Trees and power lines were down, trash cans spilled their contents all over the streets, an eerie calm had settled over South Providence and Rescue 1 was assessing the damage. At the outskirts of Roger Williams Park, a lone figure moved through the shadows, sillohetted by the streetlights on one of the streets that still had power.

"Brian, stop the truck," I said, when the creature came closer. He came right over when Brian opened the door, and climbed on his lap. I scratched his ears and he slobbered all over, much to Brian's dismay. He tried to crawl into the cab, but he was big, and wet, and kind of scary.

The city was in chaos, there wasn't much we could do for him but give him a little love and hope he found his way home.

Little did we know, he was home, but needed a little human companionship after what must have been a frightening night alone in the woods, with trees crashing down,and hail the size of golf balls falling on him.

Good luck, Chase, we'll meet again.

http://www.projo.com/news/content/Chance_At_Large_06-30-11_KROTOTL_v12.4ac51.html

He takes a chance on child and a Frisbee

08:17 AM EDT on Wednesday, June 29, 2011

By Donita Naylor

Journal Staff Writer

"Chance," the dog that has been wandering Roger Williams Park since the winter, turns himself in to authorities.

 

Journal Files / Bob Breidenbach

PROVIDENCE — In the end, it was a Frisbee and a gleeful toddler that drew Chance back into the company of man.

A dog who survived the winter in Roger Williams Park, dining on donated chow and whatever trash he could find and eluding capture by positioning himself in the middle of frozen ponds and by not being fooled when blankets were draped over a Havahart trap baited with a meaty ham bone, finally let himself be caught Tuesday, by a park ranger who spent six months trying to win his trust.

Providence Parks Ranger Erik Lundblad said he kept an eye (mostly through binoculars) on the dog almost every day until he was assigned to first shift about a month ago. “The guys on second shift had seen him as recently as a week ago,” said Lundblad, who recalled how “people came out of the woodwork” after stories about Chance ran in January and February. “It was unbelievable. It became a nuisance. My whole post was trying to catch this dog.”

People donated bags of kibble, cans of dog food, even steaks and stew meat.

“I was microwaving, and giving him hot meals every day,” Lundblad said. When he changed shifts, his replacement, Tony Cappalli, kept up the evening feeding schedule.

Chance was well-fed, but no one, including a professional trapper, could get within 20 feet of him.

That changed early Tuesday afternoon. Lundblad had stopped to watch a man and a 2- or 3-year-old tossing a Frisbee. Chance “just galloped out of the woods, wanting to play.”

The dog, who looks like a pit bull, seemed delighted by the child. The father moved to protect the boy, and Lundblad called the dog away from them.

“He actually listened to me,” Lundblad said. “I said ‘sit’ and he sat. I couldn’t believe it. The dog’s listening to me like I own him.”

The boy’s father had a length of nylon rope. “I made a little noose to keep him until animal control could get there,” Lundblad said. Chance let him slip the loop over his head.

The dog had mange, which Lundblad described as “little, tiny, microscopic biters. I could see how gross he was.”

The dog’s face was bleeding, his head was bald and he had scabs all over. His eyes were swollen and so were his front paws. “He was a real mess.”

Almost as soon as he had been captured, Lundblad said, Chance took the rope in his mouth, “chomped on it four times, and the thing was in half.”

He was loose, but it didn’t seem to matter. “He basically just hung around us, rubbing his face on bushes and the grass and stuff because he was so itchy from mange.”

Another parks ranger, Brian Welch, helped snag the dog and load him into the animal control van, Lundblad said.

Chance was taken to Mass RI Veterinary ER in Swansea, which confirmed that he had been treated and released back to Providence Animal Control.

Lundblad said he and a friend from Almost Home Rescue believe that Chance’s chances, of being rehabilitated and placed in a loving home, are good.

Lundblad said he knew “hundreds of people that want this dog.

“It has to be somebody that has a fenced-in yard. If he gets out again, he’s going to fly the coop.”

Oh my God!  I went on vacation and came back twelve days later and the same people are in the hospital waiting room! And they all look like each other, are dressed like each other, and they all are making the same retching sounds and moans and groans, and the place still smells like vomit. It's like i entered a time warp, and while life went on for me, everything at work stood still.

And nobody even noticed I was gone. Was I gone? Am I even here?

The tone keeps going off, I must be here. But it's the same people calling, with the same problems. Frequent Flyers. Familiarity breeds contempt, they say, spend a few years on Rescue 1 and you will know exactly what they mean.

That's all for now, Rescue 1, Responding.

What the heck is going on here? The same person who looks into mangled cars and pulls out mangled people, has no trouble picking up severed fingers and putting them in a sterile wrapping, brushes puke out of the way with one hand while sinking an ET tube and doesn't even flinch nearly passes out when somebody he knows is bleeding.

I'm even worse when on the receiving end of an IV. 'Suck it up, soldier, and quit being a crybaby," I may have mentioned a time or two before sinking a 16, but beg for a 22 when it's MY arm being invaded.

Thank god for 911, these "civilians" are useless in an emergency!

Rescue 7 has been promised for a decade, dangled like a carrot on a stick in front of the weary eyes of an over worked rescue division. Five thousand plus runs a year is too many calls to maintain an effective, motivated crew. Running around like a bunch of fools is no way to operate an EMS division. Another unit would have greatly improved the working conditions in the EMS division of the Providence Fire Department, increased morale, improved patient care, lengthened the careers of the more experienced people in the division, saved on wear and tear of the fleet, and most importantly, would have ensured my promotion to Captain!!!

Looks like I'll be dying on the vine, as they say about people like me who linger on a promotional list but never make it. Wish I had all the hours I spent studying for a promotion that will never come back, I would have put those hours to good use, things like sleeping, enjoying the holidays, reading for enjoyment and spending quality time with the family.

Rescue 7, contractually agreed upon last year to be commissioned in January of 2012, after years and years of broken promises is dead. The mayor demanded six million dollars in give backs from the firefighters union. The firefighters union, consisting mostly of engine and ladder company firefighters chose to use Rescue 7 to get closer to the demanded concessions. It is now delayed until 2014. I'll believe it when I see it.

Rather than embrace the EMS division, and make it a model of what could be done, and lead the region by example in making The Providence Fire Department the best first responders anywhere, we will continue to treat EMS as a secondary concern, and continue to have six units do 75% of the call volume all the while telling anybody who will listen how busy we are, and how many runs we do, and use those numbers when we need them, and forget about the few who are actually assigned to the rescues who are doing the lion's share of the work.

But, like the firefighters tell us when anybody from the rescue division dare mention the late relief, the missed meals and the burnout, "if you can't take it, get off the truck."

Alone, in a dirty bathroom in an abandoned house, syringes everywhere, rat droppings, human waste, empty vodka bottles. Squatters found him. I'm surprised they called us.

To treat, or not to treat, that is the question.

Whether 'tis nobler to leave the unconscious man

alone, to suffer his fate,

for he slings the poison that made his fortune

Or take his arm, and pierce his flesh,

To die, to sleep, to revel among his dreams,

and slumber into the abyss, unknowing,

for in that death, what dreams may come

haunted visions born from a witches brew

interrupted by a different potion

that makes calamity of extended life

of scorn and ridicule, and endless need,

the pangs of love delayed, and the laws slippery grasp

for who is this man, that scorns the life of a common man,

and chooses one of continued depravity,

and suffers in silence, alone, with his thoughts

and an empty bag whose contents

are better served as fleeting sands in the hourglass

rather than the ruination of

another poor soul

whose time is running out.

I pushed the Narcan.

"Thousands of people will apply for your job when you go, get over it."

How many times have you heard that one? Too many is my guess. The City of Providence is losing some great people at the end of the fiscal year, June 30th. People with decades of experience; people who came to work, and "applied" themselves, every day. It's a little different "applying" for a job and actually doing the job you "applied" for.

I've had a lot of jobs, and worked with all kinds of different people. A prevalent comment when the job at hand was difficult, or hazardous, or plain old nasty is,  "they don't pay me enough to do that," and the job simply would not get done. And the guys that didn't get paid enough to do that job would quit, or get fired and "apply" for another job that they would work at, and do their time, and punch out at the end of the day never having applied themselves.

There really isn't anything wrong with that. Some people are simply not that complicated, and find contentment by just getting by, watching others do the hard work, collecting their pay, and complaining about everything while they relax. These are the people that apply for the jobs of firefighter and police officer, and never finish the application process.

We seldom hear about the thousands that forget to show up for the entrance exam, fail the background check, fail the physical agility test or simple do not finish high enough on the list to get hired. A lot of people are willing to "take" our jobs, not many could "do" our job. I'll be saying goodbye to too many good people this week that did the job, and did it well. And thousands will apply to take their place.

Only a few of those who apply will be capable, and willing to stand in front of a fully involved triple decker, turn in their pack, mask up, force the door, find the fire and put it out. Or pull the bloody, barely breathing victim from the rubble, and wash off the blood later, or approach the car full of people at two in the morning, and walk up to the tinted windows looking for the suspects from the shooting ten minutes ago.

The few don't say, "they don't pay me enough." The few go in, and get dirty, and get the job done. The few will eventually fill the shoes of the ones who came before them, and follow their footsteps into places the rest would never go.

Here's to "The Few," coming, and especially going. Godspeed, people, it has been a pleasure.

I ran into her at the grocery store, I hadn't seen her in a while, she seemed okay, but as our conversation progressed it became clear that something was wrong. Turns out a good friend of hers overdosed on heroin earlier in the week, and her, less than a year in recovery took it hard. We stood near the fruits and vegetables, shoppers poking around, picking over the oranges, peeling cobs of corn and discarding some of the husks in the barrel the store had put there, and on the floor mostly, but those people didn't matter, and if they overheard us we didn't care, they were invisible to us.

Addiction and recovery are tricky things, baffling, crafty and relentless. One day at a time is the best a person who suffers from the disease can ask for. Relapse happens, and happens often, and the fear of it is always in the back of an addicts mind, especially when somebody close falls back into the cycle. A person goes far deeper than what they let us see, their thoughts hidden, protected and private. To peel back the walls and defenses is next to impossible if that person chooses to keep their true feelings and desires hidden. Chelsea's friend knew what he was doing, and chose to keep that knowledge to himself, and because of that didn't get the help that could have saved him

He had been doing well for six months, she told me, found a job and seemed happy. He spent some time with her the day he overdosed, and she knew something wasn't right. A person makes the choice to return to old habits long before they actually do so, and she just knew he was heading in that direction. And she did nothing, other than the obligitory "are you okay" things, and an offer to talk. He told her he was fine, and went about his business.

We did the usual dance, said the usual things, reassured ourselves that we really have little or no control over another person's actions, and the the best we can do is focus on the present, and try to help other people when they need it, or ask for help.  I wonder what she was really thinking when she smiled, and said she would be okay, and went back to her shopping list.

Her friend didn't ask me for help. It was too late for that.  He overdosed in Providence, on my watch. He was dead in a car on Elmwood Avenue when we arrived. I left that little tidbit out of our conversation, she really didn't need to hear that.

Small world.

0420 Hrs.

"Rescue 1, Respond to 54 Chair Street for a fifty year old male who fell down a flight of stairs."

I fumble for the radio, find the key and press.

"Rescue 1, responding."

In the five minutes it takes to arrive on scene blood flow has resumed, hopefully erasing the crease on my face. I open the door of the rescue, step onto the ground, feel pain shoot up my legs, pooling around the knees for a minute before landing full force in my back. The man is on the second floor, laying on a couch. I slowly climb the stairs, get to the landing and rest. When I catch my breath I walk toward him. We do a visual assessment.

"You look terrible!"

"I know."

"Where is the pain?"

"Mostly my back but it's all over, really."

"Do you have any pain meds?"

"I think my doctor is addicted. If she gives me any there won't be enough for her."

"You need some help, can you get back down the stairs?"

"I think so."

"Come on, I'll help you."

He helps me. We slowly make our way back down the stairs and into the rescue. The guy who fell down the stairs helps me in. When the rescuers are in worse shape than the rescuees, it's time.

"You need a vacation," he says. "Maybe you should take the stretcher."

Patient's Orders!

See you in a week or so!

She had been acting strange for a week or two, isolated, quiet, not answering her door. Friends were concerned, she had a history of drug abuse and self mutilation. One of her friends had been trying in vain to reach her by phone, when that failed she drove to her home and rang the bell, and knocked on the door. She swears she saw movement in one of the third floor windows, and continued to ring the bell and phone. No answer.

After five minutes she called 911. The police arrived first, followed by an engine company. Five minutes later, I arrived. The officer was explaining to the concerned friend that we simply cannot break down every door in the city when another is worried about the person inside. The firefighters stood by, waiting for legal authority to force entry.

I had a decision to make. I've seen far too many successful suicides to give this this scenario much thought. The lady who called was frantic. I took responsibility, much to the police officer's chagrin, and asked the firefighters to force the door so we could investigate.

There was nobody home.

Did I make the right call?

To find out, follow the link:

http://firelawblog.com/

I hereby bequeath and amend all prior bequethments bequeathed prior to any and all feebleness from current or future healthcare proxies the following instruments beholden to ominous lostminderounius on or before my convalescence with consent to expeditiously carry out my wishes as follows:

Under no circumstances am I to be placed in a facility named, doing business as or to be known to public entities as:

1- The Valley

2- The Village at (place androgynous name here)

3- The Lodge

4- Whispering anything

5- The View at …

6- Pleasant…

7- The Woods at…

If due to unforeseen circumstances I must be admitted to a health care facility that specializes in the care of people who who cannot care for themselves, I hereby order that such aforementioned facility be appropriately named. Some examples:

1- The Dump

2- No View

3- Unpleasant Aroma

4- Loud, Noisy, Overcrowded Place to Die

5- Tolerable Towers

These are my wishes, signed and sealed on this day as the powers that be are my witness

Thank you, and goodnight.

Just to prove I've lost my mind I decided to read the Protocol Book again. A few pages in, I found this….

    1.0 Pre-screening before Standard Management of All Patients

1. Respond to scene in a safe manner

     >Consider scene safety and initiate pre-conceived notions regarding patient

     >Use of lights and sirens may be necessary, however, consider the nature of call and number of times  responding to address.

     >Completely ignore National Incident Management Systems and avoid radio transmissions during initial size-up.

2 .Approach the scene cautiously and assess potential kling-on patients

     >If klingons attempt to muscle in on patient who called, a strait-arm tactic is advised as you proceed to person in potential need

     >Difficult to shake klingons must be dealt with swiftly, prior to any real illness or injury occurring

3. A full set of vital signs must be obtained prior to ruling out validity of patient

     > Systolic BP <90 consider legitimate (no guarantee)

     > HR <60 and >120 consider legitimate (consider exceptions)

     > RR <10 and > 24 consider legitimate

4. If patient makes it to Assessment Stage Two, use patient monitoring equipment, such as pulse oximeter and ECG monitor.

     > Document any abnormal findings

Once patient has been confirmed as "illegitimate," safely leave scene and return to service. If illegitimate patient continues to call 911, this becomes a police matter and the proper authorities shall be dispatched.

But then I woke up.

http://thehappymedic.com/2011/06/a-tip-of-the-helmet-literally/

This story has gone from bad, when I learned two San Francisco firefighters were injured, to worse, when I heard they were critical, to devestating when I found out that hey both died in the line of duty, to bearable as the days passed, to tolerable when I watched some footage of the funeral to where i am now, sort of in a spiritual place where the future looks a little more tolerable, and society a bit less cruel, and confident that people are still able to convey some compassion, honor and respect to the next generation.

One kid is stabbed, another one bleeding from a knife wound, somebody took four bullets to the abdomen a few hours ago, the lightening has started and golf ball sized hail is falling from the sky. The kid who got stabbed is in the rescue, the other one bleeding all over the sidewalk. The police are going to tow the car that carried five guys, all under twenty, from the east side to south Providence.

The kid with the stab wound jumps from the stretcher and declares his car is legal, YO, and these pigs got no right to be towing his ride, YO, and get off me, YO, when I try to plant him back onto the stretcher. The guy outside the rescue, still bleeding, joins the chorus, YO and declared theis is bullshit, YO.

The other kids dissappear, the cops tow the car and the war has taken a break for now, YO.

We bring the kid who was stabbed to the ER, where he will continue to act like an idiot, YO until they release him, and he carries out whatever plans that brought him from his "side" of the city into south Providence.

I hope it has stopped raining when we get the call. Blood gets everywhere when it's mixed with rain.

Scene 1

(Apparatus floor, Fire station. Dim lights illuminate a fire engine and an ambulance. All quiet, two brass poles are illuminated by off stage lighting. Quiet…quiet…quiet…A loud tone blares, the auditorium suddenly  illuminated with blinding light, two figures descend from above, sliding the brass poles, then two more, then two more. They scramble for their positions on the trucks. The spotlight follows them, moving quickly as a loudspeaker fills the hall…

“Attention Rescue 1 and Engine 13, respond to 262 Public Street for a possible CVA”

Two overhead doors open, the trucks exit and the doors close. Dim lights illuminate an empty apparatus floor. All quiet, two brass poles are illuminated by off stage lighting. The house lights go off. Quiet…quiet.)

Scene 2

(A man sits on a reclining chair, slumping, leaning to his left side. A television sits in the corner, on but ignored. Evidence of a life well lived surrounds them, open books on the coffee table, an easy chair next to the recliner, family pictures on the walls.)

MARGARET
(Margaret puts the phone down, stands in front of the man, the kneels)

Harv! Harvey! Talk to me Harv! Please! Oh, Harvey, please…

(Margaret paces, walks from the window back to Harv, then to the door, looking out, waiting. Sirens are heard in the distance, low wail, then increasingly louder, and louder. Margaret stops pacing and kneels next to Harv. A loud knock, the storm door opens, a man in uniform enters, followed by five others, filling the stage. The men bring equipment and begin setting it up. Two of the firefighters go directly to Harvey and open their med bag and get busy)

LT. MORSE

Fire department. What’s going on?

MARGARET

We were watching TV, and I noticed Harvey wasn’t focusing, then he slumped into his hair, and wouldn’t answer me, I think he’s dying!

LT MORSE

Nobody dies when I’m working. There’s too much paperwork.

(Lt. Morse holds Margaret’s hand and helps her sit on the chair next to her husband,)

RENATO

(Renato, one of the firefighters has finished doing a blood glucose test on Harvey, and waits for the result)

His blood glucose is 16! No wonder why he’s not responding!

MARGARET

Is that bad?

LT. MORSE

Is he diabetic?

MARGARET

Why, yes, yes he is, but he takes his medication every day!

LT. MORSE

It’s okay, mam. I think we can help.

(The stage is a flurry of activity as Harvey is treated. Two of the firefighters start an IV, another hooks up an oxygen cylinder to Harvey’s face, a forth attached a blood pressure cuff to Harvey’s arm while Margaret watches. The scene is frantic, but controlled.)

BRIAN

I’ve got the D-50 ready.

RENATO

IV’s good.

FIREFIGHTER 1

Blood pressure 167 over 100, heart rate 120

BRIAN

D-50 going in.

MARGARET

Oh my god, is he going to be okay?

LT. MORSE

We’ll know in a minute.

(The set is quiet for thirty seconds, all movement stopped. Harvey begins to move, slowly at first, then shakes his head and stretches his arms.)

HARVEY

Where am I? What happened?)

MARGARET

Oh thank god! Harvey, I thought you were gone!

HARVEY

I felt dizzy, then can’t remember. Who are these guys?

MARGARET

I called 911 and these people showed up.

LT MORSE

Looks like you had a diabetic emergency Harv. You’re glucose level dropped to seventeen!

HARV

That’s never happened before.

MARGARET

I hope it never happens again!

(The firefighters clean up the stage, take their equipment with them and exit stage left.)

LT. MORSE

You really should go to the hospital Harv.

HARV

I’ve got an appointment in the morning with my doctor, I’ll be fine.

LT. MORSE

Keep an aye on him, okay Margaret?

MARGARET

Of course, and thank you!

(Lt. Morse leaves the couple, exiting stage left. Margaret turns the TV off, and helps Harv from his chair as they go to bed. Harvey turns the light switch as he leaves the room. The stage is dark.)

The End

I posted this essay on Rescuing Providence in February, it was in yesterday's Providence Journal. I had considered not submitting it, it's kind of personal, then I thought of all the people I work with who would never even consider telling somebody else they were hurting, or need a break, or have had enough and figured, what the hell, wouldn't be the first time I got a little personal here, it wouldn't kill me to get the message to a bigger audience.

The subsequent commentarry on the projo.com website illustrates our need to stick together, and stay strong.

http://www.projo.com/opinion/contributors/content/CT_firefighter10_06-10-11_K8O8Q2V_v10.371d35f.html

Michael Morse: Why 20 years may be enough firefighting for me

01:00 AM EDT on Friday, June 10, 2011

By Michael Morse

Twenty years ago I thought I would do this job forever. I had a dream: work in Providence till I was 60 and they threw me out, and then move to somewhere where they have a volunteer fire department and put my experience to good use. The department offered a 50 percent pension after 20 years, we contribute 9 .5 percent of our pay toward the fund, and the city contributes the rest. “That’s nice,” I thought, never considering that I would actually leave after 20.

Time marches on, and 20 years passed in the blink of an eye. The person I was when I started is long gone; a different, more somber, at times cynical person has taken his place. People who walked in my shoes fought for the 20-year pension deal, knowing from experience that 20 years in firefighter time is a long, long time. They knew, as only one who lived the life will ever know, that for some, 20 years is enough. They knew that at 45 or 50, starting a new career is not that easy, or starting a business when everybody else had a 20-year head start is challenging, to say the least.

I remember sitting in at a critical incident debriefing a few hours after I held two dead infants in my arms. My latex gloves melted into their skin their bodies were so hot as I tried unsuccessfully to revive them with my new CPR skills. I bagged the one-year-old — Savannah was her name I found out later — while doing compressions on the other, John. It was rough, but it was what I had signed on for.

The guy who brought the babies from the fire to me was a 20-year veteran firefighter, a tough guy by all accounts. When it was his turn to speak he filled with tears, and couldn’t. He hung his head and valiantly tried to express his feelings, but couldn’t. He left the room. A few months later he was gone. Retired. He told me much later that it wasn’t necessarily that call that did it; it was all the calls leading up to and including that one that finished him. He simply could not do it again.

I should have learned a lesson that day, but mired in the arrogance of youth I hadn’t lived enough to sense my own frailty. I was invincible. I thought of him the other day, as I drove home from what I thought was an unremarkable tour. As I neared my street, I thought of the little girl who claimed to have injured her knee and refused to move from the gymnasium floor. Her mother looked on from a distance, annoyed as I tried to figure out what was wrong. No bleeding or deformity, swelling or anything really. She showed me her other knee as a comparison, and I noticed bruises, weeks old on both legs, and both arms, and a haunted look on her face. I let it go. We can’t save everybody, and she probably is just an active kid who bruises easily. Or not.

I turned onto my street, and had to stop the car. Where was the little girl now? Was she home, in her room, reading or watching TV, or was she being punished for being a crybaby, like the kid a few weeks ago whose mother called us because her son “fell” from his bed — fell and had severe head trauma and curling iron burns on his legs. It took 10 minutes for me to pull myself together before I could walk in my door and not bring 20 years worth of memories with me.

I haven’t been sleeping well. It’s been going on for months now. Every night that I’m home I’ll go into a fitful slumber around midnight, only to be fully awake at around 2 a.m. I toss and turn for hours, finally getting some relief from my spinning mind at sunrise, only to be back up an hour later. I grab an hour here and there as time permits but have no idea what a full night’s sleep feels like, unless it is drug-induced, but I try to avoid that.

What runs through my mind is probably similar to every other person my age — are the kids really okay, will the bills get paid, am I truly happy or is this just an illusion, is that spot on my back the cancer that will kill me or just a mole. Then I get the ghosts.

• The baby run over by the 18-wheeler as it turned the corner on North Main and Doyle, dead in the middle of the street, the baby carriage twisted and crushed 100 feet from the body.

• The guy buried alive at sunset on Dorothy, and his lifeless arm that was the first thing we dug up.

• The 20-year-old guy and his 20-year-old friend dead in the front seat of their Mustang at the Atwells Avenue off-ramp

•  The 55-year old guy who was new at motorcycle riding who tapped a rear view mirror, lost control on 195, flipped over the Jersey barrier and was crushed by a Toyota Camry full of kids. We found his foot later, still in his boot

• The 18-year-old tattoo artist found hanging in his basement by his roommate.

• My friend’s brother found hanging in his bedroom closet.

• A RISD student found hanging from the wrought iron fence at Prospect Park.

• The kid found hanging off the side of his house on New Year’s Eve.

•  The 55-year-old who told his wife he was going golfing, started his car, didn’t open the garage door and died next to his clubs.

• The 40-year-old who held up traffic while he considered jumping from the overpass, then did as the crowd that had formed cheered.

• The college kid who fell 80 feet to his death the week before Christmas.

• The baby who rolled himself into his blanket and suffocated, while his dad was napping on the couch.

•  My friend Kenny who had a heart attack at his third building fire of the day, and had to be defibrillated, and came back to life but not the job.

• The 17-year-old girl who bled to death in the front seat of a car that had struck a tree while eluding police as her friends picked her pockets of the crack vials they were selling.

• The baby born dead and put into a hefty bag.

• The woman dead in her kitchen with a bullet hole in her forehead and her three children sitting on a couch in the next room.

• The two babies that broke the veteran firefighter.

• The eight-year-old deaf girl who broke my heart when I learned she had been prostituting for her foster parents.

• The 20-year-old dancer dead in her car after taking all of her pills, and the vomit-covered note on her lap.

• The family dead behind the front door as the fire burned out of control behind them.

• Delivering a baby in the back of the rescue and having the mother yell get that thing away from me when I handed it to her.

There are dozens, hundreds more, all waiting for that delicate twilight between sleep and consciousness to come uninvited into my mind. More join the parade every day that I come to work. Just the other week a 23-year-old hit and killed while walking home from a nightclub, a 30-year-old guy shot in the head, back and legs who walked to the rescue and then collapsed.

I am not a machine. I am a simple person who signed on to do a job, and have done it well. If I choose to leave this year, I will do so with my head held high, and hope that the pension that didn’t matter to me 20 years ago, but has become my lifeline, is still there.

Michael Morse, 49, is a rescue lieutenant in the Providence Fire Department and the author of “Rescuing Providence.

Update on City of Providence's Response to Severe Storm

 

From the Mojo

 

Top Ten Reasons why not to Open a Fire Hydrant to Cool Off

 

10. Sometimes  sharks fly out of the 3 1/2 inch port.

 

9. Kids get stuck with fish hooks when Cambodian families cast their lines into the pool

 

8. Hot rods create Tsunami's when the sound waves from their systems meet the water's edge

 

7. My feet get wet when I have to walk through the river to get to a patient

 

6.  Alligators

 

5.  Sometimes the Water Supply people fill the hydrants with pee.

 

4.  The reservoir empties and homeless people set up camp in the open space

 

3.  The water is freaking cold!

 

2.  It just looks ghetto

 

And the number one reason not to use a hydrant to cool off…

 

 

Now that's a Fire Hydrant!

 

From the Projo

Top Ten reasons not to open a fire hydrant to beat the heat

3:52 PM Wed, Jun 08, 2011 | Permalink
News staff    Email

The Top Ten reasons why you shouldn't breaking open a fire hydrant to stay cool during high heat, from David A. Nickerson, spokesman for the Providence Water Supply Board:

10. Opening hydrants to cool off wastes huge amounts of treated drinking water. Hydrants are designed to help firefighters put out life threatening fires and as a result, more than 1,800 gallons of water can spew from an opened hydrant every minute it is open. Water is a precious and limited resource and should be used wisely.

9. Hydrant use can cause reductions in water pressure throughout other sections of the water system. Using hydrants as public sprinklers can put other areas of the system in jeopardy if there isn't enough pressure when needed — for instance, if pressure is needed to fight a fire in another area of the system.

8. Attempting to force open a hydrant can cause internal damage to the hydrant. This is especially important if you can't get the hydrant open and move on to try another one. Although hydrants are inspected annually, firefighters might need to use a hydrant damaged this way and lose precious time when every second counts trying to save property and lives.

7. Hydrant use can stir sediment in water mains and cause unnecessary instances of discolored water to customers in surrounding areas.

6. Open fire hydrants can seriously undermine streets, sidewalks, and private property, and rack up some serious repair costs, both to municipalities and to private property owners.

5. Open hydrants can create traffic nightmares when oncoming vehicles try to negotiate flooded streets filled with people and other vehicles.

4. The raw force of water gushing from an open hydrant can cause serious injury to a person who hasn't been trained in the proper method to safely open a hydrant. Caps on the hydrant can cannonball into the body of someone standing nearby.

3. Small children playing in hydrant flow can be seriously injured, or worse, by the force of the water stream. Flow from an open hydrant can easily knock a large adult to the ground.

2. Fire hydrants are installed to fight fires — not to be used for recreation. When the Providence Water system was first constructed in the 1800's, it was done so for the single purpose of fire protection.

And the number one reason not to open a hydrant to cool off:

1. For all the aforementioned reasons, unauthorized use of a fire hydrant is against the law! In fact, if you see anyone who shouldn't be attempting to break open a fire hydrant doing so — call your local police.

http://newsblog.projo.com/2011/06/powerful-storm-hits-rhode-isla.html

Severe thunderstorms pummeled Providence last night, toppling trees, downing power lines, toppling chimneys, flooding streets and knocking down everything in their path. Roads were impassable, wires arced and created extreme life hazards throughout the city. Every piece of apparatus from the Providence fire Department was on the road doing damage assessment, setting up safety zones and helping citizens trapped in their homes by fallen trees.

During the height of the emergency I tuned in the local radio stations, and one after the other played tired nationally syndicated talk shows. No mention of the storm or the danger that existed from live electrical wires that fell on cars, doorways into puddles and onto roofs.

The streets were deserted, nothing but debris, floods and fire trucks. There was no emergency management, no notifications, nothing on the news, just firefighters keeping things safe. I'm pretty sure the State of Rhode Island spends lots of money on emergency management on the state level. I know they pay a retired radio talk show host a nice salary to be the spokesman for them in case of emergency, and I've seen the RI EMA million dollar Winnebago sitting in the parking lot in Cranston. If this isn't an emergency, I'd hate to see one.

The clean-up starts at sunrise, The Providence Fire Department will be there, as they were all night. Stay safe people, and great job!

Have I become jaded, or had the world gone mad?

At 1330 hours the fire department, an engine and a ladder company, no rescue because not only were all six of Providence's ALS units were busy with BLS calls, and six mutual aid units were picking up the rest, a hospital building had an elevator problem. The fire companies were called to help patients navigate the stairs.

At first glance this seemed reasonable, but upon arrival it was duly noted that a number of hospital staff were lingering about, waiting our arrival. Mind you, the fire companies have no stair chairs, and the patients were ambulatory.

I don't know, maybe I've had enough. Or, maybe the world really has gone mad.

"I had an Asthma attack me!"

So says David, an adorable eight year old  who found his way into the rescue when the school nurse called us because he had a pain in his side after gym class.