Cops Rush to a Caller's Home and Find an Old Woman with a Broken Arm Who Hadn't Eaten for Days — Story of the Day

An elderly woman reached out to our precinct with a request that was anything but ordinary. My partner and I, two officers ready to help out, jumped into action to assist her.

The day that call came in at the station, no one guessed it would be anything out of the ordinary. Calls like these were usually urgent, reporting crimes or emergencies, but this one was different—ordinary, yet somehow more complex.

"Hello," came a voice, shaky with distress, through the line. "I need help. I've been stuck at home, unable to leave, and I haven't had anything to eat for the past three days..."

The dispatcher, alarmed, quickly gathered the caller's details and dispatched a unit to the address provided. Fate had it that my partner, Steve Jones, and I were the closest to the given location.

We were briefed that it was a wellness check on a woman who claimed she couldn't leave her home and was starving. Within minutes, Steve and I arrived at the address, which turned out to be a beautifully maintained house in a well-off neighborhood—hardly the place you'd associate with a distress call about starvation.

We approached the house and rang the doorbell. After what felt like an eternity, we heard slow steps approaching, and the door opened to reveal a frail old woman, gripping the door for support, visibly shaking.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," I started, trying to keep my voice as soft and reassuring as possible. "We received a call for help from someone named Mrs. Ross. Would that be you?"

"Yes," she whispered back, a tremble in her voice. "Call me Hilda. Please, come in."

We followed her into the house, noting her makeshift sling and roughly bandaged left arm. Once seated in the lounge, Steve asked, "Mrs. Ross, are you hurt?"

Her cheeks tinged with embarrassment, but Mrs. Ross nodded. "I fell off the ladder while trimming the bougainvillea on the back porch... I was alone."

"And you haven't seen a doctor?" I inquired, concerned.

"Oh no, it's just a sprain, but it hurts so much I've barely been able to walk, and I ran out of food two days ago," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You've had nothing to eat for two days?" I couldn't hide my shock. "What about your neighbors?"

"I'm new here, and I haven't really met anyone. I couldn't make it to the store because of the pain... I didn't want to trouble my son with this; he's just started a new job," she said, looking down.

So, the old woman had chosen to endure her pain and hunger alone, not wanting to burden her son.

"Mrs. Ross," Steve said decisively, "we're going to call an ambulance for you."

But at the mention of an ambulance, she burst into tears. "No, please! I've been terrified of ambulances ever since my husband died in one. Please don't make me go in one!"

Steve and I exchanged a look. "Okay, ma'am, it's not standard procedure, but we could drive you to the hospital ourselves if that would be better for you?" I asked.

"But all I really needed was some groceries," Mrs. Ross insisted, adding some hope in her tone. "I have the money for it..."

"Let's first ensure you're okay," Steve suggested, his tone both serious and kind. "After a quick check-up, we promise to help you with your groceries, okay?"

Reluctantly, Mrs. Ross agreed, and we helped her into the car, taking care to make her as comfortable as possible. Soon, we were at the local hospital, explaining her situation to the staff.

Despite Mrs. Ross' protests that it was just a sprain, the concerned doctor ordered an X-ray. She tried to refuse, but the doctor wasn't taking any chances, stressing the importance of seeing the test results before anything else.

The doctor's intuition was spot on. Mrs. Ross had not just a severe fracture in her arm but also her shoulder, necessitating emergency surgery. Steve and I watched as they wheeled her away and returned to our shift.

But we both came back hours later when our day ended. We learned the surgery had been successful, and Mrs. Ross was resting.

"Has she been able to eat?" Steve inquired, concerned.

The doctor explained that due to the anesthesia, she hadn't eaten yet but was being sustained through an IV. As soon as she was awake and able, she would be given something to eat.

We reached out to Mrs. Ross' son, informing him of the situation. Despite his panic and the distance that separated us—he was in Alaska, days from the nearest airport—we reassured him of his mother's condition.

Upon waking, Mrs. Ross found us by her side. "You're still here?" she whispered, smiling slightly.

"We promised to be here, and we'll stay until your son can get here. He's quite worried about you," I reassured her.

"He's going to give me an earful!" she groaned.

"Well," Steve chuckled, "we'll protect you! Now, the nurse said you can have a little soup if you feel like it."

Over the next few days, Steve and I became regulars in the ward, visiting Mrs. Ross every evening, bringing her treats and flowers, and watching her regain her strength. By the time her son arrived, she was well enough to go home.

Her son, David, cried when he saw her. "I don't think I can forgive myself for leaving you all alone," he lamented.

But Mrs. Ross corrected him, "I wasn't alone, David. Steve and Garret visited me twice every day. They've become dear friends."

"Thank you for saving my mother's life and for your unwavering support," David said, shaking our hands tightly.

We brushed off his thanks as part of our duties, emphasizing our commitment to serve and protect, and maybe, a little bit, our understanding of how stubborn mothers can be. We wanted to ensure Mrs. Ross stayed out of trouble.

After her recovery, Mrs. Ross quickly regained her independence, but the friendship we formed with her and her son remained.

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