“Rescue 1, and Engine 10, respond to 532 Pavillion Avenue on the second floor for an unconscious five-year old.”

That will get you moving. I keyed the mike.

“Rescue 1, responding.”

Two minutes later, Engine 10 gave the initial report.

“Engine 10 to Rescue 1, five year old female, unconscious at this time, no fever or history, we’re assessing vitals.”

“Rescue 1 received.”

Immediately the scenarios play out in my mind. Trauma? Diabetic? Seizure? Five year old girls should not be unconscious at five in the afternoon.

“Engine 10 to Rescue 1, we’re bringing her down.”

“Roger, Engine 10, ETA thirty seconds.”

We approached the scene. One of the firefighters carried a limp, pale little girl in his arms. From fifty yards I knew something was seriously wrong.

“Rescue 1 on scene.”

Joe carried the girl into the rescue and put here onto our stretcher. The girls mother followed, I put her onto the bench seat.

Vitals upstairs were 112-72 with a rate of 130,” Joe told me.

“What happened?” I asked the mom while getting a pedi non-rebreather ready and handing Stephanie a 24 guage IV catheter. Joe had the glucose equipment ready, poked her finger and waited. I felt her skin, cool and clammy. Her hair was soaked.

It took a while, the mother was near hysterical and unable to communicate clearly the events leading up to the crisis.

“Glucose is 134,” said Joe. “Eyes are fixed to the left.”

I placed the oxygen mask over her face. She still didn’t move.

“IV is in,” said Stephanie, “she didn’t flinch and I stuck her twice.”

“Temp 97.8,” said Dave, another firefighter, a second later.

Josh from Engine 10 got into the rescue’s drivers seat.

“Let’s go.” We had been on scene for two minutes. Hasbro Children’s Hospital was a minute away.

I managed to get some information from the mom. The girl has Cystic Fybrosis and a feeding tube, but other than that is healthy, active and happy. She had been constipated for four days. The mother’s wife (I have no idea) suggested that they mix two Tablespoons of salt and mix it with some water and put the mixture through the tube. Ten minutes later the girl was unresponsive. The mom put her into a tub of cold water. The girl didn’t wake up. She called 911.

The ride to the ER was quick. I called on the way, stating our unit designation, age and condition of the patient and ETA of less than a minute. A medical team had assembled by the time we arrived. We brought the girl into the treatment room and moved her onto the stretcher. She had begun to cry, softly, and open her eyes.

“What have you got,” asked the Doctor in charge. I was three words into what I believed was a fairly cohesive narrative when he put up his hand, dismissing the ambulance driver, and directed his attention to the mom.

Rather than hearing the story, with every detail and vital sign, I even knew the brand of table salt, he decided to ask the still nearly hysterical mom.

As she rambled on I left my report on the desk and walked away. The charge nurse picked the report up immediately and recited the vitals. The girl’s condition was improving when I left a half hour later. The doctor ignored me the entire time. He was a young guy, one I had never seen before. I wonder if past experience with EMS crews was responsible for his actions or if he is simply an idiot.

She sat in the chair; her chair, facing the doorway. She looked comfortable, all of her stuff was nearby, the crossword book, remote control, a cool drink on a worn table. She stared  as I entered, focusing her fear and anger at me.

“She has Parkinsons, and has been forgetting things lately,” said her daughter. She was my age, pretty, looked a lot younger than she was, I suspected. She was troubled. A lot had happened in this room this morning, and the days leading up to it.

“I’m having a lot of trouble moving her,” said an elderly, frail guy, the woman in the chair’s husband. He shook as he spoke, only not from Parkinsons.

“She really is getting difficult, my dad has had chest pains all morning.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” said the man, apologetically. He avoided his wife’s icy glare.

I approached the lady. She set her jaw and continued to stare at her husband, then her daughter, then me.

“What is your name?”

“Eleanor.”

“We have to take you to the hospital.”

“Why?”

“I think you know why.”

She loosened her jaw, looked at the floor and simply shrank to half her size. We brought the stair chair over, picked her off of her chair and put her in ours. Then we carried her out of her front door, into the blazing late August heat, put her on the stretcher and took her away.

“She needs to be placed,” said the daughter, holding back tears. “My dad can’t take care of her anymore.”

“I’ll follow you,” said the old man.

“Meet us there, okay.”

“Okay.”

That was it. A lifetime together. Quiet times, arguments, sharing the bathroom, cooking, entertaining, raising a family. Living their lives.

It never fails to amaze me how quickly it all ends. I hate being part of it. They will forget the man that took her away within hours. The man will eventually forget, but not for a long time.

Welcome to the new home of Rescuing Providence. Thanks as always for taking the time to visit. I’ve been bouncing the idea of joining FireEMS Blogs for a while, it just seemed like a good thing to do. It is my privilege and honor to be on the same network as The Happy Medic, Medic 999, A Day in the Life of an Ambulance Driver, Life Under the Lights, Pink, Warm and Dry and Street Watch. The people behind these blogs have at different times inspired me, motivated me, made me think, gave me hope, brought tears to my eyes and made me laugh out loud. Sometimes all in the same post!I feel a kinship with these people, as strong as some in my “real” world. I probably know them better than the people I’ve worked with for nearly twenty years.

I’m looking forward to spending the time necessary to get to know the authors of the other blogs on the network. I’ve visited all, and enjoyed the time spent there. It is nice to be is such good company. Of course, the blogs and websites that are not Fire/EMS related will continue to share equal ground here. I hope the Fire/EMS people who visit here take a look at my blogroll and and pay a visit now and then.

As for the content here, nothing will change. When something catches my attention, or sticks in my mind and won’t let go until I write it out, or if something happens that I just HAVE to share, then I will do so, as always. It’s very rewarding knowing somebody is listening. So thanks again.

A special thanks to Chris Hebert, who had the unenviable task of undoing four years worth of a mess created by a computer illeterate  stumblebum who made his blog a lot more difficult to run than it needed to be.

We love to eat. We love to cook. We love to visit the  stores, familiarize ourselves with the district, interact with the people we are paid to protect and contribute to the local economy. It’s one of the many great parts of the greatest job in the world.

Generations of firefighters have shared the experience of gathering around the table and breaking bread. Mealtime seldom goes smoothly, the job comes first, always. Many a masterpiece has sat on the dinner table, going cold, getting stale and dying of loneliness as the intended benefactors of the feast are occupied elsewhere. The meal is always a risk, but one well worth taking. It goes with the territory, and we all know it. Showing up for work is a risk. You just never know.

In bigger firehouses; those with two or more fire/rescue companies, the cooking duty is  rotated among the crews. Whoever is responsible for the meal simply adds that job to the normal routine. In between station maintenance, vehicle maintenance, personal maintenance, training and of course, the emergency calls,  shopping for and preparing lunch or dinner for the crew is accomplished.

We go together. From the moment we “relieve our man, or woman,” we are part of a team. The apparatus is only a tool, the people assigned to it make up the company. In an ideal situation, company integrity is never compromised. If three firefighters are assigned to a piece of apparatus, then three will be ready willing and able to go at all times. Some companies have four, or five firefighters assigned, or, in some cases, only two. Whatever the number, we go together and work as a team. And train as a team. And do our job, always the job, as a team.

We shop as a team. We take the truck. We park it in the store’s lot, and go in together. If  we are needed, we drop everything and go. The truck is never more than thirty seconds away. Luck is a fickle thing. Sometimes when a call comes in, we are actually in a better position when responding from wherever it is we are, a store, the training ground, clearing a different call, or simply familiarizing ourselves with our district. You just never know when or where we will be needed. Responding from quarters, responding from a store, or the highway doesn’t matter much, what does matter is that we are ready. And we always are.

When we are called away, the folks at the store put our stuff aside and wait for us to come back. Sometimes it only takes a few minutes. Sometimes it will be hours until we return. But we always return, and pay for our food. If the bill is forty dollars, and there are ten people to feed, we pitch in five bucks each. The extra is put aside, when it hits a hundred or so, we make something special. Those meals are normally saved for Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or Forth of July. If you happen to be working on your birthday, you might even get a cake. It’s nice to share a nice meal with your second family on the holidays. It makes being away from home bearable.

Every now and then a concerned citizen sees the firefighters in a local store, and decides enough is enough. He or she will call their Mayor, or Town Manager or whoever is in charge, or the local media and report the perceived abuse of taxpayer resources to the powers that be. The Mayor calls the Chief, the chief calls the Captains and the firefighters are told stop visiting the local markets. The firefighters still bring in food to prepare, still eat as a family and still respond to calls for help. The news media sometimes assigns a reporter to the “story.” More times than not, a positive outcome is achieved. Once people understand the tradition, camaraderie and civic responsibility that mealtime in the Firehouse promotes, the uproar dies down, the politicians and chiefs let their people back into the community and harmony is restored.

A few bad apples only ruin the bunch for a little while. And sometimes, those rotting apples can make a pretty good pie, as long as you get them before they go completely bitter.

On the way to Rehab-his sixth, he asked his dad to stop at the gas station/convenience store. Dads, being some of the more naive species known to man when it comes to trusting their kids, pulled in and let his boy go. Fifteen minutes later he went inside looking for him. The girl behind the register told the man that a twenty year old guy asked to use the Men’s Room about fifteen minutes ago and didn’t come out yet.

The kid had come to his father that day, saying he needed help. He said he was ready, really ready to put it away this time. The drugs weren’t working anymore, he said, just keeping him normal. They came from a wealthy area, luxury cars, beautiful home, plenty of money. The boy started with Oxycontin, when he couldn’t steal from his parent’s stash he bought them at school, when he couldn’t afford those he went to heroin. The illegal drug is much cheaper and more readily available.

They unlocked the door. It didn’t move when he pushed against it. He pushed harder, finally putting his shoulder into it. The body of his son lay on the other side of the door. The first thing he saw was the lighter, sitting on the sink. Then the spoon. Then the little plastic corner of the baggie that he used to wonder about when he found them in his kids room, or car, or the wastebasket in the bathroom.

The cashier screamed. He told her to call 911. He made his way into the room, pushed the empty syringe out of the way and started CPR. A father doing CPR on his son. I cannot begin to imagine how that felt.

We arrived, took over for the distraught man, got some narcan going, assisted ventilation’s and watched as the color returned to his face, he moved, then started breathing. The dad, a guy about my age was lost. Relief, anxiety, rage and helplessness all in one package. It was probably more powerful that the narcotics.

On the way to the hospital the kid talked about his desire for recovery. I listened.

Somethin’s cooking here at RP. Stay tuned!

One of the most difficult parts of EMS is waiting. Some people wait for a call-any call. Some folks can’t wait for the shift to end, others can’t wait for it to start. Most of us can’t wait for it to start, then, hours later can’t wait for it to end.

Waiting for a call in Providence is never a problem. They call. And call. And call. My last shift started with a call from a lady who called 911 from her cell phone while sitting at a gas station. She vomited. No history, no medications, just vomited. Once, then felt better. She demanded we take her to the hospital to be “checked.”

My guess is if she had to write a “check” for being “checked” she would have “checked” that idea right of the to do list.

A few intoxicated persons, the run of the mill lawsuit MVA’s, the elderly “chest pressures,” kids with fevers and twisted ankles round out most days. Doctors, who’s offices are either on hospital grounds, or actually inside the same building call 911 for their patients with abdominal pain, irregular blood work and such,  rather than putting them in  a wheelchair and having somebody push them 100 yards to the ER. It boggles the mind to think of the waste of resources, actually being an unwilling accomplice makes it even worse.

But, we persevere, and wait.

Now and then we strike gold. Of course, our gold is usually somebody at else’s cost, but oh well, that’s the way the cookie crumbles.

I hit a nugget at midnight last night. Thirty hours of non-emergency, or to be honest, not even close to emergency calls, except for the old lady who died and the kid that got shot in the head, but they don’t really count, not much to do there.

A guy with no feet because of chronic diabetes couldn’t urinate.

Emergencies, if you wait long enough, one always comes up.

http://www.projo.com/news/content/seven_star_family_reunion_08-23-10_BGJKSAH_v15.22a7e7e.html#slcgm_comments_anchor

Great people, my aunts and uncles! I’m proud to be part of the family.

The river behind the firefighters club is a fast moving, polluted, deep, potential quagmire that I would think twice about jumping into.

I’m glad Mike was there. Well done, Brother.

http://www.projo.com/news/content/pawtucket_man_dies_drag_racing_08-21-10_EKJKG_v21.26180b7.html

My friend Nate, Providence Firefighter and now LA County Firefighter mentioned my “brothers” in the Tea Party, and their typical union bashing over my unions recent contract issues. Because the world revolves around me, and everybody knows exactly what I’m thinking I didn’t feel the need to explain my support for the Tea Party movement. It really seemed quite simple.

1. Identify constitutionality of every new law: Require each bill to identify the specific provision of the Constitution that gives Congress the power to do what the bill does. (82.03%)
2. Reject emissions trading: Stop the “cap and trade” administrative approach used to control pollution by providing economic incentives for achieving reductions in the emissions of pollutants. (72.20%)
3. Demand a balanced federal budget: Begin the Constitutional amendment process to require a balanced budget with a two-thirds majority needed for any tax modification. (69.69%)
4. Simplify the tax system: Adopt a simple and fair single-rate tax system by scrapping the internal revenue code and replacing it with one that is no longer than 4,543 words – the length of the original Constitution. (64.9%)
5. Audit federal government agencies for constitutionality: Create a Blue Ribbon taskforce that engages in an audit of federal agencies and programs, assessing their Constitutionality, and identifying duplication, waste, ineffectiveness, and agencies and programs better left for the states or local authorities. (63.37%)
6. Limit annual growth in federal spending: Impose a statutory cap limiting the annual growth in total federal spending to the sum of the inflation rate plus the percentage of population growth. (56.57%)
7. Repeal the health care legislation passed on March 23, 2010: Defund, repeal and replace the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act. (56.39%)
8. Pass an ‘All-of-the-Above’ Energy Policy: Authorize the exploration of additional energy reserves to reduce American dependence on foreign energy sources and reduce regulatory barriers to all other forms of energy creation. (55.5%)
9. Reduce Earmarks: Place a moratorium on all earmarks until the budget is balanced, and then require a 2/3 majority to pass any earmark. (55.47%)
10. Reduce Taxes: Permanently repeal all recent tax increases, and extend permanently the George W. Bush temporary reductions in income tax, capital gains tax and estate taxes, currently scheduled to end in 2011. (53.38%)

Unfortunately, local Tea Party groups quickly became anti-union groups, and the fun began. What could have, and should have been a great opportunity was wasted.

When I first heard about the movement, I thought what a great way to get government spending under control, stop the ridiculous giveaways and programs that are keeping the poor poor. I see firsthand how government programs are detrimental to the people they are supposed to help. When there is substantial loss associated with responsibility and self improvement, something has gone terribly wrong. People set a bar, which coincidentally is also the federal income limit that cuts you off of government assistance, be it health care, food stamps or housing assistance, and stop trying once that plateau is reached. Numerous under the table systems are in place, but that keeps people underground, and turns them into lawbreakers, and just about wipes out any chance of being a productive, independent taxpaying member of society.

In my vision, union members embraced the fundamental ideology expressed in the simple message of the original Tea Party. We could have adopted the philosophy as our own. In my view, the opportunity to disassociate ourselves with the left leaning groups that fall under the union umbrella was ours for the taking.

I have nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to lose. I work for my pay and benefits, and earn every nickel. My membership in a public sector union does nothing to diminish that. Lower taxes would help my bottom line, I figured. Little did I know, lower taxes meant to some all out war on public sector unions.

I’m tired of being associated with organizations that do nothing to promote what my union, Local 799, The Providence Firefighters Union stands for, that being hard work, honesty and fair pay. I wrongfully assumed the Tea Party would be the vessel that righted the ship.

I was wrong, and no longer support what has become of a simple, honest message.

The Tea Party is officially thrown overboard here at Rescuing Providence. The original message, however, remains alive and well.