A few days ago, I got a call from Sutter that a friend of mine was in the emergency room, and would I come and sit with her? She had fractured her knee as a result of a fall.

I drove to the emergency department and waited with her for five hours or so, and then they sent her home.

The man who got her from the wheelchair to my truck was large and way younger than me. I said “How do I get her inside when we get there.” He said, “If you have trouble, call 911.”

Now, my friend and I are both about 70 years old, so, getting her out of my truck seemed insurmountable.

So, I called 911, and two burly fellows came out, got her in the wheelchair the hospital provided, and carried the wheelchair, with her in it, up the steps. Then, reality set in.

My mind must have been dulled by the wait, because suddenly, I had a lot of questions: My friend can’t cook, can’t move, can’t do bodily functions and, can’t even feed her dogs. And, an osteopath could not even see her until the following Wednesday. So, I called the hospital and the operator put me through to a man who evidently was functioning as administrator.

I explained her plight. The man said, “You can call 911, bring her back here, and we will send her to a convalescent home.”

But, my friend did not want to go to a home. So, I stayed with her and the next day a caretaker who lives in her park came to help. Several neighbors stopped by, and Ray and Silvia, neighbors, brought us dinner.

I slept over again. More precisely, I slept until I was awakened by a thud. She had fallen out of bed! I called 911 again, and one of the two men that had come out earlier returned, this time with a woman partner.

My friend was confused and vacillated as to whether she wanted to go to the hospital or just get helped back into bed. She decided to stay, and the emergency duo got her up and into the wheelchair.

As they put her in, the woman partner, who must have got some of her skin caught between my friend’s arm and the arm of the wheelchair, yelled, “You’re pinching me.” My friend apologized.

Then, the duo asked my friend to stand up. “You can do it. You can put weight on the injured leg, come on.” But, she could not, and the duo got upset. The guy said, “That’s it, we are putting her on the gurney and taking her to the hospital.”

Evidently the duo perceived my friend as recalcitrant. I told the duo about the convalescent hospital plan. The guy said, “That is not what they are for! We have 55 years of experience between us and that is not what you should do, and you should not argue with us.”

I said, “I am not arguing, I am asking for direction. Here you see two people, each about 70 years old. We are incapable of moving her. We can’t do this, and so, I am asking you, with your 55 years of experience, in similar situations, what do people do?”

“What do people do,” he echoed, “They help themselves.”

I don’t know whether he was taken with the alliteration, wanted to create emphasis, or just was enamored with the notion expressed, but, he repeated, “They help themselves.”

On the way to the ambulance my friend uttered her concerns, much of which seemed relevant, and the duo began to argue with her.

I said, “She is in a drug-induced stupor, perhaps you should not listen.”

The guy said, “No, we listen to everything.” So, the duo set their respective jaws, groused and did their job.

Today, the sun shone on our magnificent county and my friend’s fortunes. The wonderfully kind Dr. Diaz at Sutter listened and heard my friend, and arranged for her to see a specialist in Santa Rosa this very day, and secured transportation.

I am going to remember this episode for a long time, I think, and the wisdom of the guy: “What do people do? They help themselves.”

Nelson Strasser lives in Lakeport, Calif.