The Handover, An EMS Portrait

The Handover comes to Gomerville!

http://gomerville.com/2010/01/11/the-handover/

The official edition won’t be published until the end of the month, for now, here is my submission.

An EMS Portrait

Two kids, no more than eighteen sat on a sidewalk in Providence’s freezing November. Litter blew down the street, propelled by a chilling breeze that took the last memories of Indian summer away. Winter pushed through, nothing stopping her chilling embrace now.

The kids, a boy and his pregnant girlfriend had been walking when she felt severe abdominal pain. A pay phone was close, lucky for them; he used it to call 911. Engine 2 responded, along with Rescue 1 from the other side of the city. I was new to the job then, every call brought with it anticipation and excitement. I started the engine and waited for the crew to climb on board, Wayne and Arthur in back, Captain Costa in the officer’s seat. We turned left, toward the call. Less than two minutes later we found them, huddled together on the curb.

We talked to them, found out what was wrong, put them in the back of the engine where the doghouse radiated some heat through the diamond plate and let them rest. They looked exhausted, lonely and afraid. While doing vital signs I got to know them a little, as much as a five minute meeting affords. They were good kids, from an environment far different from the suburbs where I grew up. Her signs were good, she felt the eight month old fetus move and told me she wasn’t due for another month. They relaxed, we waited for the rescue. I was content that the little I did helped the situation, as the stress she felt dissipated, so did her pain. EMS at base level. I was satisfied.

Rescue 1 approached. An officer I’d never seen and his driver slowly pulled next to Engine 2, and even more slowly got out and slammed their doors.

“Where the fuck is she?” I heard one of them say. I opened the door to the engine, the other one stood there, arms crossed, shaking his head.

“Another fucking taxpayer. Let’s go.” He walked back to the rescue. The kids looked at each other, worry and anger filled their faces. I started to make excuses for the rescue guy’s behavior, then stopped.

“Assholes come from all walks of life,” I said to the two as they left my care and entered the fetid environment of Rescue 1. “Good luck.” I shook the boy’s hand and gave the girl a little squeeze on her shoulder.

“New guy,” said the “officer” of the rescue. They drove off, eager to dump their cargo and get back to whatever it was that was so important.

Back at the barn the guys vented a little about the morons on rescue, and then moved on. I never forgot. Years later, with that and hundreds of similar incidents in mind I took a Rescue Lieutenants test, finished second and started the second part of my career. I haven’t looked back. I still feel the anticipation and excitement when called, and still treat people with respect and dignity.