It was a little after 10:30 p.m. on a Monday night, July 12, Alana Nicolson, Nathan Dart and Mark Snider were at Derek Wilson’s Winston Boulevard home. Nicolson and Dart, who are dating, were watching a movie in one room. Snider was in his own room, reading.
Wilson’s not sure what he was doing — his memory, from a day before to three days after his collapse, is gone. But whatever it was had taken him into the hallway, where he dropped without saying a word.
Dart and Nicolson heard a thud. Snider heard a strange snorting sound, some of the last gasps Wilson would take before his breaths disappeared with his pulse.
As Snider relayed information to the 911 dispatcher, Nicolson checked Wilson’s vitals. No breaths. No pulse.
It had been a few years since she’d learned cardiopulmonary resuscitation as a lifeguard. But her actions were instinctive.
“He’s a friend who I’ve known forever,” Nicolson says. “I’m not going to wait.”
So while Snider spoke to the dispatcher, and Dart checked outside for emergency workers, ready to wave them in, Nicolson pumped Wilson’s chest.
She kept up the compressions, stopping to check on the vital signs that seemed to return, only to vanish again.
When Cambridge firefighters arrived, they took over Wilson’s care, using a defibrillator twice inside the home. Paramedics defibrillated him once again in the ambulance.
Relatives were warned he might have suffered permanent brain damage. None was found.
His parents never left his side while he was in hospital. Twelve days later, he was released. He’s recovering at his mother’s house now, regaining his strength and counting the weeks until he begins classes at York University, studying human rights.
“Mark and I don’t have CPR training,” says Dart. “Believe me, it’s a priority at this point . . . It should be right up there with being able to read, as far as I’m concerned.”






















