My friend Dave had a little setback, he’s in New London Hospital recovering from surgery on the same weekend three of his daughters are moving into two different colleges.

Enter the mule.

I’m actually having a ball, getting to know the girls a little better and helping a friend in need. On the way here I ran into the funeral procession for Senator Ted Kennedy. People stood on roadways and overpasses during torrential downpours and strong winds to pay their respects to the “Liberal Lion” as he passed.

I was moved much more than I ever expected by the outpouring of grief, I hadn’t really given it much thought. As I drove I couldn’t stop the internal movie from playing. I was born the year JFK was assassinated, seven or so when Robert was killed. The Kennedy’s have been a big part of my surroundings since I can remember.

As I passed through Manchester I said a silent hello to Walt, paid a silent respect to Ted and kept on trucking.

***WARNING***

Lt. Morse has swallowed a bitter pill.

Take an extremely overweight middle aged non-English speaking woman, add twelve prescription medications, mix one ridiculously expensive king sized bed in a government subsidized apartment, three parts fawning non-English speaking relatives, a huge helping of drama, a pinch of vomit, and two sets of stairs and you will get a person who “can’t move” until she sees the stair chair miraculously appear at the foot of her bed, then is able to drag herself from the previously mentioned king sized bed in the government subsidized apartment and plant herself into the chair, then let herself be carried down the previously mentioned two flights of stairs into an ambulance which carts her to a world class emergency room where she will be given thousands of dollars worth of tests to get to the bottom of her abdominal pain, which will go away on its own if given a chance.

Mix well. Bake in the back of the rescue until done. Repeat five times after midnight.

A six, seven and twenty-five year old just lit up the back of Rescue 3 like nobody’s business. Talasia had a fever. Her sister Shalasia held her hand all the way out of the apartment in the middle of the projects and to the hospital. Their mom looked just like them, only older. They wore matching pajamas and matching sandals. The rescue fascinated them, they seemed particularly fond of the lights.

Would I have called 911 at one in the morning to take my seven year old to the ER for a fever of 102 degrees? Hell no! But they were adorable, and being able to see that instead of being angry sometimes makes all the difference.

All day, nothin to do, think I’ll lay on this couch, now I’ll take a nap, now I’ll look out the window, nobody home, can’t wait. Boy it’s hot up here, when are they coming home? Think I’ll take a nap, look out the window, drink some water, get on the couch, where are they?

Nothin to do, take a nap, look out the window, water’s gone, have to pee, better not do it here, look out the window, soon I hope, when are they coming home? Getting dark, I’m hungry, sit on the couch take a nap, forget I’m hungry, can’t wait, is that them?

Not yet, gotta pee bad, no water in my bowl, lay on the couch, look out the window, take a nap, lay on the couch…wait, what’s that?

Oh boy, here they are,come on dad, hurry up, I gotta pee, oh boy, finally I hate to be alone, come on dad, I’ve been good all day, it’s hot up here, let me out, I’m dying up here, please hurry. Closer now, the door’s opening, oh boy, they’re home!

Ouch! Why did he do that? Ouch! Come on dad, cut it out. I know that smell, oh no, here comes another one. Ouch! That hurts. I get it, you’re the alpha male, I’m the dog. Ouch, jeez, I just had to pee soo bad, Ouch! For god’s sake, man Ouch…

One more and I’m going to lose it…Ouch!

The family pet attacked his owners tonight. A man and his wife had been out drinking. When they got home after being gone all day the man started teasing his dog. He had him since he was a puppy, seven years ago. He couldn’t figure out why his dog snapped. I covered his hand that had been nearly bitten in half and put a trauma dressing on his other arm, bone, muscle and tendons were showing before it was dressed. We needed another rescue for his wife. And animal control to take the dog away.

He’ll be put down by weeks end.

Patient #1, a fifty year old male calls from a payphone outside a bar at 1:30 in the morning, states he has chest pain. The rescue arrives, the patient tells the crew to take him to St. Farthest. Apparently, St. Closest, a world class hospital doesn’t treat our patient right. He refuses to cooperate, won’t give any information other than he has been drinking all day and is now having chest pain, 10/10.

Patient #2, an eighty-three year old male sits on the floor in his bathroom at 3:15 in the morning holding the toilet bowl to keep him from slumping over. His wife of forty some years calls 911 for assistance getting him up. The rescue arrives, finds the patient is undergoing chemo to treat lung cancer, is extremely weak and dehydrated. His treatment thus far has been at St. Farthest.

Patient #1 is treated and transported to St. Closest, much to his dismay.

Patient #2 is treated and transported to St. Farthest. No questions asked.

Our protocols clearly state that Emergency Personnel transport patients without delay to the appropriate Hospital Emergency Facility.

Both patients were treated appropriately.

Rescue 1 has a Standing Operating Procedure: Nice guys never finish last!

“I need a shower, think I have time?”

“What’s the worst that could happen,” I answered.

Ed was working overtime and wanted a fresh start to the day. I was filling in for a rescue officer who was off on an injury. It was my first experience in charge of a fire department vehicle. Rescue 3 is quartered at the Branch Avenue fire station. It is a workhorse; five thousand runs annually the norm. All of Providence’s advanced life support vehicles are workhorses, the call volume dramatically increases as the years’ progress.

“Keep your radio on in case we get a call,” I said as the door to the shower room closed.

This should have been my first day back on Engine 9 after a six month detail to the rescue division. I enjoyed my time on Rescue 1, learned a lot and considered going back eventually but I missed the camaraderie at the fire station and, of course, the firefighting. Providence rescues still respond to fires but for the most part stay outside and tend to the wounded.

I was looking forward to the old routine, the discussion around the coffee pot, the housework, polishing brass, checking the trucks, rechecking the trucks, making lunch and with any luck, fighting a little of the red devil.

I didn’t get a chance to walk in the door of the Brook Street Fire Station.

“Welcome back, Morse, you’re going to Rescue 3, in charge,” said Tim, my truck mate from Engine 9 from the second floor kitchen window.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, laughing and shut the window so as not to let the cool air from the air conditioner out. I didn’t take it personally, I knew Tim was looking forward to my return, we got along pretty well. I would just have to wait another day.

I knew there was a possibility of being sent back to the rescue but I didn’t think it would happen so fast. The division is in desperate need of bodies. Not many firefighters are willing to be permanently assigned to the little white truck when the big red one is available. I put my gear back in the wagon and started toward the Branch Avenue fire barn and Rescue 3.

The shower water must not have had a chance to get hot when the bell tipped.

“Rescue 3 and Engine 2; respond to Route 95 North for an accident involving a school bus.”

Great.

“Rescue 3, responding.”

I heard Engine 2 roar out of the station. Thirty seconds later, Ed appeared from the shower, soaking wet and getting dressed while walking toward the stairs.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he said, shaking his head.

“I should know better,” I responded as the overhead door let the warm summer air into the bay. There are certain things that should never be uttered when on the clock. “It’s quiet.” “Things are so peaceful.” “What’s the worst that could happen?

“Engine 2 to fire alarm, we have a school bus into a tractor trailer, heavy damage to the school bus, we’ll keep you informed.”

“Here we go,” I said to Ed as we sped toward the incident.

“Engine 2 to fire alarm, advise rescue we have a pediatric trauma code, expedite.”

The school bus driver drifted from her lane of travel at just the wrong time. A flatbed truck had stopped in the breakdown lane. The bus slammed into it, first smashing the windshield glass, then tearing into the passenger compartment, ripping the metal like a tin can. The baby didn’t have a chance. She was in an infant seat at the door when the back of the flatbed crashed into the passenger compartment.

We approached from the south, the roof of the bus was torn off the body three quarters down the passenger side. I saw another Providence rescue just ahead of the bus. Brian took a bloody, still infant away from a woman who had stopped to help and started CPR.

The mind has a way of slowing things down during crisis. In what seemed slow motion, Ed pulled Rescue 3 past the wreckage while I assessed the situation from the officer’s seat. I fully expected mangled bodies of school kids inside the bus. The bus appeared empty when I looked through the shattered windows. The truck stopped, I stepped out and approached the wreckage, not really prepared for what lay inside but forging ahead anyway. The driver of the bus sat slumped over the wheel, trapped. Another woman was trapped in the seat behind the driver. I forced myself to look down the narrow corridor for more victims. There were none. The bus had finished its morning route and was headed back to the garage.

Special Hazards arrived on scene and began extrication procedures. The State Police blocked the highway while we worked. I watched the firefighters work like madmen during the extrication. I felt helpless standing on the highway, waiting. Fifteen minutes into the operation the infant’s mother was freed from her temporary prison. We lifted her out, using the freshly opened roof of the bus as an extrication route. She was unconscious, deformities to her extremities and in shock. We got her into the rescue and rolled toward Rhode Island Hospital, the area’s Level 1 Trauma Center, about ten minutes away. She lived. He baby did not.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

Don’t ask.

And so began the second part of my career in the fire service. I’m still a firefighter; once a person experiences that life it never leaves, it’s in your blood. For now, I spend my time on the rescue, EMS a second calling. I got off to a rough start, and the road hasn’t gotten much easier to travel but for all the pain, lost sleep and time away from my family I can’t imagine doing anything else.

http://www.projo.com/news/content/BUCKLIN_POOL_08-19-09_74FEK1N_v27.3c198f1.html

Thoughts and prayers for the kids and their families.

In a sane world, six Advanced Life Support vehicles would be enough resources for a city the size of Providence. We have 180,000 official residents, unofficially the number is as high as 300,000. The numbers swell during work hours and weekends.

In the world gone mad that we now live in twenty wouldn’t be enough. People call 911 for free rides to free healthcare at the emergency rooms. That is bad enough, what I find worse is the fact that we respond to these calls. I’m well aware that a headache could be the precursor to a stroke, and dizziness may be related to heart problems, and being intoxicated at home could bring more problems. Minor lacerations might get infected, one month pregnant people occasionally spot, nightmares happen, toes get stubbed.

During this pool emergency all of Providence’s rescues were on other calls. I’m not sure the exact nature of those calls but I’m fairly certain most were not life threatening emergencies. Rescue 1 cleared, mutual aid was called, a rescue from Johnston eventually responded.

If we must point fingers, mine are pointed directly at the people who call 911 because they can, everybody else does, they will “get in faster,” it’s free, it’s available.

Do we burden already overburdened taxpayers and municipal budgets and add more resources to an overtaxed system? Do we diminish an already undermanned fire suppression force to cater to the whims of a self centered general public?

If I were king there would be a fee charged to everybody who uses the 911 system. A sliding scale would be implemented. Whoever needs emergency services the least will be charged the most.

Real emergencies will be charged a dollar.

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Six months ago, Adam showed up at Rescue 1 to begin his six month detail. He started on a Sunday night. By weeks end we had survived a bloody suicide attempt, a ten year old in cardiac arrest who almost made it and a couple of shootings that didn’t. You get to know your partner fast in Providence.

I’ll be getting another partner soon, Adam will be greatly missed. Engine 7 is waiting for him, hopefully he’ll get tired of that old horse and find his way home. It seems I’m constantly losing friends to the red trucks, Mike went to Engine 15, Renato is at Engine 11, now this. I suppose I’ll survive.

He worried about his upcoming wedding, and who to and not to invite. You can’t invite everybody, some people you want there just have to be passed over. I remember saying that he shouldn’t feel obligated to invite me, that the tradition of inviting your officer to things like this could be waived, considering his newness to the job and all. At the time is seemed like a logical thing to say. Months later I couldn’t imagine being left out.

Meg and Adam were married Sunday at Whispering Pines at Alton Jones. They met there some years ago when they worked as camp counsellors. The ceremony was held outside at the edge of a pond. Meg was stunning. Somehow she mixed elegance with an outdoorsy sparkle that was absolutely natural, charming and perfect. I loved that she didn’t wear shoes.

I’ve never seen two people more in sync. They move together, smile at the same time, walk in stride and are filled with that magic everybody wants.

Thank you, Meg and Adam for having us share your day. It was a refreshing breath of love, honesty and joy. I am proud to know you.

(I had a great picture to post but my phone went through the wash. Maybe tomorrow)

http://www.mcauleyri.org/index.php

1022 hrs, Rescue 1 responds to 622 Elmwood Avenue for an intoxicated male. This is an everyday occurrence. The Mcauley House is run by some truly great, patient, benevolent people. Hundreds line up daily outside year round for the free lunches. A few of their clientele are chronic, homeless alcoholics. They are treated with kindness there, given a warm meal and more important than that some respect.

We respond to the address. Two “regulars,” a man and woman, both in their early fifties sit on a wall keeping each other upright. Today, the man is more intoxicated than the woman.

“I’m doing good,” she says, giving me a high five as I help her companion to his feet. He is dead weight, about 175 pounds of a body that barely functions. His clothes are clean, he must have gotten new ones from the hospital, yesterday he was filthy.

“I’ll be there in a little while,” the woman tells him and gets in line for the free lunch.

I was still a little fired up from the last one, a thirty year old female unconscious, intoxicated, overdosed on tylenol and surrounded by belligerent family members. When one of them, a twenty something shirtless tattooed tough guy refused to get out of the way I had to give him a “little” nudge. The time to show you are a man is not when your aunt is dying in front of you. If you want to be a tough guy, join the Marines, fight for your country, learn to speak English and take care of your family. And get the hell out of the way if you can’t.

I have no problem with Spanish speaking people as long as they try to learn English. I’m not looking for much, but if I can learn some basic Spanish, people who live here should be able to figure out I am asking their name and date of birth. It is for their own benefit anyway.

An hour later I found myself in a different home, a Hispanic couple in their early sixties. The woman, Beverly, is a dialysis patient whose shunt was bleeding. She also had diabetes, fluid in her lungs, chest pain, nausea and vomiting. I knelt in front of her wheelchair, noticed one leg was missing and that the bleeding from her shunt had been controlled. She was nicely dressed in clean clothes, bandages fresh, house relatively clean and orderly.

I asked how she was feeling, in her limited English she told me she was in great pain, cold and basically miserable. Her and her husband then communicated in their first language, Spanish. When they were done he asked me if I could take them to the VA, as all of her medical records were there.

After we were through with the necessary tests and treatment I had a chance to talk a little to them. They have been married for thirty-three years, she started “going downhill” three years ago, he’s been taking care of her since then. She is Dominican, He Peurto Rican. They met while he served in the Marine Corp.

Funny how quickly you forget about annoying little people when in the presence of great ones.

The Captain of Engine 14 met me at the bottom of the stairs.

“We’re going to need a board.”

It was the last call of the day for all of us, at least we hoped so. Shift change happens at 1700 hrs., this call came in at 1645. It was a blistering hot summer afternoon, everybody had been running all day.

I walked up the stairs toward the third floor, the heat increased with every step. It started at 85 degrees, ended around 110. The stairway was cluttered, boxes, bureaus and things made the tight spot tighter still. Three firefighters waited for me in the third floor apartment. A thirty year old woman was on her back, crying. One leg went strait out, the other curved at an impossible angle at her knee.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” said Greg, one of the firefighters. Matt knelt next to the patient getting her blood pressure and pulse while Dan attempted to secure the injured leg. The woman screamed every time he touched her.

The Captain came back in, carrying a backboard that we have set up for situations such as these, straps in place, blocks secured, ready to go. A split stretcher would have been nice but the powers that be decided we should be without them.

“Are you allergic to any medications?” I asked, praying morphine wasn’t on the list. She didn’t speak English, luckily her brother was able to translate. No allergies.

“She was putting the baby on the bed when she lost her balance and fell. I don’t know how she did it but she managed to keep the baby from getting hurt.”

I love moms.

I had to go back down the stairs to get the morphine, we have it double locked and then locked again.

“We’ll take care of this,” said the Captain. I noticed he was wearing gloves, as were his guys.

A few minutes later I came back with the pain meds. I administered 8 mg IM and waited. After a few minutes we were able to move the patient onto the backboard, gently secure her to it, immobilize the knee and leg and carry here down the three flights of narrow stairs. Once I gave the morphine the firefighters took over, and did a fantastic job getting the patient extricated. It was a potentially horrible situation made better by competent people who ignored the time, focused on the patient, put egos aside and did their job.

Fire based EMS works when everybody knows their job and isn’t afraid to get dirty doing it. The crew of Engine 14 had a combined total of over eighty years experience in a busy Urban fire department. It is a pleasure working with them.

At 5:30 we were ready to roll. The Captain asked if we needed help at the ER. His crew was willing to see this through. I thanked them instead, and shut the rear doors. The patient and her brother rode with me in the back. She didn’t feel a thing, and thanked me in English once we had her settled in at the hospital.

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“Rescue 1, Respond to 82 Lincoln Street for a pedestrian struck.”

“Rescue 1, on the way.”

82 Lincoln Street borders one of the local colleges, plenty of kids walking around and plenty of kids driving like morons to run them over. We hit the lights and siren and started toward the incident. From the top of the street I saw three police cars. We approached the scene expecting the worst.

“Where is everybody?” I asked one of the cops who stood next to his cruiser.
He pointed at one of the houses.

“She’s in there.”

I entered the house, it is a group home for teens. A young girl sat on a kitchen chair, looking annoyed. Before I said a word a woman handed me some paperwork and informed me I would be taking “her” to the hospital. I ignored the woman leaned over the chair, close but not close enough to be uncomfortable and asked “her” her name.

“Ashley,” she said. “I’m not even hurt.”

“It’s our policy that clients be taken to the hospital,” said the woman, again attempting to hand me the paperwork. Again I ignored her.

“What happened, Ashley?” I asked. She sat a little straighter and brushed her bangs away from her eyes. Big brown eyes that had seen more in sixteen years than most see in a lifetime. I know why these kids live here and it has little to do with them. Some people just shouldn’t have kids.

“I was walking in front of the house, a car was turning around and brushed into me. They’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“I’m getting my supervisor, wait here.” The woman told me, holding a phone to her ear.

We walked out, Steve, Ashley and me. I told Ashley not to worry, I just needed to get her complaint and vital signs documented and make sure she truly wasn’t hurt. Inside the rescue we all relaxed, took her vitals and talked a bit. She told us her mother “just lost it” and she shouldn’t be living here but had no choice, for now anyway. We finished our assessment and returned to the house. The woman with the phone waited.

“It is our policy that any client that is injured be transported to the hospital to be checked.” she said, victoriously.

“Didn’t you get the memo?” I asked.

“The memo?”

“Yes, the memo. The one that says the Providence Fire Department does not now, ever did or ever will worry about yours or anybody else’s “policies.” If a person is sick or injured, or needs emergency medical treatment we will decide the best course of action. The best course of action here is done. Ashley is not injured. If you feel she needs to be seen by an emergency room doctor to confirm that, I suggest you find a way to get her there.”

Ashley loved it.

I’ve got to admit I kind of liked it too. When I decided to stay on Rescue 1 I also decided that I was going to have to make some changes.

I am a firefighter and an EMT; and a Lieutenant with one of the best fire departments in the country. It’s about time I remembered that and started acting like one.

A recent Brown University graduate, Michael Morgenstern spent years making a film that was accepted into this years Rhode Island International Film Festival. Congratulations, Michael, and best of luck with the film.

People can RSVP on Facebook to the two screenings. The better showing is at 10am on Sunday, August 9 at the Columbus Theater on 270 Broadway. It will also be shown at 3:30p at the URI Feinstein Campus on 80 Washington Street.

http://www.film-festival.org/index07A.htm

http://mjmfilms.com/

The film explores Brown’s student culture very thoroughly and is a must see for anyone interested in Rhode Island issues. It follows three Brown students: Zac, John, and Arthur, as they fight to be school president in a school where nobody really cares about the election! They have to battle the apathy of students, and what ensues is a hilarious and engaging portrait of some very quirky people.

Eighteen years ago, this very day, a twenty-nine year old man stood at attention with sixty-three other trainees listening to the Chief of the Division of Training, Chief Turbitt, welcome us to the Providence Fire Department. One by one the training officers introduced themselves to the class. I stood next to the open overhead door on the apparatus floor, a warm summer breeze ruffling our freshly pressed blue t-shirts and khaki pants as Lieutenant Thomas addressed the class, telling us to forget anything we knew, or thought we knew about firefighting. We were there to learn how to do things the Providence Fire Department way, period.

I had been told by people who had been through the rigorous six month academy to keep my mouth shut, do what I was told and learn as much as possible. “Whatever you do, don’t bring attention to yourself.”

As Lt. Thomas continued his lecture my eyes kept wandering to the other side of Reservoir Avenue. There, on the sidewalk, a thirty year old woman stood on the side of the road repeatedly lifting her shirt and waving to passing motorists. Without turning my head i watched the spectacle unfold. I was sure this was some prank, what else could it be? Eventually the shirt came off. When she sat on the sidewalk and started to take off the rest of her clothes I reluctantly raised my hand, trying to think of how my first words as a Providence Firefighter would be remembered.

Lt. Thomas looked at me, amazed that one of the trainees had the temerity to raise his hand five minutes into his new career.

“Sir.” I said when he glared at me and gave a tiny nod of his head. “I believe a woman across the street needs help.”

The Lieutenant stood there for a moment, obviously not impressed with my assessment of something he was sure he had seen already and casually strolled to the open door. The ladies pants were now down around her knees and she was enjoying herself on the sidewalk.

Lt. Thomas keyed his mike and asked for police and a rescue to respond to the address for a “woman in distress.” He sauntered back to the front of the class, completely forgetting his opening remarks, shook his head and finished his speech.

“Welcome to Providence.”

Happy 18th Anniversary to everybody in the 42nd Academy. What a long, strange trip its been!

To Our Valued Friends

Please Excuse Our Appearance
During Renovations

Rescuing Providence Will Be
Open for Business (or business as usual)
During Construction

(Ok, can’t resist. Got a call at 0300 hrs for an eighteen year old girl suffering from nausea. Took her to the ER, the triage nurse did a double take and asked why I brought a patient from the waiting room to the ambulance bay. Turns out our little sweetheart had her boyfriend drive her to his house 1/2 a mile away, call 911 and let the fire department “get her in faster.” She may still be there tomorrow.)

Im at the ER. I just brought a girl in who claims somebody ran her over then pulled a gun on her. The person who allegedly pulled the gun, I just found out, is in the waiting room.

My phone rings.

Saint Misusmorse: There’s skunks in the yard.

Me: It’s three o’clock in the morning.

Saint Misusmorse: It doesn’t matter, there’s six skunks prowling around the birdfeeder.

Me: We need a “skunkin” dog.

Saint Misusmorse: What is a “skunkin’ dog?”

Me: A dog that kills skunks.

Saint Misusmorse: And where do you suppose I get a “skunkin dog?”

Me: Catch a skunk, kill it, tie it to a four foot length of rope. Bring the dead skunk to the dog pound. Drag it in front of the cages. Whichever dog barks loudest is our “skunkin dog.”

Saint Misusmorse: Bring home some mothballs.

The phone goes dead.

I think this place is making me crazy.

I’ve been waiting. Every time I turn on the radio I listen for one of those roll down the windows, spark up a fatty, step on the gas, drive to the ocean rip off my clothes and dive into a wave rock anthems that make my ears bleed, face melt, heart beat faster and sing out loud, one of those songs that makes me think that for as long as this lasts anything is possible.

Allow me to take a little trip back in time, names and dates are probably confused but what the heck, the party was in full swing:

Summer of 70, Jumpin’ Jack Flash by the Stones
Summer of 71, Saturday Nights Allright for Fightin” Elton John (yeah I know)
Summer of 72, Ballroom Blitz, The Sweet

Summer of can’t remember, Won’t Get Fooled Again, The Who, Born to Run, Springsteen, Train kept a Rollin’, Aerosmith, More Than a Feelin’, Boston, Rock On, David Essex, Schools Out, Alice Cooper, You’ve Got Another Thing Comin’, Judas Priest, Freebird, Lynard Skynard, Back in Black, AC/DC, Jailbreak, Thin Lizzy, Smells Like Teen Spirit, Nirvana, Panama, Van Halen, Alive, Pearl Jam, Sweet Child of Mine, Guns & Roses…I could go on but I have to go.

Anybody else remember?

These songs transcended age, culture and taste. They were everywhere, you couldn’t miss them. I miss that stuff, everything seems so compartmentalized.

One good song brings so many people together. I hope somebody comes up with one soon, we need it.