Who's better? Me? You? I'm better, they're better, you're better, the better man wins! Better yet, let's make everybody better.

I've never been a competitive person. I like to win, and like it when my teams win, but I really don't get too unraveled when I or they don't. The Patriots are in the Super Bowl, and so are the Giants. I'm a Patriots fan, but if they don't win the big game life will go on, and I'll be on to the next thing.

I do have to admit, it was sweet when the Bruins won the Stanley Cup. I'll never forget one game when I was playing junior hockey. A little shit was flying down the boards toward the goal, and the big galoot defenseman was the only thing between him and our goalie. I may be big, but I definitely ain't fast, so I positioned myself in the right spot and made the kid go behind the net. I had a chance to crush him into the boards, but I outweighed him by fifty pounds and just harassed him with my stick instead. The little bastard snuck around the net and snuck one behind our goalie. And if that were not bad enough, he laughed.

Next shift same thing was happening, and he tried it again, and I crushed him this time. I didn't laugh when they carried him off the ice, and neither did he, but he definitely did not score. I may not be all that competitive, but a guy's got to do what he's got to do. Years later while watching Saving Private Ryan, in one of the movie's pivotal moments one of the soldiers shoots a German soldier who he had let go earlier in the movie. It was symbolic of the death of innocence in the movie, and I had a flashback to my own little experience. Art imitates life, I suppose.

Firefighters are a competitive bunch, and I went along with all of that for ten years but my heart was never really in it. I knew I was good, and that was enough. I cannot be great at everything, but I am pretty good a lot of stuff, and might be great at one or two things, but there will always be somebody who does something better than me. And I'm okay with that. I'm done crushing people into the boards, it just doesn't feel very good.

I've found my experiences in EMS more satisfying that firefighting, and maybe the lack of constant competition is a big reason for that. There is no need to prove I'm better, or stronger, or faster or smarter than anybody else. The only one who matters is the person I'm taking care of, and they just want somebody who cares, usually.

Of course, competing with myself is vitally important. I need to know I've done all I can to be the best I can be at what I do, because people's lives literally depend on it. Either I do it, or I don't.

It feels great to be one of the people who can do it, and not have to prove myself to the rest.

Monday's Musings

We tend to run faster when we have lost our way.

I've seen it, done it, and will probably do it again. Bad idea, this running faster thing. The faster I run, the more problems I run into, and the fewer problems I solve. A steady, productive pace is needed most times, even when another person's life is at stake.

One of the more intimidating challenges I've faced is being in charge of an ALS unit during a cardiac arrest. The first few times my natural inclination to go faster took over, and I was three steps ahead of myself rather than focusing on what I was doing. 

I've learned to slow down, take each task as one accomplishment that has a beginning and an end, then move on to the next one. I've also learned to trust people, and to delegate. Many hands make light work a wise man once said, and it is great advice.

Local author Michael Morse at The Coffee Grinder, 961 Namquid Dr

Tel: 401-463-3300 Sunday, January 29, 2012 from 12-2.

A different world exists ten minutes from your door. Find out what really happens in Providence from somebody who spent twenty years in the homes and on the streets of Rhode Island’s Capitol City!

Responding, by Michael Morse   $22.50

“Responding” is a fine, skillfully paced second book that offers more fascinating pieces of life in the city, of the tragedy and the brutality and the small rituals that order the time between calls at the firehouse.   Bob Kerr, Providence Journal

Rescuing Providence, by Michael Morse   $20.00

“Rescuing Providence, a new book by Providence firefighter Michael Morse, is an interesting look at the Providence they don’t put in the travel brochures, all told in a very readable, effective, descriptive style.” Bill Reynolds, Providence Journal

Two surviving members of the original Lynyrd Skynyrd and a new guy were on FUSE last night, talking
about the band, the impact of losing the original members in a plane crash in '77 and how they have managed to go on, keeping the spirit of the deceased alive while charting new territories. My favorite part was when one of them, his name isn't important to me now, though it was before I watched the show, went into great detail about how as individuals they are nothing, but when they get together, and each one does his part, and the back-up singers chime in, and the drums get beating, an the bass kicks in-well, feet get tapping and magic happens…

Smoke fills the arena, obscuring the scene. It lifts a little, the crowd roars and through the haze the band takes the stage. I've got a part in this, and I get things moving, a man is down, possibly injured, not breathing. I need some rhythm, and the drummer and bass player take the stage and start pumping. One beat a second, small pause, a ventilation and more beats. The roadies move in, taking the lifeless form with them, and into the van they go. The drummer keeps his steady beat, the wind section kicks in and with his usual flourish, the lead guitar player knocks out a face melting, adrenaline charged solo.

The band pauses, I feel for a pulse, watch the monitor, and kick the band back into their song. Our roadies get the van moving, we're headed to the next gig, but this isn't a practice session in the back of the van, this is the show, mistakes are not part of the program. In perfect synchrony we play on, the steady beat from the rhythm section keeping the lead guitar and myself focused, doing the tings that make it all come together in perfect harmony. Now, if we could only get the singer to cooperate.

A crowd waits, apparently we are the warm-up band, but that's okay, it's all about the music anyway, the beauty of the band is there can be no ego's, without each part performing their job, it all falls apart. We need the roadies to get us there, the drummer, bass and sax player to keep the beat, the guitars to add flourish, the back-up singers to keep the harmony, the security detail to keep the gang at bay and if we could just get the singer to come back we would have a hit record.

We enter the next arena, security parts the crowd, bright lights blind us, the singer has his own rhythm now, a pulse, strong and steady, and he's breathing on his own. He pops up on the stretcher, ready to rock.

God, I love Narcan.

I woke up, and the TV was still on. Lynyrd Skynyrd was long gone, but like any great rock band they stuck in my head, and let me dream about being a rock star.

Scientific Method Pertaining to Book Sales.

considering…

Not a lot of people buy books from people they don't know.

and …

I don't know a lot of people.

therefore…

I'm not selling many books.

When my first book was published, I thought I would be on Oprah, and everybody would absolutely HAVE to have Rescuing Providence. Then, I found out that 90% of books sold are written by about 25 authors, and I am not one of them. Most books published sell less than 500 copies. Rescuing Providence is well over 2000 at this moment, and the Kindle version is doing quite well. Therefore, after letting the air out of my head, I have concluded that for a Firefighter in Providence who doesn't know a lot of people, I ain't doing too bad!

Responding has been available for a little less than two months now, and has sold about 300 copies. Considering about 100 went to friends and family, (much appreciated!) and another 100 to aquaintances, either on-line or casual friends, (also much appreciated!)100 people who I don't even know bought my second book. That's 100 people who forked over $22.50 plus shipping and handling to read my story. Plus, all of the folks I don't know who bought, or read Rescuing Providence.

And I had the balls to be dissapointed.

More Scientific Method Pertaining to Book Sales.

considering…

There are millions of things to read for free.

and…

Somebody I do not know is reading something that I wrote, probably right now.

therefore…

I am a one lucky guy.

Thanks for reading.

Hope to see you Sunday.

http://rescuingprovidence.com/2012/01/good-coffee-good-books/

She lived in a third floor apartment, exterior cement stairs led to her steel door that was secured with a lock and a dead bolt. Neighbors saw her earlier, standing on a balcony with her two year old daughter. At seven o'clock at night, the two year old girl's father, who lived forty miles away received a phone call from his ex, telling him goodbye.

Meanwhile, back on the ranch, Engines 2, 12, 7, Ladder 7 and 3, Special Hazards and Battalion 3 were dispatched to a Still Box on Chatham Street, occupied apartment fire. I was in the tool seat, behind the officer in a four man company. Arthur was driving , Kenny had the pipe, Captain Kozak in charge.

We arrived on scene and reported a smoke condition. Fire was visible on the third floor, behind a secured window, the smell and feel of smoke growing heavier the closer we got. Arthur spotted the engine perfectly and got ready to pump, Kenny climbed onto the rear step of Engine 2, grabbed an 1 3/4 line with a Task Force tip, loaded a length of line on his shoulder and followed the Captain up the stairs. I shouldered about thirty feet of line and then flaked the rest as I caught up with the Captain and Kenny.

Using his Haligan tool, Captain Kozak forced the secured door and we made our way in. Neighbors had gathered, screaming there was a woman and infant inside, Flames rolled toward us, apparently originating in a rear bedroom, followed the ceiling and filled the apartment with heat. We crawled forward.

"Charge Engine 2's line," said the Captain, and I felt the line give a little hitch, and a lifetime of seconds later, as heated smoke drove us closer to the floor felt it fill, and so did Kenny, and he opened the gate, and he hit the fire just as it was about to overtake us.

Instantly the hallway was gone. Nothing but black in front of my mask. Kenny, two feet in front of me-gone. The Captain, ahead of us-gone. I heard a crash, and felt the heat let up a little and figured Ladder 7 had the roof. We pushed forward, hit some fire on the way, fogged the hallway, took a right into the fire's room of origin and put the rest out. The Captain appeared through the smoke, carrying a woman in his arms, and got her out of the building. More companies arrived, we did primary, and secondary searches of the two bedroom apartment but never found the baby.

She was gone, at a friends house. He mother dropped her off, went home, set a mattress of fire in the baby's bedroom then locked herself into her room, called her ex, said goodbye and prepared to die. She didn't die, she was carried out of her death trap by Captain Kozak while we put the fire out. I saw her a few years later, same apartment, but clean and sober, and she had her baby back. Both seemed to be doing well.

The city gave us medals. Meritorious Action, First Class. It looks good on my dress blues.

At the time I thought the medal kind of silly, I was simply doing the job I loved. Now, some twenty years later, I'm glad they did, life and careers go by in a blink, it's nice to have something solid to hold on to, and remember people and events through it.

Alone with his thoughts most of the time, he sits in his room and doesn't make much of a fuss. The staff lets him be, figures he is content. There are plenty of other patients to care for in the nursing home, ladies mostly, older men are the minority. He gets visitors, not often, but more than some of the people who spend their last days here.

He was too young for the big one, but served in the Army in Korea, even got a few medals. Doesn't talk much about those years, ancient history. Raised a family, worked two jobs, held a position of authority then, at work and at home. He was respected in the community, everybody knew him, couldn't buy a coffee at the local diner, he had lots of friends.

Life was hard, but good, bills were paid, a vacation now and then, watched his children grow from babies, to students, to graduates then parents. But even the grandchildren grew up, and the once vitally important man started to lose his position, and the world sped past him. Then his wife, the woman he spent his life with got sick, and he wasn't able to take care of her, and they put her in a nursing home, where she died one night, alone in a hospital bed while he slept peacefully in the bed they had shared for fifty years.

He's alone now, the kids call now and then, grandkids less so, but that will change he figures, once they get a little older. They have lives of their own now, and their own legacy to fulfill.

Where did it all go, he wonders as the man half his age takes his blood pressure, asks the usual questions and gives him a nitro.

"Put it under your tounge, don't chew," the young man says, then puts the leads on his chest, exposing a once powerful frame, a build he used to be proud of, but even male vanity has fled the scene, and he cares not that the EMT has to lift his fatty breast tissue to attach the electrodes.

 The EMT reads the EKG. His expression does not change.

"Did the nitro help the pain," he asks, and the old man grins.

"My heart feels better," the old man says. "Less pressure. But the pain won't end until it stops beating."

"Rescue 1 to Fire Alarm, time on scene?"

"0645 hrs., Rescue 1."

"Roger, cancel Engine 10, send a Police Sergeant and notify the Medical Examiner."

"Roger that, at 0652."

Repeat after me: "My job is lucky to have me."

Do not ever say: "I'm lucky to have a job."

People who say they are lucky to have a job have either been brainwashed and beaten down by the present state of the economy, and manipulated by the near mythical "Job Creators" into actually believing that their job, their means of survival, their contribution to society and the very essence of self worth is a product of luck. Their uncertainty about the future, and anxiety about their ability to find work, and somebody to work for fuels the machinations that lead to a culture's decay. A population beholden to people who control the wealth and fuel industry and commerce is doomed.

 "My job is lucky to have me."

There is no need to begin a shift bowed to powers beyond our control. The economy is a complicated, fluctuating thing, fed by us, the people who make it work. Without us, it dies. As it stands now, people are depressed, tired and uncertain. Their sense of value to themselves, their families and their community is under constant attack. The economy, or rather those adept at manipulating it feed off of that uncertainty, and profit from it, and wear a man down until he utters those words, "I'm lucky to have a job."

"My job is lucky to have me."

Say it. Believe it. Make it true. Be on time, be prepared, learn everything possible about whatever it is you do; be a great cook, clean as good as you can, write well, teach well, drive well, and be well. Some people are actually fortunate to love what they do, most of us are not. That is no reason to not excel at work, and no reason to go through your days content to just get by, put in your time, cash your check on Friday and tell yourself you are lucky to have a job.

"My job is lucky to have me."

Luck does not exist. Luck is a myth. Work is real, and good work a valuable commodity. This economy is not going to right itself. Without us, the people who power it being healthy,  productive and confident in our abilities and worth mediocrity will rule. We will be a country full of mediocre people doing mediocre things for mediocre wages as the world generations of hard working, productive people have built crumbles into a pile of mediocre things that nobody wants.

"My job is lucky to have me."

The power of one person who believes in himself cannot be understated. We can't all own the companies that employ us. Everybody can't be the boss. Most of have to do the work that keeps everything going. Every person who contributes is vital. So stop telling yourself that you are lucky to have a job, and start believing that your job, or the job you seek is lucky to have you.

Save the Date!

Sunday, January 29, 2012 from 12-2 PM at The Coffee Grinder Inc, 961 Namquid Dr, Warwick, RI. Tel: 401-463-3300.

I'll be selling and signing my two books on that day, so stop in, say hello, have a coffee and a bagel or muffin and buy a book! You will be glad you did, and so will I!

http://www.paladin-press.com/product/Rescuing_Providence/Action_Careers

The brave men and women who make up our nation's EMS system willingly risk their lives every day to save people they don't know and often cannot communicate with. See for yourself how difficult, frustrating and at times heartbreaking this job can be, as lives are lost, scarce medical resources squandered, futures altered, and hope abandoned and then reborn. Despite this, most rescue workers cannot imagine doing anything else. For them, every day is different, every patient is unique and they know with certainty that they make a difference in people's lives. And, as Lieutenant Morse so eloquently states, sometimes it is the rescuers whose lives are saved by the job they do.

 $22.00

http://www.emergencystuff.com/9781887321143.html

I always thought that my job,or better yet-a day of my job, would make a great book. I had all of the ingredients for a good story, some crazy characters, life and death situations,  a ticking clock to add suspense, a pace that goes from auto-pilot to full throttle when you least expect it, and most importantly, a beginning, a middle, and an end.

What seems a lifetime ago I decided to go ahead with my plan to write the Great American Novel. On the way to work one random day I absorbed my surroundings a little more than usual, and made notes in a little pad that I bought just for that purpose. At the station I tried to remember conversations, and wrote remarks made, jokes told and anything else that caught my interest in my notebook. On calls, after the smoke had cleared, sometimes literally, I would get back to the pad and make more notes. When I called home, again I wrote down little nuances of my conversations with Cheryl, and added some thoughts and descriptions of our life together.

The shift went on for thirty-four hours, and those notes became Rescuing Providence, which was published in 2007 by Paladin Press. But the story did not end there, it was only half way through. The next day, I started a thirty-eight hour tour, and continued to write down everything that happened during that time. Three years later I finished putting those notes into book form, and those notes became Responding, published this week by Emergency Publishing.

$22.50

http://rescuingprovidence.com/2011/07/the-ems/

From the Executive Office of The EMS
 

Directive 1-A

Please post in a conspicuous place

Effective immediately:

There will be an Emergency room, and somewhere else, somewhere nearby,  a REAL EMERGENCY room

Field Units will evaluate patients and transport to the appropriate facility

There will be no Entertainment Weekly, People, or Star magazines permitted in The Emergency Room

Posted in The Emergency Room will be an updated list of local clinics, Primary Care Doctors and detailed directions on how to apply band-aids

People waiting in the Emergency Room will be shown REAL Emergencies while they wait

The Jerry Springer Show or similar entertainment will be banned from The Emergency Room monitors

Emergency! re-runs wil be permitted

The Emergency Room will have a mandatory five hour wait, whether it is needed or not.

The REAL Emergency Room will  have no wait at all

People who call 911 for rides to The Emergency Room and do not need The REAL Emergency Room must pay in advance for the ride

The REAL Emergency room will be staffed by people rotating from the Emergency Room

Persons who "might be" having an emergency will be allowed five (5) mulligans, after which they will be directed directly to The Emergency Room for treatment

A complimentary buffet will be served after each shift for both The Emergency Room, and The REAL Emergency Room staff.

Open bar  will be included with proper ID

That is all, carry on and stay safe…

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?"

"I do."

"State your name for the record…"

I forget most of the rest. I forget a lot of things, apparently. A letter arrived by carrier to my home one day, a subpoena, hand delivered by an officer of the court. A few weeks went by, the day of the deposition arrived and I showed up, as ordered.

"You were first on scene at a fatal motor vehicle accident on Route 95 on December 9, 2007, do you recall the event?"

"Yes, I do." I'll never forget it.

"Can you tell the attorneys exactly what you saw when you arrived on scene at," a shuffling of papers, "1134 hrs.?"

"A van was on its side, broken glass, major damage. We drove past the vehicle and stopped in front of it. When I got out of the rescue I saw a childs safety seat twenty feet away from the vehicle. I saw an infant in the seat, and the infant appeared dead."

"Lieutenant, you state that you drove past the damaged vehicle is that correct?"

"Yes." I remember it vividly.

Glances between the assembled lawyers, and clerks, the stenographer stayed on task. Pens on paper, then silence.

"Continue."

"I approached the seat and found an unresponsive infant. Another rescue arrived on scene and I handed the seat off to them and continued to assess the accident scene."

"Did you initiate any life saving efforts?"

"No."

"Can you tell us why?"

"The other rescue arrived on scene within seconds and i needed to size up the scene."

"Continue."

"I looked into the van and saw two more victims. One appeared dead, the other still breathing. By now more help had arrived, a chief officer, an engine company and a special hazards unit."

The deposition continued. I told the story exactly as I remembered it, each detail clear in my mind. The incident happened years ago, but the memories from that day are embedded into my subconscious, and easily pulled to the front of my mind when called upon.

"Any more questions?"

"No."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. We have footage from the scene and would appreciate it if you could identify some personnel, we need to get more information before the case begins."

"I'd be glad to."

A TV monitor turned on, and news footage from the incident began. My rescue was there, right behind the wreckage. I never drove past it. I also learned that the child seat was never thrown from the vehicle, though I vividly recall seeing it twenty feet away from the wreckage. Nothing was as I "vividly" remembered it. Nothing. It was as if a reenactment team did a poor job of reconstructing the incident. Actually, it was my own mind that did a poor job of recreating the incident.

I have no idea how many other things that I vividly remember are actually fabrications. The mind is a strange place, bearing witness to things better left unseen must scramble things up more than I thought.

"I wish you had shown me the footage before the questions."

"Thank you for your time, Lieutenant."

And that was the end of the deposition. I doubt if they call me back.

It matters not who calls us, what matters is their condition upon our arrival, nothing else. I have seen people of many colors, religions and political beliefs caring for and being cared for by each other, and little else makes me more proud to live in a day and age where predjudices are set aside, and healing is allowed to happen. The patients, the medics, we all have one thing in common, we are human beings.

"All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence." Martin Luther King, Jr.
 

I'm working at Rescue 6 in Olneyville tonight, a little stressed out-10 calls in ten hours so far, twenty-four hours to go. Lunch was hours ago, a cold bowl of soup and a stale grilled ham and cheese. What posesses guys to buy boiled, canned ham? And yellow cheese "food?"

Every firefighter should have one meal that he or she can cook, and cook well. It doesn't have to be complicated, simple ingredients and simple methods work best, burgers on the grill with fries in the oven, stir- frys, Italian tuna on a fresh Portuguese hard roll-I'm not looking for miracles here, just a little effort!

Cold canned  soup and yellow cheese, unbelievable!

The station is empty when I arrive, no trucks on the apparatus floor, no firefighters anywhere. A still box went out at 1745, just as I was leaving the Allens Avenue fire station, must be a code red. There's grocery bags on the kitchen counter. I've got a few minutes before the rescue returns,  nothing wrong with a little preview of tonite's culinary delight.

Boneless Pork Chops

Some cans of gravy

Ten Pound Bag of Red Potatoes

A few Bunches of Broccoli

That's it folks. What's a starving, lonely Rescue Lieutenant to do?

Get cooking!

First, a little recon. The Dinky closet is open, not sure which group left theirs unlocked, but what the heck, I don't know any better, I'm just a dumb rescue guy. There's a box of Stove Top instant stuffing hiding behind some salad dressings, a giant can of olive oil and a bag on onions. I take two onions and the stuffing. Just a cup of water and one package will be enough, I put the box back with the remaining one. There's a bag of shredded cheddar in the fridge, hiding in the vegetable drawer. It's not marked so it's fair game. A simple firehouse rule concerning leftovers that ensures harmony between working groups and should be strictly adhered to at all times is, if it isn't labeled, it's up for grabs, if it is marked and clearly identified as the property of a certain group, just take a little.

The common cupboard has the rest of what I need, bread crumbs, onion and garlic salt, some herbs, I like thyme, sage and basil on my pork, and I hope everybody else does too. There's some unlabeled eggs in the fridge near the milk so I grab a few of those and add them to the pile.

My foraging trip has given me the necessary ingredients for the feast:

some bread crumbs

a couple of eggs

a stick of butter

a nearly full bag of shredded cheddar

a package stove top stuffing

salt, pepper, garlic powder, onion salt, basil, sage and thyme.

First, boil the water and preheat the oven to 400. I don't have all day so every second counts. Then, wash and cut up the potatoes in quarters. Then, slice the onion. Mix the stuffing when the water boils and stick the pan in the freezer, stuffing and all. Get a sheet pan, splash a little oil or butter on it and spread it around, better yet, use cooking spray if you can find it,  put it next to a cutting board, place the chops on the board and beat them with the palm of your hand (washed of course, before and after!) or a meat mallet until they are a little thinner than they started. Sprinkle some salt and pepper on both sides. Take the stuffing out of the freezer, put a blob onto half of the pork chops, and cover with the other half, making one big stuffed pork chop. Beat the eggs in a cereal bowl, spread out some bread crumbs on a dinner plate, and carefully pick up each chop, dip in egg, then drop into bread crumbs, then do the other side and put it back on the sheet pan. Find a baking dish, put the potatoes into it, add the onions, pour a ton of the pilfered olive oil on top, liberally season with the collected seasonings, toss them around then put them into the oven. Get a big pot, put an inch or two of water into it, put it on the stove and turn it on high. Cut up the broccoli, nothing fancy, just little pieces. By the time that's done, the water should be boiling so drop the broccoli in, cover, and put the pan of pork chops into the over, while doing so toss the potatoes around a little more. Find another pan and put the gravy into it, heat on low. The broccoli should be soft by now, and even if it isn't who cares, there's eight hungry firefighter returning from a building fire, they will eat anything at that point so there is no need to get crazy.

Put the butter in a soup bowl and melt it in the microwave. Don't be a jerk, put a paper towel over it so it doesn't splash all over the place! When that is done, pour the bread crumbs in and mix it around till you have buttered bread crumbs, and everybody knows what those are, so just do it. One more pan, this time a baking dish. Put the broccoli in, top with the bread crumbs, mix it up a little, top with the cheese and stick it in the oven.

Time for a review:

Potatoes have been in for forty minutes.

Pork chops thirty

Broccoli five

Gravy is warm

Kitchen is a disaster, but we still have ten of fifteen minutes oven time left so get to work!

At 1915 Hrs. the overhead doors open, and the firefighters are back. They are expecting bags of groceries and an hour at least before they eat dry, grilled pork chops, boring mashed potatoes and overcooked broccoli. Instead, they get a feast.

Your reward?

"What, no applesauce!"

Somebody you love tells you they took "all the pills." They say they are tired of living, tired of struggling, tired of being tired. You look around the house and find empty pill bottles where full ones used to be. The person you love is getting sleepy, fading away right before your eyes. You're alone, it's impossible to lift her, she refuses to cooperate. Time is ticking, you need help and call 911.

Five minutes pass, the sirens can be heard approaching, closer now, finally in front of your house. The person you love is suddenly alert. Some firefighters and EMT's are at your door, a police car arrives.

"What's all this?" asks your friend.

"I called 911," you answer.

"What for?"

"You said you took all the pills."

"No I didn't."

Now what. She's not acting right, but not unright enough. She's charming the responders, telling them she never took the pills, and that YOU are the one who needs help.

I've been the responder often. It's never easy. I'm an EMT, not a doctor, not a psychiatrist, nor a social worker or psych nurse. I have no power over a citizen, other than my power of persuasion. It is difficult to explain to the average person exactly why EMT's, Paramedics, cops and firefighters need to go through such a rigorous application process, psychological exams, background checks, agility and written exams. Many people will tell me that I'm not deserving of the good salary, better than average health care benefits and pension because I'm "not educated." They go on to say that a thousand people are waiting in line to take my place.

I may not have a formal education backed by an advanced degree, but the guy who called us because somebody he loves needed to get to the hospital quickly was pretty happy that the group of people that responded to his home, and treated him and his girlfriend with professionalism, courtesy and competence came from a group of applicants large enough to find the ones that could handle his situation. And thousands more. All without an advanced degree, or in my case, no degree at all.

The current trend of cutting, cutting and cutting some more needs to be stopped. The repercussions won't be felt by the people doing the cutting, they have the benefit of a good public safety workforce. It's the next generation, the ones that will be protected by  people who filled out an application because they needed a job-any job and heard the city was hiring.

Public safety is a vocation, a calling if you will. I am fortunate to be able to do what I do at a time that society valued its public safety workers. I'm not too sure about the future. When  people apply for the job because the pay is average, the benefits stink and the work is dangerous, but they have no other option, society will get exactly what they payed for.

We stayed for fifteen minutes, eventually getting the girl to come with us. Turns out she flushed the pills down the toilet. The guy who called us was grateful anyway, and his friend is getting counseling. There is a lot of things that happen to people over the course of their lives. Good things, bad things, embarrasing things, things they would rather forget. Having people who are dedicated, caring, discreet and professional respond to their home, and know what to do and how to do it is one of those things they pay taxes for, and makes doing so a little less painful.

He had a headache. A bad headache, he said, been hurting all morning.

"I have headaches too," I said, not impressed.

"Not like this," he replied.

"Have you had headaches like this in the past?" I asked, half paying attention to his answer.

"Not like this," he replied.

Something about him wasn't right. He was my age, maybe a little younger. His one room apartment was full of computers. The screens were dark, but I could hear them working, clicking and clacking, little blips here and there. The patient noticed my curiosity and started to move toward the door.

"What's up with all the computers?" I asked, visualizing my most recent batch of SPAM as I asked, wondering if this is where the notification that I won the lottery, my cousin was in prison in Bangladesh and needed bail money, my penis could triple in size in one day and I could live happily ever after in a vicodin fueled haze.

"You never mind," he said and started walking toward the door, quickly. We followed him outside, he locked the door and before I knew it we were in the rescue, and he had commandeered the stretcher.

All in a days work, I figured, took some vitals, his blood pressure was high, 170/100, heart rate normal and respirations where they should be. We ran a 12-lead, and that was unremarkable. The usual questions followed, he was on hypertension medication, but was non-compliant, said he couldn't afford to continue taking them.

Bad day phishing, I figured.

We took him to the ER, and I pretty much forgot about him soon thereafter. Monday mornings are relentless, the calls add up, the people making them make an appearance in my life then dissolve nearly as quickly as they appeared.

The phisherman re-appeared a few hours later, being wheeled past me by a private ambulance company as I was busy triaging a different patient. He was unconscious, and intubated.

"I just brought him to the other hospital," I sad to the guys wheeling the stretcher past me.

"He had a massive head bleed, we're taking him to the OR."

I have got to start taking these headaches more seriously.

"I thought you said you weren't doing the blog anymore."

"That was in 2008."

"Then you said it again."

"2009."

"Then again last year."

"Yup."

"And just before Christmas you said it was changing direction, going to be more creative."

"I said that?"

"You wrote it."

"Mule kicks me in the head I quit the blog, I fall down a well I start it again. I don't know."

Somewhere on Broad Street a man finishes his "half," stumbles around for a bit, then falls into the street, striking his head on the pavement. A couple of ladies on their way to their job cleaning houses on the East Side witness the event, and call 911. Their call goes to Rhode Island's 911 center in Scituate. One of the ladies gets out of the car to help the fallen man, the other stays on her cell phone. She speaks limited English, but is able to tell the 911 operator she is in Providence and a  man has fallen. The operator forwards the call to the Providence Fire Department dispatch office.

In the meantime, the man who fell goes into a seizure. The lady on the phone, who speaks limited English to begin with loses her ability to communicate in her second language as soon as the tension escalates, and tries to tell the dispatcher a man is down, but the dispatcher does not speak Spanish.

A connection is made to California, where a language line is added to the mix, their first question upon answering the call is related to account numbers so that the proper person will be billed the twenty dollars per minute.

The lady who initiated the call has been on the line for nearly five minutes now, and is watching a man bleeding and seizing on the sidewalk. She panics, and says, LOUDLY (in Spanish)  so that the person on the other end of the line gets it that she needs medical help, NOW.

The dispatcher still does not know where the person is. Wireless calls do not have GPS capabilities yet in RI for 911 calls, but  through the third party, at twenty dollars a minute, they are able to figure out that the person is calling from Broad Street, "near McDonalds" and somebody is bleeding.

There are two Macdonald's restaurants on Broad Street in Providence, one on one end, the other on the other.

The lady on the phone hangs up.

Seven minutes have passed since the man fell. The dispatcher knows that a man is bleeding on Broad Street near McDonalds. He doesn't know where the person is bleeding from, how much he is bleeding, whether or not the bleeding is a direct result of gunfire, big knives, rabid dogs, angry mobs or an intoxicated man who fell.

The tones at two of the city's stations go off:

"Rescue 4 and Engine 3, Respond to 353 Broad Street for a man down, possibly bleeding, nature unknown, stage for police."

"Rescue 1 and Engine 13, Respond to 1365 Broad Street for a man down, possibly bleeding, nature unknown, stage for police."

"Can you believe these morons at dispatch? All they have to do is answer phones and they can't even get that right," says an angry Lieutenant Morse, as he heads toward the scene.

They seem like a nice enough couple, quiet, much like everybody else in this neighborhood where everybody pretty much keeps to themselves. They looked to be enjoying the later years of life, gardening in the summer, a little smoke coming from the chimney in winter, now and then a leisurely walk around the block.

A wave, quick hello when somebody walks by is business as usual here, not much more than that for the most part, and people seem to like it that way. They have company now and then, a few cars, some lights on in the backyard later than usual, ten at the latest, then back to darkness. I probably wouldn't know either of them out of the context of the neighborhood, and most likely pass them by in the local markets without acknowledging their presence, More likely than not, they don't recognize me, either.

I haven't seen them in a few months, but didn't really pay attention until yesterday, when twenty or so cars lined the street in front of their home. A large number of cars in front of a house in suburbia on a weekday afternoon does not bode well for the people who live there.

Funny, I don't even know their names, so I couldn't check the obituary page to see which one won't be waving to me when I walk past their home. Which one will I not see in the market? Which one is gone forever.

People live so close to me I could shout their name, if I knew it, from my yard and they could hear me, but I don't know their name, or their story, or their struggles. I heard sirens in the middle of the night a few days ago, a rarity here, and wondered from the safety of my bed what was going on. Then I rolled over and went back to sleep, and my neighbor was rolled out of his or her home for the last time.

It's always great when JEMS links one of my blog posts to a story on JEMS.com. Well, almost always great.

My original post follows the link. I wrote it in response to the headline, "Paramedic raped a woman as she lay unconscious…" I said it was obscene. Not the alleged rape, which if true is obviously obscene, but the commentary following the allegations and especially the quotes from AMR and the Chief of Police.

Bad things happen. They happen all the time. Not everybody who is a paramedic is a great person. Not all great people are paramedics. One thing seems clear, a great story about a bad paramedic raping a woman is too good to pass up.

And we still don't even know the facts, nor should we until the smoke clears and the investigation is complete. In a better world, the first time we heard of this story would be either, "Paramedic Cleared of Rape Charges," or Paramedic Found Guilty of Rape Charges," but in this world of instant gratification and sound bites anything that is provocative, or even better, titillating makes it to the news feeds and the populace feasts.

I for one have lost my appetite.

http://www.jems.com/article/news/police-connecticut-paramedic-admits-pati?utm_source=Go+Forward+Media+eMail%2C+Powered+by+Bronto&utm_medium=email&utm_term=Police%3A+Conn.+Paramedic+Admits+to+Sexually+Assaulting+Patient&utm_content=george.jakubson%40cornel

A paramedic stands accused of sexually assaulting a patient, the AP runs the story nationwide.

Their article is obscene.

HAMDEN, Connecticut (AP) — A paramedic raped a woman as she lay unconscious and strapped to a stretcher in the back of an ambulance on the way to a hospital, police said Friday.

Mark Powell, 49, of North Haven, surrendered Thursday to face charges of first-degree sexual assault and unlawful restraint and was released on $25,000 bond. He did not respond to a phone message seeking comment, and it was unclear whether he had an attorney.

Hamden Police Chief Thomas Wydra said the allegations represent "outrageous and horrifying conduct" by an emergency medical professional.

"Our society places the greatest level of trust and confidence in its public safety providers, and the circumstances in this case reflect a tremendous breach of that faith. The victim in this incident demonstrated enormous strength and courage in bringing this complaint forward," he said.

Police responded to the report of the woman's fall around 3 a.m., and she was treated at the scene. She was allegedly assaulted en route to Yale-New Haven Hospital and contacted police after she was released.

Powell was the only person in the American Medical Response ambulance aside from a driver and the victim, according to Hamden Police Capt. Ronald Smith. He said investigators are still conducting interviews and waiting for lab results, but charges are not expected to be filed against anybody else.

AMR spokeswoman Deborah Hileman said it is a national standard to have only one person in the back of the ambulance during the transport of a patient.

The company said Powell has been placed on administrative leave.

"This kind of behavior is an affront to AMR caregivers across Connecticut who provide high quality care to their patients each and every day, with integrity and compassion," AMR General Manager Charles Babson said.

"This kind of behavior is an affront to AMR caregivers across Connecticut who provide high quality care to their patients each and every day, with integrity and compassion," says AMR General Manager Charles Babson.

Accused tried and convicted by AMR's General Manager.

Hamden Police Chief Thomas Wydra said the allegations represent "outrageous and horrifying conduct" by an emergency medical professional.

Accused, tried and convicted by Hamden's Chief of Police.

The paramedic has been placed on administrative leave.

Punished without a trial.

Things like this make me want to be placed on administrative leave-for good.

"Our society places the greatest level of trust and confidence in its public safety providers, and the circumstances in this case reflect a tremendous breach of that faith. The victim in this incident demonstrated enormous strength and courage in bringing this complaint forward," said Police Chief Wydra.

Judged by the Chief of Police.

To make matters worse, various EMS and firefighter forums have been hot with this topic for a few hours now, most condemning the paramedic, who is named, and has a nice mug shot for all to see nationwide. I posted the picture here to make a point, not bring attention to the accused, he's already got more than enough attention already.

Tried and convicted by a jury of his peers.

A patient accuses a paramedic of a crime, and he is instantly branded guilty as charged, his reputation shattered, out of work and sequestered in his house while his employer, the Chief of Police and his peers throw rocks at him, and his accuser remains anonymous.

Like I said, this article is obscene.

“I have to get this one,” says Brenda, pointing to a copy of “Responding,” Morse’s latest book, on the counter.      The author is a customer. His books are sold at the Coffee Grinder. Later this month, Morse will sign copies of “Responding” in this good place in the Governor Francis Shopping Center.   

“This has been in my drawer,” said Morse as he sat at the counter with morning coffee. “It’s haunted me.”

  So he took it out of the drawer and trimmed it into shape and made it the second book to tell of his time as an EMT, of those long hours of responding to accidents and assaults and the falling down misery of people on the streets of Providence.    It has been more than four years since Morse’s “Rescuing Providence” was published. The book covers one 34-hour shift around Easter weekend of 2004. It is based on notes Morse wrote down after rescue calls. It is very good. It is a look at the city as few ever see it.   

“I loved the job so much as I was doing it, and I wanted to tell the story.”    The job is one of those that a person either loves or finds some other way to make a living. It is exhausting, dangerous and incredibly rewarding.    Morse says he considers his two books anthropological looks at the people of Providence.

   “I’m invited into their lives,” he says.      And he takes us along. “Responding” is a fine, skillfully paced second book that offers more fascinating pieces of life in the city, of the tragedy and the brutality and the small rituals that order the time between calls at the firehouse.    There are the people the EMTs see at the worst of times: There is the woman, soon to graduate from college and get married, who falls from an escalator at Providence Place. She still has a pulse when Morse and his partner get her to Rhode Island Hospital, but she doesn’t make it.    Morse treats another woman, repeatedly beaten by her boyfriend, for burns on her back. That’s where her boyfriend hit her with a hot pizza.      There are people who fall down drunk and know the EMTs by name, and people who seem to regard the rescue wagons as their personal taxi service.    And sometimes there is someone who just makes everything stop by the sheer injustice of her being where she is.

There is the little girl who walks from a doorway crying as street madness swirls around her:    “Everything stopped, in my mind anyway,” writes Morse, “and I walked past the people insisting we take their uninjured kids to the hospital and held out my arms. And she came to me, and I lifted her up and held her, then sat on the top step and let it all go.”    Read this book and the one before it and you will better understand this place we’re in. The best way to order it is by going to  www.emergencys   tuff.com/9781887321143.html  .  bkerr@providencejournal.com      (401) 277-7252  

http://www.emergencystuff.com/9781887321143.html

http://connect.jems.com/forum/topics/transporting-on-fire-trucks-a-good-idea

There's an interesting discussion going on at JEMS connect (link above) concerning the transport of a little girl who was in cardiac arrest. The firefighters on scene, one of whom was a paramedic (maybe all, I don't know) chose to do CPR and transport in the only vehicle they had, a BLS Fire Engine. The girl survived.

Had I been in the same situation, I would have done the same thing, and I don't need to be a paramedic to say that. CPR works. Do it and get going for God's sake. Waiting five minutes for an ambulance is cruel. Cruel to the firefighters, cruel to the patient, and cruel to the family who may or may not have their loved one with them either way.

There are always variables, but in this case, the hospital was closer than the ambulance.

That's my take on things, follow the link and join in, if you dare…

We're returning from the repair shop, driving through the West End on our way back to the North Main Street Fire Station. I'm in the tiller cab of Ladder 4, sitting on top of the world and watching it go by as we roll through the roughest neighborhood in Providence. Litter flies past us as we weave through the tight streets. Boarded up houses, rats, abandoned cars, fire hydrants open and running on some street corners leaving pools in the dirty streets for the kids to play in. Coney Island Whitefish float to the top of the puddles, and the kids kick them to the curb and keep on playing. It's hot in the tiller cab, ridiculously hot, the plastic bubble windows are behind me, slid to the open position so a little breeze blows by as the ladder truck roars by.

I've got a little speaker in the tiller cab, but it comes in loud and clear:

"Attention Engine 8, Engine 14, Engine 3, Tower Ladder 2, Ladder 6, Special Hazards and Battalion 2, a still box."

I scan the horizon and see smoke rise a few streets away.

"That's Engines 8, 14 and 3, Ladders 2 and 6, Special Hazards and Battalion 2, respond to 123 Hanover Street for a reported building fire."

Lieutenant Crowley keys his mic from the officer's seat some forty feet in front of me.

"Ladder 4 to Fire Alarm, we're on Superior, smoke condition on Hanover."

"Roger Ladder 4, respond with the companies."

The breeze in the tiller cab blows my hair back as we pick up speed. I turn the wheel left as we turn right, then right as we turn left. The fire building comes into view, I'm getting ready to follow the chauffeurs' lead and put the giant truck into a tiny spot, knowing Lieutenant Crowley has already begun sizing up the scene and is busy scouting the perfect spot. Before we get to do it, though, Tower Ladder 2 and Engine 8 roar onto the scene, the Engine Company passing the Ladder which is already lowering the outriggers as the officer and one of the firefighters leave the cab and force the front door. The other two get into the tower and begin their ascent as the firefighters from Engine 8 stretch an 1 3/4 line from the rear of their truck and follow the Laddermen into the burning building.

Flames are shooting out of the windows on the third floor. We position our vehicle for secondary roof access, put on our gear, load up with tools and go in. Engine 14 is on the hydrant, Ladder 6 is busy with a primary survey of the fire floor, we are assigned to do a primary on the second floor. Special Hazards arrives on scene, with Engine 3. The chief takes command of the scene and the battle is underway.

It takes all of fifteen minutes to put the fire out. It had started in a bedroom, got into the walls, spread to the loft and was ready to go through the roof prior to our arrival. Flashover was imminant, even without the fire It was hot enough up there to flash. It never had a chance. We pulled ceilings and chased sparks for halfd an hour or so, finding hot spots and making certain the fire was completely out.

I walked out of that house  years ago, during one of the worst heatwaves on record. The tempature was 104 degrees at noon, when the fire started. It must have been 200 degrees inside.

I had a flashback when I walked out of my house today, into the first cold air of winter, and remembered how cool that 104 degree air felt after getting out of the loft.

They say once a firefighter, always a firefighter. There's nothing like the some cool, fresh air to make you feel alive.

http://www.paladin-press.com/product/Rescuing_Providence/Action_Careers

The brave men and women who make up our nation's EMS system willingly risk their lives every day to save people they don't know and often cannot communicate with. See for yourself how difficult, frustrating and at times heartbreaking this job can be, as lives are lost, scarce medical resources squandered, futures altered, and hope abandoned and then reborn. Despite this, most rescue workers cannot imagine doing anything else. For them, every day is different, every patient is unique and they know with certainty that they make a difference in people's lives. And, as Lieutenant Morse so eloquently states, sometimes it is the rescuers whose lives are saved by the job they do.

 $22.00

http://www.emergencystuff.com/9781887321143.html

I always thought that my job,or better yet-a day of my job, would make a great book. I had all of the ingredients for a good story, some crazy characters, life and death situations,  a ticking clock to add suspense, a pace that goes from auto-pilot to full throttle when you least expect it, and most importantly, a beginning, a middle, and an end.

What seems a lifetime ago I decided to go ahead with my plan to write the Great American Novel. On the way to work one random day I absorbed my surroundings a little more than usual, and made notes in a little pad that I bought just for that purpose. At the station I tried to remember conversations, and wrote remarks made, jokes told and anything else that caught my interest in my notebook. On calls, after the smoke had cleared, sometimes literally, I would get back to the pad and make more notes. When I called home, again I wrote down little nuances of my conversations with Cheryl, and added some thoughts and descriptions of our life together.

The shift went on for thirty-four hours, and those notes became Rescuing Providence, which was published in 2007 by Paladin Press. But the story did not end there, it was only half way through. The next day, I started a thirty-eight hour tour, and continued to write down everything that happened during that time. Three years later I finished putting those notes into book form, and those notes became Responding, published this week by Emergency Publishing.

$22.50

"Congratulations to Providence Mayor Angel Taveras and his partner, Farah Escamilla. Their new baby girl arrived early this morning, just a few hours after her due date. …

Taveras has steadily dodged reporters' questions about whether he plans to marry girlfriend Escamilla, a legal assistant in Providence."

When I first heard the term "Baby Daddy," I thought it was some weird pet name that kids used to refer to their boyfriends. Then "Baby Mama" became a common term, and me,  being a little slow on the draw at times finally figured out just what and who Baby Mama's and Baby Daddy's were. They are people who have kids without getting married, and are linked to one another not by a legalized document and all of the benefits that come with that union, but rather linked by the baby that they produced.

Being married comes with benefits, one of  the most notable in today's world being joint health care coverage. But when employer based healthcare coverage becomes obsolete, or the coverage so poor that the co-pays and initial cost of the policy make it pretty much worthless to a young couple with an infant, that benefit loses its luster, and the option of keeping the mother as a single head of household, with full healthcare coverage for her and the baby until the baby turns eighteen is just too good to pass up, even with the loss of  comfort and commitment that a wedding, honeymoon, and marriage certificate brings.

The State of Rhode Island offers full healthcare coverage to children whose family income is below a certain level, and the mother of the child until that child is of age. Introduce a working father into the equation and a lot of mothers and children are no longer eligible for that coverage. It is a difficult decision to have to make, legitimacy versus dependancy, but necessity dictates things most times, and love loses to money when it comes to survival.

I doubt if the Mayor of Providence's motivation to remain unmarried to the mother of his daughter is healthcare coverage. I don't know what his motivation is, nor is it any of my business. What does concern me is the loss of commitment people who are having children are experiencing. It takes a few decades, some real hardship, a few catastrophes, some sagging skin, and wrinkles, and weird noises in the middle of the night before true camaraderie with the person you have chosen to spend your life with sets in, and the work, and sacrifice and compromise invested in the early years of the relationship pays off.

Casual friendships come and go, even among Baby Mama's and Baby Daddy's, with the only glue binding the parents; a tiny infant,  too fragile to hold anything together, least of all two people with the majority of their lives in front of them. A little thing like a wedding, and sacred vows holds things together much more efficiently, to the benefit of everybody, most importantly,  the "Mama and Daddy Baby."

Call me old-fashioned, but nothing makes me happier than a family that weathers the storms, enjoys the victories and grows old together.  People are making the choice to delay or avoid getting married due to their difficulty obtaining decent healthcare insurance, and that is the real healthcare crisis.