheartening. NYC is the love of my life–a love/hate relationship we have. It’s funny I am away from NYC now for the first time in 11 years and I miss it a lot and reading your post made me shiver in thought of what can happen in my city… I have shouted at many starngers “are you OK?” in my 11 years in NY, and although nothing as bad has happened to me, I did have a near-faint experience in the subway and someone gave me a seat. I really want to believe this is just a bad coincident what happened to you. But I am still disappointed at my city and my people. Not that it makes me love it any less.
dang, miss libby. i’m so sorry to hear about what you endured. i often wonder what it would be like to be “helpless” in such a megalopolis like this place. as far as difference between north and south: i think southerners might react with even more indifference. hard to say. always good to be brave and step out of your comfort zone to at least ask if someone needs help. i, particularly puzzled that no one alerted the station manager if you were out that long! i’m glad you’re back from your descent!
Gosh, I am SO sorry this happened to you. I don’t think that’d happen here (SF), but you never know! I have had people ask me if I’m OK because I used to get very blue & short of breath.
Now that I’ve had a lung transplant & always wear a mask on the subway, people sometimes stare at me w/ disgust & roll their eyes, as if I were just paranoid about Bird Flu or something similar.
I usually try to ask people if they’re OK, but I’m also very worried about bacteria & viruses, so I wash my hands & put my mask on first. I just don’t understand people’s selfishness & lack of compassion.
The only reason I found your article, because I am trying to research, The reason why I pass out when I am sick. I am not quite sure that I would have helped you, because I get nauseated at the smell of puke and not that I wouldnt have wanted to help you, but I just couldnt stomach it.
I have been passing out since I was 4 years old. I pass out only when I start to feel sick, or if I am in a lot of pain. I passed out in 3rd grade because I slammed my finger in the door of the classroom. Luckily before I hit my head, a friend of mine jumped out of her seat and caught me before I hit the floor.
I told my teacher in 8th grade that I was going to pass out, and he let me sit at his desk, as I entered the room and when I woke up, I was on the floor with the whole class around me asking me if I was ok, then they advised me that I fell out of the chair and clunked my head on the floor. I had a huge knot on my head.
The other day, I woke up and had strange stomach cramps, I was thirsty, went into the kitchen to get something to drink and I had to run back to my room and laydown, because I again felt like I was going to pass out.
The good thing about all of this, is that at least I have a brief warning before I pass out, which is usually a very strange feeling in my throat. But that brief time period, could be 1 minute or 15 minutes or I might not pass out at all.
I’ve only been conscious 1 time in my whole life when I was throwing up and I think the only thing that saved me that time was that my mom was there saying Dina-dont pass out, over and over again. IT seems as if, if nobody is talking to me, then I just space out from feeling so miserable and I pass out.
I have told doctors of my situation, but I have never gotten any answers. I found out about 4 years ago, my uncle has the same thing happen to him.
I currently know of no-one else that this happens too and I wonder if it is like only 1 in 1 billion people or what the statistics are on it and if it has a name?