Anybody know what an Ethernet cable is? Me neither, but my computer wants one, which it’s never wanted before. All I know is that I can’t get on the Internet and don’t know why but the nurse has gone to ask somebody else, as he’s an Apple man and doesn’t know either.
Meanwhile, I’d like to give big thanks to Kevin Cain (or maybe Cane, Kane or Bain—we didn’t exactly exchange business cards under the circumstances).
My power chair was sitting here beside my bed plugged into the charger, so I unplugged it, hopped in—well, okay, I sort of crawled/lurched in, and went downstairs to the cafeteria where I got a pulled pork sandwich, then went outside. I did not go far, which is to say I got as far as the on-street book sale and then stopped and stayed. Then I did a little here-ing and there-ing, then ended up at the CVS drugstore.
Now here’s the thing about my wheelchair: it has five settings for speed—I use 5 as my outdoor speed and 3 as my indoor speed. It also has nine lights—three green, which indicates full power; four orange, which means you’re losing it, and two or three red, which means “I hope you wore shoes.” The book says I can go twenty miles; experience says five miles, but yesterday, after going more like five blocks, I suddenly see that my green lights are all out.
Okay, so I turn the speed down to 1 and head directly back to the hospital but within about a block all the orange lights are out. This has never before happened in my history of wheeling. Always before, if I’ve turned down to 1 then I’ve been good for at least eight more (very slow) blocks. So now picture this: it is the dark of night and I am on Crouse Avenue, in the street, on S.U.’s Alumni Weekend, in front of the Varsity restaurant. It is immediately following the Clemson football game and about a thousand people—mostly men—are on Crouse/Marshal Street, all in an indeterminate state of sobriety.
And I’m in the street in the dark, sick, scared, calling out for help and not being heard. I sat thusly for what seemed like an eternity, then pulled out my cell phone and called 911. But before 911 arrived, Kevin Cain (Cane, Kane or Bain) walked up and asked me if I needed help. I gulped “yes” and in an instant he was on the job. He said he’d been in the Varsity waiting in line for pizza for about twenty minutes when he realized that I wasn’t moving and came out to see if I needed help.
Kevin sort of walked around my chair, found the switch to convert it to free-wheeling, and pushed me and my 250-lb. chair back to Crouse. This meant going uphill, which was a struggle, and downhill, which scared me for fear the chair would get away from him. All the while, he kept calmly assuring me that he was okay, that we were okay, and that I was okay. Indeed, in Kevin’s hands, I was okay.
Kevin said that he grew up in Syracuse but is now attending the University of Buffalo, and—guess what?—his mom Cindy was a floating RN at Crouse for 27 years and now is in Testing.
I don’t know if Kevin is one in a million but Saturday night I discovered that he literally is one in a thousand. I wanted everybody, especially his mom Cindy Cain (Cane, Kane or Bain), to know that Kevin is special: he helps others.