Two years after I saved a woman’s life at 35,000 feet, I was at rock bottom, struggling to make ends meet and reliving the loss of my mother. On Christmas Eve, there was a knock on my door bringing an unexpected gift and a chance to start a new life from a stranger I thought I would never see again.
In my years as a flight attendant, I’ve seen every passenger imaginable: nervous first-timers, seasoned business travellers and excited holidaymakers.
But one passenger I’ll never forget. Not because of her designer clothes or business class ticket, but because of what happened that day at 35,000 feet. Two years later, she changed my life in ways I could never have imagined.
Let me first paint a picture of my life. My basement flat was exactly what you would expect for $600 a month in the city. Water stains adorned the ceiling like abstract art, and the radiator banged at night like someone was hitting it with a spanner.
But it was all I could afford now, at 26, after everything that had happened. The kitchen counter served as my desk, workstation, and dining table. A small twin bed stood in one corner, its metal frame visible in places where the sheets had peeled off.
The walls were thin enough that I could hear every footstep from the flat upstairs, each one a reminder of how far I had fallen from my former life.
I stared at the stack of unpaid bills on my folding table, each one a reminder of how quickly life can spiral. The collection agencies started calling again. Three times that day alone.
I picked up my phone, hovering my thumb over my mum’s number out of habit before I remembered. Six months. It had been six months since I’d had no one to call.
On the neighbour’s TV across the wall, there was some cheery holiday movie on about family reunions and Christmas miracles. I turned on the radio to drown it out, but the Christmas songs were like salt on an open wound.
‘Just keep breathing, Evie,’ I whispered to myself – Mum’s favourite advice when things got tough. ‘One day at a time.’
The irony never left me. BREATHING. That’s what started the whole story on that fateful flight.
‘Miss, please! Somebody help her!’ A loud shout carried down the aisle.
Memories of that flight two years ago were still crystal clear. I was doing a routine check in business class when I heard panic in a man’s voice. Three rows ahead, an elderly woman was clutching her throat, her face an alarming shade of red.
‘She’s choking!’ shouted another passenger, half rising from his seat.
My preparation worked instantly. I rushed to her, taking a seat behind her seat. The other flight attendant, Jenny, was already radioing to the medics on board.
‘Ma’am, I’m here to help. Can you even breathe?’ I asked the woman.
She shook her head frantically, her eyes widening with fear. Her perfectly manicured nails dug into the armrest, her knuckles white with tension.
‘I’m going to help you breathe again. Try to stay calm.’
I straddled her torso, found the spot just above her navel, and pushed upward with all my might. Nothing. And then nothing again. Nothing. The third time, I heard a faint sigh.
A piece of chicken flew across the aisle and landed on the man’s newspaper. The woman folded herself in two, taking deep, ragged breaths. It seemed the whole cabin exhaled all together.
‘Easy,’ I soothed, stroking her back. ‘Just breathe slowly. Jenny, could you get some water?’
The woman’s hands trembled as she smoothed her silk blouse. When she finally looked up at me, her eyes were watery but warm. She took my hand and squeezed it tightly.
‘Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll never forget this. I’m Mrs Peterson, and you just saved my life.’
I smiled, already going to get her some water. ‘Just doing my job, Mrs Peterson. Try drinking in small sips.’
‘No, dear,’ she insisted, holding onto my wrist. ‘Some things are more than just work. I was so scared and you were so calm. What can I do to repay you?’
‘The best payback is to see you breathing normally again. Please drink some water and rest. I will examine you again soon.’
If I had known then how right she was about how some things are more than just work, maybe I wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to get back to my responsibilities so quickly.
Life has a way of making you forget the good moments when the bad ones are bearing down on you. After my mum was diagnosed, everything else became background noise. I gave up my job as a flight attendant to care for her.
We sold everything – my car, Grandad’s house in the suburbs, even Mum’s art collection. She was pretty famous in the local galleries, and her paintings were worth a decent amount.
‘You don’t have to do this, Evie,’ Mum protested when I brought her the leaving letter for her to read. ‘I’ll manage.’
‘How did you cope when I was sick with pneumonia in third grade? Or when I broke my arm in high school?’ I kissed her forehead. ‘Let me take care of you for once.’