I knew the kid was going to die, and I was okay with that. I wasn't prepared for him to live. All of my coping stratagies left the room when he opened his eyes, and mine became a blur.
The story is at EMS World.
“Rescue 1, Respond to 1835 Broad Street for an intoxicated male at the payphone.”
Duty calls. Duty waits. I refastened my belt loosely and hit the pole.
“Rescue 1, responding.”
We rolled out of the station and into the city. Some folks would have taken care of business first; others may have gone out of service until the job was done. Not me. Nope, a call for help needs to be answered. I cleared my mind and focused on the emergency. Not my emergency. That would have to wait.
It wasn’t long before the cause of my discomfort was on my stretcher and I sat behind him, squirming. Now and then my pressure relief valve opened, biding me time and some unintended revenge as the intoxicated homeless man wrinkled his bulbous nose and slurred, “What stinks?”
As we rolled our patient through the ER doors I realized I had reached the crossroads. A pivotal decision waited. The staff rest room was occupied, the public one simply out of the question.
“We have to get back to the station,” I said to my partner, Mark. “I’ve got to go.”
A good partner knows instinctively when things are critical.
“Let’s roll.”
It’s a three mile trip from the Emergency Room to the Fire Station. ETA six minutes. I could probably make it. Everything was going great, light traffic, perfect weather conditions, no road construction in sight. I could see the Promised Land in the distance, a little more than a minute away. I relaxed, briefly.
“A train!” said Mark, hitting the brakes as my intestines churned.
“You have got to be kidding.”
“It’s the Harbor Chemical Train, slowest moving locomotive on the Eastern Seaboard!”
“Oh. My. God.”
I was now diaphoretic and rapidly cramping. Respirations increased as my heart raced. The railway gates closed, blocking our approach. Lights flashed, the shuffling monster crept toward the intersection. Just when I thought all was lost, a slight reprieve. Mark rolled the window down. ]
“Turn around, we’ll backtrack to the one way, circle around the bookstore, go back up the one way down and double back over the railroad tracks.”
“Done.”
He flicked on the warning lights and turned around. We approached the one-way, ready to make our move when a Battalion Chief appeared in the distance, heading our way.
“BOGEY AT 12 O’CLOCK!” said Mark, turning off the emergency lights. I curled my toes, smiled and waved politely to the chief as we passed his vehicle. We were now headed in the exact opposite direction of the Promised Land. Suddenly, inspiration.
“Stop at the Burger Place!”
“You must be desperate.”
“I am.” I flashed back to my last visit to this particular facility; an overdose in one of the stalls. Hygiene was not a priority. Thirty seconds later the pain in my abdomen subsided.
“I think I can make it, keep going.”
“Are you sure?”
“I can do this. I can.”
We left the burger joint in the dust. The station was around the next bend, salvation moments away. I saw it in the distance, a beacon, a ray of light, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. We roared onto the ramp, I rolled under the slowly opening overhead door and duck walked to the rest room, just in the nick of time. The radio came to life.
“Rescue 1, are you available?” I smiled and keyed the mike.
“Roger that, what have you got?”
The rationale behind this post is based on my belief that Emergency Medical Services are provided by the government and paid for by tax dollars. I am well aware that my belief is outdated and no longer relevant, and EMS is now a business, but that does not mean I have to like it!
May 19, 2013
From POTUS
"NOW, THEREFORE, I, BARACK OBAMA, President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and the laws of the United States, do hereby proclaim May 19 through May 25, 2013, as Emergency Medical Services Week. I encourage all Americans to observe this occasion by sharing their support with their local EMS providers and taking steps to improve their personal safety and preparedness."
hmm, says cynical me
May 20, 2013
From RCOPFD
"Now, therefore, I Michael Morse, Rescue Captain of the Providence, RI Fire Department, by virtue of the authority vested in me by, well- me, do hereby proclaim May 19 through May 25, 2013 as Emergency Medical Services Week. I encourage all Americans to observe this occasion by asking themselves if they want to continue having competent, trained medical help available and mobile and ready to respond to their emergencies. If so, please share your support with your local EMS providers by asking for emergency help only if there is actually an emergency happening. If not, allow the nation's EMT's and Paramedics to continue their march toward visiting nurse status."
And its not just the citizenry destroying our emergency medical response capabilities. A strong push from EMS Royalty to water down EMS into Mobile Community Health providers is underway. I have nothing against Mobile Community Health providers at all, but we have doctors and nurses for that.
EMS is transforming right before my eyes. What was an emergency response system for medical emergencies and trauma is becoming a big part of the economic machine. We are churning out EMT's and Paramedics quicker than we can provide jobs.
What to do?
-Keep the money train rolling by "transforming" EMS.
-Find ways to stay relevant.
-Create opportunity.
-Provide jobs
I'm not buying it. We are what we are, and that is emergency responders. I want nothing to do with blood pressure clinics, elderly screening or visits to the neighborhood day care.
Overheard in the back of Rescue 1, during a clean-up.
"Piss isn't too bad."
"Puke is the worst."
"Nah, shit's worse than puke, any day."
"Blood is easy, it doesn't stink."
"That's why piss isn't bad, easy clean-up."
"Old piss is pretty bad."
"New shit is worse than old shit."
"It's still runny."
"Speaking of runny, snot's pretty bad."
"Yeah but you hardly ever wear it. "
"Yeah, puke wins that one."
"But shit's still the worst."
"Yup. Piss is my favorite. Definitely."
"I guess."
Overheard in the front of Rescue 1. Very late at night.
"I wonder why we never get sick."
"Because we already are sick. There's only so much sickness to go around."
"Yeah, but we're surrounded with sick people all the time. We touch them, breathe their air and all that, you would think we would get sick more often."
"You think too much."
"And why do we carry people with back pain down three flights of stairs when our backs are worse that theirs?"
"Because we can."
"So can they."
"The difference is, they know WE can."
"But we know THEY can."
"You think too much."
"I guess."
Overheard in the cab of Rescue 1 enroute to "man down."
We're Cavemen, you know.
(from officer's seat, fiddling with the radio) How so?
The station is like our cave. It's dark, dreary and ugly.
A man-cave.
Right. Instead of wall paintings we have a big screen TV. Every now and then an emergency happens, we pile on our skins and forage into the wilderness to protect the women.
Some of us are women.
Right, there have always been strong women.
Right. Remember Raquel Welch from 1,000,000 years BC?
Who?
(looks incredulously over at his man-boy driver) Never mind.
Anyway, when we get hungry we leave the cave to hunt for meat.
The supermarket isn't exactly hunting.
It is when you're looking for a deal.
I guess.
Then, we gather around the fire and eat.
You do look like a bunch of Neanderthals at the table.
Exactly. Cavemen.
Right. (Mike keys the mike as Ryan stops the rescue in front of the "emergency.") Rescue 1 on scene.
The cavemen load up their weapons and forage into the wilderness, looking for their victim.
Overheard on the Street:
Police officer: "Hey, were you guys there that day when that girl flashed us?"
Firefighter 1: "Which girl?"
Firefighter2: "What day?"
Firefighter 3: "There have been so many, we forget."
The police officer walks back to his cruiser, shaking his head.
Police Officer: "I think I took the wrong test."
Overheard in the Cab of Rescue 1 after clearing Hasbro Children's Hospital:
"She was hot."
"She's fifteen you pervert."
"Not her you idiot, her mother."
"Her mother is old enough to be your daughter."
"That means I'm old enough to be her mothers father."
"Right."
"She's still hot."
"And you're still old."
"Right."
"Rescue 1 in service."
Overheard in Rescue 1 after a visit to the Coffee Exchange where the crew was completely ignored by the college girls behind the counter.
Lt: "I don't get it. They don't give us the time of day. It wouldn't kill them to be nice to us. Jeez, girls aren't like they used to be. Why can't they even crack a smile?"
Ryan: "Because I'm fat and you're fifty."
Lt: "Oh, that. carry on then."
Overheard at the ER
The ER was a madhouse, drunken street people, drunken college kids, drunken housewifes, drunken fools. Minor injuries, a few legitamite trauma's, some sick old folks and a bunch of people vomiting. The wait was hours. In the middle of it all was a twenty something year old inmate from the ACI and two correctional officers. The prisoner had a minor injury to his throat from an altercation and had been waiting for a long time. As I walked past them I overheard the inmate ask his guards, "can I go back to my cell? Anywhere is better than here."
I ran into a guy I know while picking up some Thai take-out.
"How you doin?" he asked.
"Okay," I answered.
"Still a fireman?"
"Almost done," I said.
"Must be nice," said one of the six people at his table. I didn't say a word.
"Wish I could retire," said another.
"What are you, forty-five?" asked a third.
Just what I needed, a bunch of middle-aged people, business owners, office workers, construction people- whatever – in my grill. In my head a litany of responses were born, and quickly died.
"I wish I had worked in a nice air conditioned office for twenty-two years."
"Must have been nice having holidays with your family."
"Ever have a ceiling fall on your head. One that's on fire?"
"Ever been stabbed by a dirty needle?"
"Ever been shot at?"
"Ever held a dead baby?"
"Ever…" blah blah blah, it wasn't worth the effort.
Truth be told, if I could do it all over, I wouldn't change a thing.
I paid the bill and left, for some strange reason feeling lighter than I did when I entered the place.
He’s screaming, she’s screaming, everybody is screaming, blood here, blood there, blood everywhere, nobody put the dogs out, they’re screaming too, the cops are screaming, Christ – even the houseplants are screaming.
Just because everybody is acting like monkeys doesn’t mean I have to jump into the barrel, and screaming “calm down” is akin to jumping in head first.
Standing in the middle of chaos, I crossed my arms, stood strait and asked just quiet enough that nobody could hear, “who is bleeding.”
It took a minute, and a few more quietly asked “who is bleeding’s,” but eventually things quieted down enough for me to find the bleeder, and remove him from the nuthouse.
If you want to capture somebody’s attention, whisper.
Congratulations to Warwick, RI Firefighter John Halloran for being voted the nations sexiest vegan-next-door. According to the news story, John cooks vegan meals at the firehouse for his fellow firefighters. Having been a firehouse cook for decades, and having experienced the "constructive critisism" when the meal was anything but "hot and alot," from my own fellow firefighters, I can only imagine the thick skin this sexy vegan must have!
Enjoy the trip to Maui, John, well done!
"Rescue 1 and Engine 10, respond to 1035 Broad Street for a man down."
"Why are they sending an Engine company?" asked my partner, a new guy who knew everything. "It's just another drunk."
"You'll figure it out."
I heard the slight urgency in the dispatcher's tone and knew that she sensed something in the caller's voice other than the usual intoxicated person call.
I scanned the horizon, looking for the patient. The scene through my windshield resembled a set from The Walking Dead; semi and fully intoxicated persons wandered about aimlessly, homeless for the most part, restless, hungry and unsteady. One of the regulars, "Junior," waved us over.
"He's over here," he said, unsteadily leading us around the corner where a man in his 40s sat on a curb, leaning on a building, clutching his chest.
"What happened?" I asked. Junior spoke to the guy in Spanish then translated to me.
"He's been working on the new barber shop over there," he said, pointing at some new construction across the street. "Felt his chest thump, then lots of pain. He can't catch his breath. He thinks he's going to die."
The crew from Engine 10 arrived on scene, two firefighters retrieved the stretcher from my rescue, and my old partner, Renato, joined us next to the patient.
"Mornin' gang, looks like a possible MI; Renato, grab a 12-lead while we get him ready to roll."
Renato hooked him up to the EKG machine while my partner assessed vitals and readied the 02. Just as the results were printed, a non-rebreather went over the man's face, the stretcher appeared, Junior helped us load the man onto it and we were back in the truck.
"220/130, rate of 110," said my partner.
"Stemi," I said, looking up from the EKG. The crew got to work as I sent the image to the ER. An IV was established while nitro and aspirin was administered. One of the firefighters got in front to drive, Renato stayed in back with the new guy and me.
"Let's roll."
Junior closed the doors for us, a big smile on his face, his work done for the day. He even gave the obligatory ambulance door double thump as we left the scene, leaving an imprint of his big paw prints clearly outlined over the road grime that had accumulated.
Seven minutes from our time on scene to the door of the ER, two IVs had been established, a 12-lead was in a cardiologist's hands, a STEMI team began assembling, meds were on board, oxygen flowing, vitals re-assessed and the most important part – a stable patient whose life will continue was conscious and smiling on our stretcher.
He was in the cath lab less than an hour after the onset of symptoms.
The dispatcher heard something in the voice of the caller and sent the proper resources, our relationship with the homeless alcoholics led to one of them being willing and able to offer some needed assistance, a crew of ALS trained firefighters on scene, and an ER staffed, trained and ready to handle cardiac emergencies all combined to give a guy working on a barber shop the chance to finish what he started.
Dispatch. The Homeless. The Ambulance. The Firefighters. The ER. When we work together, great things happen.
http://www.ems1.com/fire-ems/articles/1443561-When-we-work-together-great-things-happen/
What was your best team save?
Here's how to enter:
1. Submit a short story (300-500 words) about the moment your team pulled together to save a life or solve a problem.
2. Check back during EMS Week (May 19th through 25th) to see if your entry was selected by EMS1 editors as a finalist.
3. Vote for your favorite entry – or your own if you're a finalist. We'll announce the winners on May 25!
http://www.ems1.com/ems-week-2013
We had a nice team save, here's how it went down…
http://www.ems1.com/fire-ems/articles/1443561-When-we-work-together-great-things-happen/
Memo to the knucklehead on the rice burner who nearly drove into my car head on because he was too busy flipping off and yelling at the driver of another car who, due to the motorcycle drivers inexperience nearly hit the aforementioned biker while changing lanes because apparently Mr. Big Bad Biker has never heard of blind spots:
1. You share the road with automobiles
2. Automobiles are bigger than motorcycles
3. People in those big automobiles sometimes cannot see you, so PAY ATTENTION, Dumbass!
And furthermore, memo to the pretty, nearly naked hottie on the back of Mr. Big Bad Biker's rice burner:
1. Get off the back of the bike and learn how to ride, then you will never be at the mercy of a moron who thinks his motorcycle is a toy and has no regard for his or anybody elses safety.
2. Put on some clothes for Christmas sake, I'd hate to see all that skin smeared all over the highway!
Motorcycles are Everywhere. The days of the big bad biker are over. There are lots of Mama's boys driving bikes that are too powerful them out there. And, there are also a lot of weekend warriors on their $25,000 Harley Davidsons who should have bought a convertible.
Yeah, I know, I sound like a jerk. It's not all the carnage I've seen over the years that makes me so; rather, it's the guy my age who I take to the ER regularly for treatment for his seizures. He cracked up his bike ten years ago and has lived with the elderly in a nursing home ever since. The only helmet he ever wore is the one on his head now, the one that keeps him from cracking his melon again when he seizes.
Born to be wild? You tell me.
There, I said it. However, being a former motorcycle owner (1978 Honda CB 900) and sometime rider, and friends with people killed and maimed while on motorcycles and doing nothing to deserve their fate other than be clobbered by a car driven by a drunken driver, person not paying attention or just bad luck it remains to be said that we all need to put down our phones and beers and whatever else and pay attention while driving. Not everybody is a knucklehead, and even knuckleheads deserve a safe roadway, as long as they themselves follow the rules of the road.
