I saw a man fall hard, from high up.

On Monday, I walked out of recording a podcast at the ABC towards the state library in Melbourne to do some work. I was listening to my book with half attention, thinking about what story I wanted to tell at The Moth storytelling night that night. I began to cross the road where I usually do to avoid the skin-care-harassers on Swanston st, who try to lure you into their shop with free samples.

As I turned towards the opposite side of the road, a man fell hard on to the tram stop roof and then to the black pavement. The noise was one of those things that you immediately recognise on a visceral level - something you've never heard, but somehow immediately understand. A mortal human sound.

I sort of paused for a second. My first instinct was not to cross the road towards him, but to continue walking - not to let it be my problem. As if it was a choice between inviting experiences into your day - a choice between skin-care salespeople and blood on the ground.

But I had my phone in my hand, and it didn't look like anyone else did, so I kept walking towards him, and dialled 000. A few people were shouting and one woman went to move him into the recovery position. A big man shouted at her not to move him, but she said she was a nurse and that it was a choice between him choking on his own blood or moving him, so the big man started shouting at people to give the man room.

The 000 lady asked me if he was breathing, and he didn't seem to be, so I said I didn't think so, but then his chest started heaving in desperate lurches, and I said yes, he was, but not well. She asked if there was blood, and I told her that yes, there was blood under his head - very bright on the black pavement, a little pool and a halo of spatters, the pool growing but not quickly.

I feel like there's a direct link between how bright blood is and how important it is. This was an almost glowing red. I mentioned the colour. It looked like important blood.

She asked if I knew how far he had fallen - I didn't, though he'd hit the tram stop roof hard enough that I felt like it had been four or five floors at least - and how old he looked (about 35), and if there was a defibrillator nearby. I walked in to the HSBC bank to ask if they had a defibrillator. It's a strange question to ask, and it was awkward in that "I'll have to ask a manager" sort of way. They didn't, just so you know. No defibrillators in the HSBC on Swanston St.

The police arrived, and then the ambulance. I gave them my number, along with the recovery position lady and the shouting man, and then I just walked away.

I did my story at The Moth on autopilot.

Nothing appeared in the news that night.

I mean, of course lots of things happen that don't appear in the news, but it felt strange not to have it on the public record that a man fell onto the sidewalk in the CBD from high up, and that his shirt was up by his armpits and that even though he was unconscious his chest was jerking for breath like a man drowning in air. But that's hardly news. I don't know if he jumped or fell or was pushed. I hope he wasn't pushed.

I left my tea too long the next morning, moving in slow motion, and then drank too-strong tea and was sick on a tree, though that could have been the tea.

My friend said that it's not nice to think about how fragile people are when you see them like that, but actually I was struck by how strong he was - how heavy. It made me think about how we are thick meat and bone, layered and surprisingly resilient. He hit the roof so hard but he was still all in one piece, curved in but still shaped like a man. His body was still dragging in air, in the absence of his will, while he was unconscious. We're awfully solid.

He was still breathing when the ambulance arrived. I hope they could help him. They're very good at keeping people alive now.

I was impressed by how calm people were, even the circle of watchers, even the shouting man. I admire that nurse very much, and I wish I'd told her so.

I felt pretty calm, although when I tried to sleep that night my heart kept me awake. It thumped heavily in my chest and made me very aware of its own muscular movement, the blood in my body, pushing fast up the sides of my neck. I thought, when I go to sleep, my body will still breathe for me.




---



I wasn't sure if I would talk about this. I'm not sure if it's a good idea. It's in that space between being something that happened to me, while being something that didn't happen to me at all.

I've kept it locked to you guys because I'm not sure it should be a public thing, and if you are here you know me, at least a little through my work. If you think I shouldn't have spoken about it, or think I should have spoken about it in a different way let me know. I've tried to keep it just to the facts of my own experience, which I feel is probably the right way to do such a thing. I might be wrong.

Also, if he jumped on purpose there's a duty not to talk about such things irresponsibly. Media outlets are required to meet certain standards: http://www.presscouncil.org.au/document-search/standard-suicide-reporting/ and though I'm not a media, I feel like I should point to Suicide Call Back Service, SANE Australia, Lifeline, or beyondblue.