A man in Cranston dies while waiting for help to arrive. His widow grieves. As days progress the questions start:

Why did it take so long for help to arrive?
Where were they?
Could he have been saved?

The answer may shock you.

Disaster strikes. 911 is called. Rescuers respond. Sometimes the problem is complex and takes dozens of emergency responders to rectify. Other times the emergency is handled by a single unit. Often, there is no emergency at all.

When is calling 911 for a medical emergency appropriate? Most folks use their best judgment before dialing. There are certain criteria; sudden pain, weakness, injury, uncontrolled bleeding, unconsciousness or any life-threatening emergency. Highly trained and properly equipped firefighters and EMT’s are ready to respond at a moments notice. Or are they?

Our society once prided ourselves on rugged individualism, fairness and the ability to take care of ourselves, and our own. The tide has turned. People now expect to be taken care of. People call 911 from their cell phones while sitting in their car so they don’t have to pay for parking. They call from their homes looking for transportation, living within sight of the hospital. Doctor’s offices call 911 to have non-critical patients transported to the emergency room, sometimes from the same building! Many think nothing of pushing those three buttons looking for a free ride. There is a prevailing attitude of me first, it’s free, I deserve it.

Because of fear of litigation, you can call 911 for any reason and somebody will come. Nightmares. Lost dentures. Hangnails. Difficulty sleeping. Most people wouldn’t dream of such irresponsible actions. Sadly, many do. And they do it often. These calls drain our resources and leave the rest of the population without adequate protection. True emergencies happen every day. Sick, dying people must wait while rescues cater to those who refuse to help themselves.

I witness the erosion the 911 system every day. People with sore throats call 911 for a ride to the emergency room for free medical care. A person vomiting calls 911 to get free medicine. Parents of children with mild fevers call 911 so they don’t have to wait, as if their problem is more important than anybody else’s. Drunks call from their homes when they run out of booze, requesting detox. Kids fall and bump their head; rescues are called for ice packs.

The City of Providence is poised to reduce their firefighting force to add additional ambulances. Calls for EMS are on the rise, fires are fewer. The rational is to move manpower from fire suppression to the rescues. What appears to be common sense is in actuality surrendering to the ideals bent on destroying our society.

Somehow, our 911 system, designed to provide highly trained and equipped personnel to the scene of an emergency has been reduced to a glorified taxi service for those who expect to be catered to. A four-man fire company is a formidable force. Each member of the company has a vital role in every response, be it securing a water supply at a fire, doing chest compressions during CPR or driving quickly and safely to your house when tragedy strikes. Compromising the integrity of that force to provide more rescues to a populace that abuses the system is a disservice to every responsible citizen.

Providence residents are well protected by their firefighters. You call, we come. We come with enough manpower to get the job done, no matter what that job may be. Taxpayers pay for a service and deserve to get their money’s worth. It is a sad day when a proud, devastatingly effective force must be diminished to cater to a growing population that takes government services for granted, as their right, as their private taxi service.

I was wondering what would possess a person who had been told earlier in the week not to take her child to an Emergency Room for his symptoms which could be related to a disease carrying bird that she had bought a week ago, then died and had been taken by the Rhode Island Department of Health for purposes I can only imagine, knowing that her two kids, herself and her boyfriend were all ill and the home quarantined by the same Rhode Island Department of Health for more reasons I can only imagine to call 911 because her son’s flu-like symptoms were not getting better. These thoughts occur ed to me while I was standing a foot away from the ill child in a ten by twelve foot bedroom with the sick mom, sick child and the sick child’s sick sister. The sick boyfriend lingered in the doorway. Joining the sick family now were four firefighters from Engine 8 who were called to the scene for a “child with difficulty breathing,” myself and Matt, my partner for the night.

“The Department of Health said not to bring him to the Emergency Room because they don’t know what’s making us sick,” she said.

It was past midnight, the kid would survive, I’m sure, but I had to err on the side of caution. I put a mask over the child’s nose and mouth, put him in the rescue and took him to Hasbro Children’s Hospital. The mom followed in her car.

Once at the ER I started to relay the information to the triage nurse, my radio interrupted the story…Triple stabbing in Olneyville.

“Rescue 1 in service,” I said into the mike.

“Rescue 1, Respond to Hulstead Street for a multiple stabbing, police on scene.”

“Rescue 1, on the way.”

I forgot about the dead bird and headed toward the stabbing.

Ten months old, permanant brain damage from parental abuse. His mouth was covered in blood, a baseball sized knot protruded from his forhead, another bruise formed below his eye.

“His father dropped him. Then he dropped him again.”

“He dropped him twice?”

“He’s been drinking.”

“Where is he now?”

“Sleeping.”

The baby was barely conscious, filthy diaper and a shirt that hadn’t seen the laundry in weeks. Renato held him still while I secured him in the “papoose.” Kids normally fight like mad when we try to restrain them, Michael remained limp.

“Your story doesn’t add up.” I told the mother. She knew. Tears started.

“I have to get away from him,” she sad between sobs.

Michael couldn’t cry. I think he was out of tears.

“What Happened?”
“Yo, like this bitch stone cold upped me.”
“She what?”
“My bike, bro, I’m chillin sho holed me up bro.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I need medication, give me some vicodin.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Take me home bro, just give me some vicodin”
“I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“Yo, don’t go without my halfbelt, it’s flyin’ on the ground.”

Sure enough, there on the ground was half a belt. I always wondered how they kept their pants halfway on their body.

“What’s you name?”
“Emelio Ortega like the sauce.”
“Have you been drinking, Emelio Ortega Like the Sauce?”
“Two beers, bro, I’m twenty-one. Just take me home bro, I need some vicodins and my crib, I’ll be chillin’”

We took him to Rhode Island Hospital where he tortured Kris and Ron for a while. I have no idea what his problem was other than he was riding his bike and “some bitch stone cold upped him.”

“The problem with the human gene pool is there is no lifeguard.”

Rescuing Providence has gone high tech! Thanks Chrysalisangel for the promo, much obliged!

I learned what little Spanish I know because there was a need to communicate with my patients. It’s easy to say, “Speak English!” It’s not as easy when the person speaking Spanish is dying in front of you while their family looks on helplessly, unable to communicate. Simple phrases such as, “what is your name, when were you born, where is your pain, how bad is it, when did it start, do you take medications, do you have allergies to medications,” are easy to learn and help ease tension during an emergency.

If I can learn a little Spanish, there is absolutely no excuse for people living in this country not to make an attempt to learn some English.

Friday night, 0300. We got a call for a woman with chest pain. We arrived at her home, a well kept one story in a terrible neighborhood surrounded by an ornate fence, three thirty-thousand dollar and up cars in front and in the driveway, marble tile floors, beautiful furniture and paintings and a fifty-eight year old lady sitting on the couch clutching her chest, Five family members surrounded her. I tried to communicate with my limited Spanish, they made no effort to help. Four firefighters looked on as we tried everything to communicate with these people, they couldn’t convey their message.

“What is your name?” I asked in Spanish, she did answer that.

“Are you in pain?” Yes.

“When did it start?” No answer there, just a lot of chatter from the family that I didn’t understand.

“Where are your medications?” You would think I asked them to recite the Constitution, nobody moved.

After more non-communication I assumed she was having chest pain with a history of heart problems. She couldn’t stand up. We carried the woman to the truck, three-hundred and fifty pounds, five feet four inches. She carried on the entire time. The family followed us in one of their expensive cars.

We did an IV, gave her a nitro, aspirin and oxygen, ran an ekg and transported her to Rhode Island Hospital. There, a Spanish interpreter told us that the woman witnessed her daughter and her daughters boyfriend have an argument and she was upset. No chest pain, no history, just “upset.”

I was pretty upset myself. I think I’ll learn how to say that in Spanish.

Well, I’m feeling pretty darn good about myself; my party was a smashing sucess, the job is going well, my friends and family think I’m some big shot author and my book is being displayed at Borders Bookstore on the register table right next to one of my favorite, Bruce Springsteen’s newest CD.

I figured I would share my success with Megan, a very pretty twenty-four year old nursing student and Rhode Island Hospital employee.

“Me and Springsteen have something in common,” I told her after telling her about my book and it’s prominant spot at Borders.

“I know,” she said, dead serious. “You’re both old.”

It’s good to be back on earth. Thanks Megan!

My friend and brother firefighter Chris Brown has some interesting observations on his blog, http://heavyrescue.blogspot.com Same job, same incidents, different perspectives. It’s worth a look.

He left his daughters home in Warwick at 11:30. They were going to have lunch together, Chinese take-out. At 12:30 his daughter called the Warwick Police, concerned that her diabetic father hadn’t returned. At 12:45 we received a call for a pedestrian struck by an auto. Approaching the scene I saw not one, but two separate incidents, 1. a young man sitting next to his banged up bicycle, holding his knees to his chest and 2. A mid-sized car through a chain link fence and into the side of a brick building. As we approached, Lt.Mahoney told me that the person in the car was more critical than the man next to the bike. He had already called for an additional rescue, I went to the car and took a look inside.

The driver was about seventy years old, sitting in the drivers seat, no seat belt, unconscious. A metal fence pole pierced the windshield, barely missing the driver’s head as it swept through the passenger compartment. The car tipped dangerously on it’s side. The crew The guys from Engine 13 declared the scene safe, me and Mark, my driver for the day opened the drivers side door and extricated the victim. He was unresponsive at first, then started to struggle. There was no evidence of alcohol, I assumed it was a diabetic emergency. We got him into the rescue; vital signs, IV, oxygen and a blood glucose test in about a minute. His glucose level was 40. An amp of D-50 later our patient had regained consciousness.

He told me he left his daughters house in Warwick to get some lunch at the Chinese take-out and couldn’t remember anything after leaving her driveway. He didn’t remember getting onto the highway, driving nearly ten miles, taking an exit into Providence, running down a guy on a bicycle, tearing through a fence and smashing into a brick building. I found his cell phone in his pocket, saw seven missed calls from Monica. i hit the send button, Monica answered on the first ring. She was relieved that her dad was okay but concerned for the well-being of the man on the bicycle. Luckily, that guy was only shaken up.

We transported him to Rhode Island Hospital, one very lucky guy.

Yesterday a twenty-four year old, eighteen weeks pregnant person called 911 from just outside the parking lot of Women and Infants hospital because she was nauseous. We were at Miriam Hospital, the other end of Providence. No other rescues were available, we took the run. Traffic, road construction and drivers who didn’t give a hoot that there was an emergency vehicle trying to get through contributed to a ten minute response time. We arrived on scene, helped the “patient” into the truck. She sat on the bench seat and projectile vomited all over the stretcher, floor and my shoes. No warning or apology, or even the slightest remorse. Thirty seconds later we walked her into Woman and Infants Hospital where she informed the triage nurse she “felt much better now that she had vomited and didn’t need to be seen.”

A few hours ago, another pregnant female felt pain in her side while at work. She called her family to come get her, the pain too much to bear. They drove to her place of employment, put her into their car, drove back to their home, past Women and Infants Hospital and into their driveway. After helping her into their home, they called 911. When I asked why they didn’t take her to the hospital themselves, they indignantly informed me that by calling 911 they wouldn’t have to wait with everybody else in the waiting room. Her vitals were stable, we drove her to the hospital where she joined everybody else. I asked the triage nurse if she could put her name behind the people who came in after her.

Breeding responsible citizens here in the Capitol City.

Fire on Blain Street. Took our guys abot twenty minutes to bring it under control. Great Job!

Strange day, a rash of motor vehicle accidents. This was one of the worst, luckily nobody was hurt too badly.

Nine year old kid, tough as nails. He fell out af a tree. Silver spoon fracture, must have hurt like hell. I would have been crying for my mamma!

He’s eighty-two, a WWII veteran, lying on the floor of his dirty one room apartment in Olneyville, his piss bag nearly full, his left arm broken. At some time during the night he fell out of his wheelchair and couldn’t get up. By the time we got there he was nearly delerious. Pain, dehydration and fear mixed together with lonliness and despair must have made for an awful night. We wrapped his arm the best we could, lifted him onto our stretcher, locked his door and took him away.

My friend Ann Martini from Wright Martini Media thought it would be a good idea to have a book release party when Rescuing Providence was released. Never one to pass on an opportunity for a party, I agreed. Not knowing what to expect, we planned for a few weeks. Ann’s husband Michael prepared the food, Brittany was the bartender, Danielle passed out hors d’oeurves, Ann handled the million little details and my wife, Cheryl added her personal touch with a few dishes of her own as well as organizing the book signing part of things. My thanks to them for making it possible.

I am still overwhelmed with the outpouring of support from my family, friends, co-workers and some new acquaintances. Well over a hundred people showed up. It was a gratifying, memorable and ultimately humbling moment for me. Gaining and keeping the respect of those closest to me is not something I take lightly. It has given me a fresh perspective, no small amount of pride and accomplishment and a great amount of satisfaction. For that I am truly thankful.

If everybody enjoys the book one tenth as much as I enjoy knowing them I will consider it a success

Just when I’ve got the curve figured out, somebody brings in the knuckleballer! 1130 hrs, called for an unresponsive thirty-eight year old male. Arrived on scene and found a guy lying in bed, unconscious, unresponsive, respiration’s 6/minute, strong pulse, 110/72 with pinpoint pupils. Everything pointed toward heroin overdose. I administered 2mg Narcan IM immediately, had Jay assist ventilation’s as the guys from Engine 13 got ready to move him. We got him onto the stair chair and into the rescue in about four minutes. During that time he began to respond to the Narcan, his breathing improved but was nowhere near normal. He did open his eyes when I gave him a sternal rub. Jay continued to bag him, Steve and Veakro started an IV and we gave him two more mg of Narcan. A minute later he was conscious but still not alert and unable to communicate with us. He still had trouble breathing and started to panic.

As we got ready to transport to Rhode Island Hospital another man showed up. He couldn’t communicate either, he and the man on the stretcher were brothers, both born deaf and living together. Through rudimentary sign language and gestures we were able to put together some pieces of the puzzle as we rode toward the hospital.

A few hours later I looked in on them. The brother who had overdosed was intubated and in the Intensive care unit, probably suffering with pneumonia as well as the after effects of the OD. His brother stood vigil outside the door, waiting for something good to happen.

Just when I think I speak enough Spanish to get by somebody throws me a curve. 0200 hrs, an intoxicated man on Westminister Street. He’s a Guatamalan immigrant, pleasant enough, obviously inebriated and unable to find his way home. I thought he was too drunk to speak, turns out he is mute. He was a wiz at sign language, all the way to the hospital he signed messages to me.

I didn’t understand a word he signed.

Desperate people sometimes do desperate things. A thirty year old guy with a drug problem found a new way to feed his habit. The high voltage power lines that bring electricity from the power plants up north are secured in place by guy wires. The material is expensive, even as scrap metal.

Somehow, one of the guy wires let loose and contacted the live wires, electrocuting the man trying to steal them. Neighbors heard the “pop” and saw the flash from a half mile away. He tried to crawl up the embankment to get help after trying his cell phone only to find it had melted. Somebody called 911.

I was at Rhode Island Hospital talking to Jeff Davenport who was detailed in charge of Rescue 2 for the day. My truck wasn’t ready, Rescue 2 took the call as I listened on the radio. Lt. Mike Clark and Engine 12 were first on scene.

“Engine 12 to fire alarm, we have a young adult with third degree burns over 90% of his body, possible live wires in the area, have companies use extreme caution.”

Special Hazards arrived on scene and secured the area, the Electric Company was called in, Battalion 2 took over as the Incident Commander. I’m not sure how, but they got the patient away from the immediate danger and into Rescue 2. His skin had melted. Matt, Rescue 2′s chauffeur told me later his uniform was covered with the patients skin.

If the patient has any chance of survival he owes it to the firefighters who responded. Woody, from Ladder 1 spent eight or nine of his seventeen years on the job in the rescue division. Dave from Engine 12 is a skilled EMT C with extensive rescue experience, Lt. Clarke is an RN, Matt is a paramedic. Somehow they started an IV, kept the patients skin intact, provided oxygen and got him to the trauma room at Rhode Island Hospital in about fifteen minutes.

This incident could have happened anywhere in the city, on any group at any time and people with similar training and expertise would have responded. Everybody plays a part, everybody performs above and beyond what is considered by anybodies standards exceptional. The people of Providence are well served by their firefighters.

I worked overtime at Rescue 2 that night. As I sat at the desk waiting for Jeff to return from another call I started to do some reports for him. The third one down had a familiar scent. I read the report, it was the burn victims, the smell of his flesh embedded into the paper. It was a haunting experience, memories of incidents I thought long forgotten flashed through my mind as I got up and walked out of the room, looking for some fresh air.

The guys from Ladder 8 were cleaning her head wound and getting ready to apply a cervical collar when we arrived on scene. A good amount of blood spattered the ground and the victims clothing. She was awake but stunned, sitting in the road in front of an older Toyota.

You never know what to expect when dispatched for a pedestrian struck. The injuries could be life threatening, disfiguring or extremely painful. Broken bones, lacerations and concussions are common. This patient didn’t look to be hurt too badly. She didn’t lose consciousness and there were no gross deformities. The only problem I could see was the head injury. There was no damage to the Toyota.

We put her on the spine board and loaded her onto the stretcher then into the rescue. She had just stepped out of her car when she was hit. As Veakro checked her vitals I gathered the necessary information.

“I don’t have insurance,” she said, worried.

“Don’t worry, the person who hit you will have insurance, they’ll pay the bill.

“Bicycle riders need insurance?”

I looked out the side window of the rescue. Next to her Toyota a bicyclist talked to the police, his front tire bent.

You never know what to expect.