Two cops and two kids grasped the stretcher’s corners. They counted to three, then lifted me and trudged across a snowfield toward the helicopter.
Over three decades ago, I’d been leading a church’s youth backpack in the Sierra Nevada. On the last day of the trip, I tumbled down a snow-covered slope and broke a leg. A California Highway Patrol copter was sent to pull me off the mountain. As the blades thrashed, as the cops (the pilot and co-pilot) prepared to aim the stretcher into the rear compartment, a youth leaned over me and said . . .
“They’re gonna give you morphine when you get to the hospital.”
I’m sure I grimaced. I’m sure the racket from the churning blades meant we all shouted. I’m sure I felt worse than awful. But I recall replying, “No way! People aren’t given morphine anymore.” Read More →by