(From the archives… My muse has gone on a road trip to hook up with some guy.  The shameless hussy.)

The “B” Word…

No, not that one.

There are things that you never want to hear your partner say while working EMS.

“Geez, it’s quiet.”

“Lordy, that Taco Bell is rippin’ through mah guuuuut!”

“What do you mean the truck takes Diesel?”

And the one that I made the mistake of uttering…

“I’m bored.”

Everyone has one of those days from time to time. Most people even have even had a few of those days in succession.  I was having one of those months. It was a veritable plethora of exhausting BS at home.

(Yes, my vocabulary has gone downhill since having kids. I need to work on that.)

**********

It was going to be one of those big storms.  A big storm for NW Ohio anyway.  One of those storms that keeps all three major networks on the air all afternoon throwing out terms like tornadic activity, massive storm cell, take cover immediately, and projected path of destruction.

I wasn’t thrilled with having to head into work just as the rain was starting to fall, or having to leave Mr. Epi home alone with a paranoid FC and and excited SWR.  I had a feeling they were going to end up hiding in the basement, which would probably send my son into a complete meltdown.

Staying home and calling off wasn’t an option. Who would be around to take the patient with a six month old infected hangnail to the ER?

Duty calls!

As I started the 15 minute trip to The Closet, the skies were turning a threatening dark gray. Rain was starting to come down, but it wasn’t terribly heavy. The commute was uneventful, just how I like it.  I had my steaming hot cup of coffee from the corner store sitting in the cup holder, which Kia (in their infinite wisdom) placed directly in front of the  blowers in my car.  Not bad for your hot drinks in the Winter.  Kind of ridiculous for those who want a cup of coffee in the July.

Yeah yeah, I know.  But Epi!  Who in the hell drinks coffee in the middle of a heatwave?

Yeah, that’s me.  I’m that girl.  Anyway.

Within five minutes of arriving at The Closet the skies opened up and began to dump what would end up being almost 10 inches of rain on the city.  All in an hour and a half.

Pseudo Dad met me at the doors to the ER.  And that’s where I (stupidly) dared to utter those those words… Those words which should not be spoken.

I walked through the automatic doors shaking the rain off my umbrella.  “Looks like we’re gonna get some runs tonight.   Good thing… I’ve been bored lately.”  I set my coffee cup down on the counter and dialed the number to dispatch to clock in.

Pseudo Dad’s face fell instantly.  “Please don’t say the “B” word.”

“Bored bored bored bored bored.”  I stuck my tongue out at him for good measure.

He just shook his head.  “You just doomed us, Grasshopper.”

We stood at the doors and watched the parking lot quite literally FILL with water.  I guess that’s why it’s not smart to build your parking lot in what is essentially A BOWL.  Just sayin’.

Then came the voice from above.

No, not that voice.  Unless that voice is female.  And a cheap recording.

“CODE GRAY, all personnel report to your designated stations.” The calm voice repeated her request about fifteen times while Pseudo Dad and I watched the activity pick up in the ER.

**********

What in the HELL is a Code Gray?

Hey.  I was new.  Cut me some slack.  I didn’t have one of those nifty cards that hang behind your name tag with the thirty or so codes and colors complete with explanations.

Being new (did I mention I was NEW???)  and having zero shame, I looked to my senior EMT, Pseudo Dad.  The Fire Chief.

“Don’t look at me, I have no idea what a Code Gray is.”  He shrugged and called dispatch on the portable.

Dispatch, for their part, laughed at us.  On the air I might add.

Fair enough.  Apparently, it meant a tornado had been spotted.  Fantastic.

Pseudo Dad wasn’t pleased.  “See what happens when you get bored?”

“I’m MELTING I’m MELTING… Oh what a world, what a world…”  I flashed him my toothy grin. God bless my sparky little heart.  Looking back on the whole thing a few years later even I can’t stand myself. We continued watching the parking lot and helping patients and visitors into the building. About ten minutes later we were approached by a security guard.

“Ya’ll are gonna have to head downstairs, they’re evacuating…”  He waved his portable radio in Pseudo Dad’s face for effect.

PD for his part, kept his calm.  “We can’t do that…We’re essential personnel.”

I didn’t think the Security Guard was going to back down.  “Doesn’t matter really, you’re going to need to move…on…down to the basement with everyone else.”  He was waving his portable in my face and motioning towards the doors that lead to the basement.  Like a flight attendant giving the safety spiel at the beginning of the flight.

I spoke up.  “We’re contracted to the County, if they call us, we need to get to our truck in two minutes. We have to stay here.”  I pointed to the large blue and white ambulance sitting in water up to it’s hubcaps.

The security guard gave up and moved on.   Clearly I overestimated what this particular ER security guard was made of.  (For the record, I love and respect ALL security guards everywhere.  I wouldn’t want that job.)

Everyone who could walk, patients, visitors and staff started to line the inner hallways.  It was total chaos. Those who were bed bound were moved to the innermost areas of the floor they were on. I felt for these folks. It was not a fun experience for most of them. I’ve never seen The Closet ER empty. It was… Eerie.

Our radio fired up.   “Unit 26, Two Six.”

Pseudo Dad answered.

Dispatch was sending us code three for a county run to the local apartment complex for abdominal pain.

I nominated my partner to drive. I was not going to be the one to get us killed driving through what looked like a solid wall of water.  We dashed out into the monsoon towards the truck, about a football field away.  By the time I reached the passenger side door I was in water up to my mid-calf.

So much for dry socks.

PD flipped the lights and sirens on… The rain came down so hard and fast that the wipers had no hope of keeping up. It was the slowest we’ve ever driven Code 3, and I was absolutely fine with it.

Luckily, the local apartment complex was only a mile  away. Still, it took us almost ten minutes to drive what would have normally taken two.

**********

A few minutes from the scene and my cell phone rang. It was  Mr. Epi.

“Honey… Uhm… There’s water coming up through the drain in the basement.”  The kids were yelling in the background, and I could barely understand him between that, watching for traffic, and the sound of the siren.

“Okay… and… ?”  I really didn’t know what else to say.

“Well, the weather guy said to get in the basement, the sirens are going off, the kids are freaking out, and now the basement is flooding.”  I could hear my son’s terrified voice in the background along with my baby girl’s hysterical laughter.

Mr. Epi was not happy. I didn’t know what to tell him at that point. We were on scene for the run.  In my head I wished that we could switch places.  Typically he’s better suited to navigate while I take care of the kids, the emergencies and everything else.

“Baby, let me call you back in a few, we’re on a run and we just pulled up.  I’ll call you right back.  Tell FC to calm down, it’ll be okay.  I have to go.  I’m so sorry.”  I hung up with the mental image of what was unfolding at my house in my head in my absence in my head.

In the fifteen seconds it took me and Pseudo Dad to sprint to the front door of our patient’s apartment, what wasn’t soaked by our first foray into the torrential rain was now totally and completely drenched. It was quite literally as if we jumped into a pool completely clothed. My shoes made that fun squishy noise with each step I took.

The Firefighters on the scene thought this was hilarious.  We looked like  drowned rats.

We assessed our patient and determined that she had a wicked stomach ache.  Not exactly what I’d call an emergency…  But who in the hell am I to judge?  We packaged her patient on the stretcher and protected her from the deluge as best we could…  Our efforts were basically futile.

I’m soaked.  You’re soaked. We’re all soaked.

**********

The wonderful firefighters had given me a quick run down on which major roads were still open and which ones had several feet of water flooding them. The hospital was about three miles away by our normal route.  Unfortunately our normal route was under water in anywhere from three to five crucial points.

“Are you ready?” I leaned back to listen for PD’s response.  It was hard to hear over all of the traffic on the radio and the thundering noise the pounding rain was making as it hit our truck.

“I’m ready” He yelled.

I slowly pulled out onto the empty street.  The rain and the threat of tornado’s was for the most part keeping people off of the roads.  For the time of day it was it was shocking how desolate this major route was.  I listened to the county radio;  reports of police cars stalled out, an FD ambulance swamped in four feet of water (“We thought it was a puddle”), another ambulance from a local service was swamped so quickly that they fried their Lifepak.

When you hear someone admit that their monitor is under water on the county radio, it’s not good folks.

I heard Pseudo Dad from the back of the truck.  “Oooooh, someone’s gonna have to answer for that one!!!”

Every route I took was turning into a dead end.  There are quite a few places where water can gather on the streets in Toledo and I was getting extremely frustrated.  It felt like I was hitting every single flood point in the city. I wasn’t going to take the chance that I could be driving through water that may or may not be five feet deep.

Thirty minutes into what should have been a ten to fifteen minute drive, I started seeing people in row boats.  Down the street there was a guy on an EFFING wave runner.

A wave runner.  A jetski.  In a residential neighborhood.

You can’t make this shit up folks.

The patient was starting to get anxious. “Tell that GUUUURL to find a way to get me to the MF’ing ER or I’m going to get out and walk there!”

*sigh*  At least the rain is letting up.

**********

My partner was trying to navigate me around yet another flooded street while simultaneously reassuring our patient that I did actually know where I was going and that yes, his partner had indeed driven an ambulance before.

I mumbled all sorts of fun obscenities under my breath.

An hour after we left our patient’s  apartment, now a six-mile drive from the ER, I backed the truck into a parking spot.

The rain had stopped, finally.

I emerged from the truck into the cool night air and walked to the back of the truck to open the doors.  PD was sitting with his patient, laughing at me.

“What?”  I was in no mood to joke after the trip through hell I had just navigated.

PD pointed at his patient.  “She moved up here from Mississippi after Katrina hit.  She says you need to learn what real rain is.”  He started laughing at me again. I would learn to get used to him laughing at me in the year I would work with him.

We transferred care of our EXTREMELY STABLE patient, and my partner completed his paperwork.

All was right in the world.

It was time to head back.  I tossed PD the keys and told him in no uncertain terms that he would DEFINITELY be driving.

He cracked open a can of Diet Pepsi that the ER was sweet enough to give us.  “What, too much excitement for you in one night?  Grasshopper, this was nothing.”

I closed the passenger door of the truck and settled into the seat.  “You win.  I’ll never say it again.  Just drive.”

I didn’t know it at the time, but we ended up doing twelve more runs in the nine remaining  hours that night.  Quite an accomplishment given the widespread flooding.

The hospital room is nearly silent, the only sounds are the sniffles of the family members and the hiss of the oxygen escaping from the nasal cannula on the patient.

My patient.

I entered the room with my partner and felt like I was walking into a Church.

Reverence.  Devotion.  Veneration.

This family adored the frail woman laying in the bed before me.  And that woman was dying.  They all knew it.  We knew it.  She knew it.

She had been in the hospital for two weeks.  Cancer.  I can’t remember what type, but it doesn’t really matter.  It seemed as though her entire family had shown up for the trip home.

Her last trip outside.  Her last time feeling the warm sunshine on her skin, smelling the blooming flowers.  In a little more than an hour the four white walls of the hospital room (complete with Crucifix and wipe off board letting her know what her Nurses names were for the day) would be replaced by the warmly colored walls of her own bedroom.  Pictures of Grandchildren and Great-Grandchildren.

She was going home.

I greeted and shook hands with her family while my partner went to collect the paperwork.  I assured them that we would take fantastic care of her.  Her daughters would ride along with us.

Hospice runs are nothing new to EMT’s who work primarily on a transfer truck.  Some dread doing them.  I was never one of them.  It was a lecture by Steve Berry during my first EMS Conference that really got to me.  I truly believe that it’s a privilege to do these runs.  My heart goes out to the family and the patient.

We packaged her up with extra blankets, even though the temperature was topping 90 degrees outside.  She would be cold, her daughter’s insisted.

We moved her easily to the stretcher, her emaciated body weighed less than 80 pounds at our best guess.

In the back of the ambulance I watched her closely.  I knew from her paperwork that she was on a pretty high dose of morphine and that could effect her respiratory rate.  It gave me something to focus on other than her daughters who were just despondent.  If I allowed my mind to wander I would be crying along with them.

Breathe, Ma’am, just breathe. Please.  Please don’t die right here in front of your babies.

As soon as I’d become a practicing Catholic once again, once I’d start praying, she’d start breathing again.

I’m sure it was just coincidence, but still.  I willed my partner to drive faster.  Not something I’d normally do.

We arrived at the house in record time.  I opened the back doors of the ambulance and stepped out into the sunshine.  Her daughters followed closely behind me, watching every move that we made as we carefully pulled the stretcher from the back of the truck.

My patient never opened her eyes.  She never spoke.  She didn’t even moan. Not one time from the moment I walked into her hospital room until we carried her to her bedroom where she’d die the next day.  Some would say she had no idea what was going on, but I have to believe that she did.

I have to believe she felt the sun on her face one last time.