Trauma On The Trail

The last thing Emergency Dispatcher III Jenessa Thornton expected to be thinking about on her morning 5K run through the red rock of Southern Utah was a recent course she took at NAVIGATOR in Washington, D.C., two weeks prior. 

Not considering herself much of a runner, Thornton had been giving mental props to an older gentleman, Fred Bernhardt, who had just passed her on the steep part of the Virgin River Trail (Washington city, Utah, USA) when she saw him collapse on his face, remaining motionless.
 

“My body started reacting while my mind was still doubting whether it was real,” she said. Before reaching the man, Thornton had already dialed 911. 

“We joke about how people in this field make the worst callers,” Thornton said. “And I am just another case for that.” 

Thornton’s co-worker at the St. George Communications Center, Emergency Dispatcher Jenn Mecham, answered, but Thornton cut her off, saying, “It’s Jenessa, do you have my coordinates? A guy passed out.” Seconds later, Thornton abandoned the open line to direct another runner to help her get the man on his back.

With her 15 years as an EMD, Thornton’s training took over. Though the man’s eyes were open, he wasn’t responding, blood seeping from the gravel-filled gash on his head. He managed a moaning agonal breath, which she immediately recognized as a textbook case for CPR. 

“I think maybe I was rude,” Thornton said, “but I started bossing the other man around and passing the phone so I could start compressions.” 

Thornton had just reframed her knowledge of CPR from NAVIGATOR instructor Matthew Scott Lewis: “You don’t stop CPR until help arrives or the patient pushes you off!” 

Lewis’ words echoed as Thornton visualized her compressions providing suction and pulling blood to the man’s heart. The intensity of providing Hands-on-Chest was so different from the usual calm Thornton can direct at her console. 

“I realized how crucial it is to have that voice on the other line, providing pacing for compressions, focusing the caller’s efforts, and providing reminders to go two inches deep,” Thornton said. 

After several minutes of compressions, she found herself both emotional and exhausted. “I had just run two miles, I was in the middle of nowhere, and I had this guy staring upward with nothing coming from him,” Thornton said. 

Eventually, she asked the other runner to take over compressions to keep the force consistent and effective, feeling comfort in her usual role of directing.

At one point, Bernhardt moved, so they stopped pumping, but the hesitation was obviously detrimental. “You could see the life being drained out of him faster,” Thornton said. “We had to keep going!”

Bernhardt eventually woke, saying, “Okay, okay … I’m fine.” In surreal relief, Thornton kept her hand on his heart, feeling it beat again. Bernhardt thought he’d just had a dizzy spell and was unaware he’d been receiving CPR for the last 5–7 minutes. He could recall where he was, what he’d eaten for breakfast, and he spoke about his wife. 

After seeing Bernhardt climb aboard an ATV with medical personnel, Thornton could finally reflect on the event. “My training just came into play in real life, and it worked,” she said. “Still today, I am in such disbelief.”

Thornton’s experience confirms she’d rather be behind the headset, but she’s grateful she was able to help Bernhardt, a new best friend. 

Bernhardt was monitored overnight in the hospital but recovered well. He later invited Thornton and her husband to dinner to express appreciation for his “Guardian CPR Angel.” 

For Thornton, her rewarding relief is the same thing she feels when comforting callers in their worst moments. “I get to be there for others in a time when no one else can be,” she said.