When Panic Strikes

Have you ever done something pretty stupid, something that was based on a state of panic? Afterwards, when everything has returned to normal, you relive the event, and in your mental reenactment, you come up with all kinds of alternative solutions to the now past problem – all those “I should haves.”

This happened to me recently on my trip to New York City. I was traveling on the New York Subway with Brian, Roy, and Roy’s mom, Marta. We were on our way from the boys’ home in Washington Heights to downtown Manhattan to see the movie “Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.” When I am with the guys, I count on them to escort me through the subway system and take me to our desired destination without my having to concentrate on where I am or where I am going. Marta, also, is familiar with New York, and she knows her way around the city as well as anyone. I always feel very secure when I am in the company of these two grown men – I know that I am in safe hands. As we headed on our way, I really didn’t know where we were going, the name of the theater, or where in Manhattan it was located.

We got off of the A train to transfer to another train that would take us close to the theater – wherever it was. As our subway approached, Brian alerted me that this was our train, and I stepped up closer to the edge of the platform, so that I could get on quickly when it stopped. Everything was normal – the train stopped, the doors opened, some people got off, and I stepped into the car first. Just as I entered, the door closed, wedging me halfway in and halfway out.

Panic! My first thought was that I was going to be squeezed to death right there in front of my son! My next thought was, which way should I go? If I tried to get inside the car, I’d be separated from the guys and Marta, and I didn’t know where I was or how I would ever find them again. My third thought was to get out of the car! In my panic to get out, I discovered that I couldn’t go in either direction, in or out. Roy was shouting for me to stay inside the car, and with a great effort, I managed to push the door a little and pulled myself free. I stood on the inside of the car looking through the window at them, feeling alone and lost. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened, and they were able to enter the car with me.

Physically, I was fine. Everyone was asking me if I was o.k. and if I was hurt. I wasn’t. Even though I had been wedged pretty securely, I wasn’t injured, and the only sign of anything happening was a long black strip that went down my shirt and down a leg of my white jeans from the door’s grimy seal, as it had closed against me.

After it was all over, and my heartbeat had returned to a normal rhythm, I realized that I had done a pretty stupid thing in trying to get out of the car. I didn’t stop to think about solutions or alternatives. All I could think about was either being smashed in the door, or being separated from my son in a subway car heading toward who knows where in a city I really know very little about. I wanted out of that car, and in my panic, I could have made things a lot worse than they really were. I thought about the cell phone in my pocket. If we had become separated, all I needed to do was get off at the next stop, call Brian and let him know where I was. I’m sure he could have found me. When all of this was happening, the cell phone never entered my mind.

Now that it is over and a couple of weeks behind me, I can laugh about it, and make fun of myself. But it was pretty scary, and I realized that when something happens that truly causes panic, all good sense flies out the window – or subway door – whatever.

I think I was lucky that day.