LITTLE ROCK — At first there is a strange rhythmic noise, bump . . . bump . . . bump . . . . It’s a lot like the sound a small rock might make when lodged between the treads of a rear tire.
The staccato beat grows more pronounced, even more insistent, until a flashing red light comes into view from out of the darkness above Interstate 40. It hovers for more than a minute above too many blue lights to count, then begins its descent into the flashing cluster of police cars.
All those sparkling blue and red lights . . . they bring to mind a fall carnival. But this scene is anything but festive. Somebody’s been hurt. Badly.
A small car has been mangled beyond recognition. Whoever was inside is finally getting help from knowledgeable, caring hands after what must have seemed an eternity. Ten anxious minutes pass. The myriad lights on the ground continue to flash.
Finally the familiar, now assuring throbbing sound returns as the Life-Flight ’copter rises like a giant, brightly painted metal dragonfly, then heads away, gaining speed as it chugs toward Little Rock. In a matter of moments, it is gone, absorbed into the dark night, carrying its irreplaceable cargo-a struggling human life.
One woman in the line of waiting cars and trucks has her head on the steering wheel of her car, and is moving her lips. The driver’s window is up, but it’s clear enough what she’s doing: praying. Probably for the injured patient who’s been carried off in the night. To sanctuary, to help, to healing.
What did we do before we had these flashing, flying angels? These godsends that drop from the air, with their professionals who load the injured into the aircraft and speed off toward a hospital, arriving in a matter of minutes-rather than the hours it might once have taken to get them the best care.
Yes, let’s pray the patient will be all right. And while we’re uttering our praises, thank these angels who come to earth when and where they are most needed, and do their blessed thing.
Editorial, Pages 14 on 06/23/2010