A Blur of Pink

“MomMom?”  She Who Rules was dancing in circles around me, giggling and excited over something, she was a blur of pink.   I was busy getting ready for work, and running late.  Very late.  I poured a cup of coffee into my travel mug.

“What Baby?”  I tossed my laptop into my bag and zipped up my boots.  What else am I missing?  Watch, that’s it, my watch.  Where’s my ID?

“Mooooooom…  can weeee go to the Pawwwk?” Now she was poking at the dog with a plastic fork.

“Baby, I wish I could take you, Why don’t you go play on the Wii with your Brother?” I grabbed my keys and my bag and waited for her to leave the room so I could make my escape.  I hated the fact that I was in this situation, again.  I seem to be running late more and more often lately.  I made a mental note to really work on that as I climbed into my car.

The drive to the station takes close to 45 minutes under ideal conditions.  I had 40 minutes to get there, and there was snow coming down.  Not the best start to a shift.

**********

We had been sitting quietly in the parking lot of what was probably was a KFC back in the day.  The faded red and white awning was torn and flapping in the wind. The windows had been boarded up years ago.  Plastic shopping bags, scraps of paper and other random trash littered the parking lot.  We had spent a blissfully uneventful day sitting in our truck here; my partner listening to her ipod and cross stitching while I played on my laptop.

“Squad five… 5411 Rattan Court, unknown medical, code three response.” Our radio came to life, jolting us from our respective quiet happy places.

I picked up the portable radio and put us en route while my partner for the day, Grace, flipped the lights and manned the siren.   “Alright Baby, you’re going to pull out and make a left.”  Grace is probably one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.  She’s been in EMS five years longer than I have, all that time on on a 911 truck.  She is like a human GPS, she knows and loves the people in the neighborhood we’re posted in.  She’s infinitely patient and the only person I’ve ever worked with that hasn’t talked negatively about her coworkers.  And I respect the hell out of her for that.

I feel like I’m looking at the streets through dirty glasses.  Some of it looks familiar, but for the most part I’m a stranger in a strange land.  Grace insists that I drive whenever possible in order to learn the area, which is fine with me.  “Okay,  turn right at the next light, that’s Lexington Avenue.  Do you know where you are yet?” She’s pulling her long blond hair into a pony tail as she watches the intersection.

“I know where we are now,” I’m concentrating on watching everyone in the cars around me.  It’s not quite rush hour, but the traffic is picking up, and for the most part they’re not yielding to the big white ambulance with the red and white lights on top.

When did I start to hate driving with the lights and the siren on?

About the time that I realized how dangerous it is?

Or that we aren’t saving more than thirty seconds time.

“Squad five?” Dispatch was calling again. ” CPR is in progress.  Medic One will be your ALS.”

“We’re clear,” Grace responded.  She exhaled with a shutter as she looked at me.  “You ever done CPR, Epi?”

I nodded in the affirmative without saying a word.  While I have worked a few codes in the last few years, every single one of them have ended with the patient just as dead as they were when we arrived.

**********

The crowded middle class neighborhood street we were driving down could have been plucked from any city.   Snow men stood at attention in yards wearing baseball caps and scarves.  Kids played outside, pelting each other with snow balls.  The mustard yellow house in the middle of the block was as unassuming as the houses surrounding it, two stories tall, an American flag flying from the front porch.  I had a feeling it was our house before I saw the address, I’m wasn’t sure why.  It just looked like the house of an old married couple.  In the summer I imagined the couple out front planting flowers, manicuring the lawn, and complaining about aching knees and stiff backs.  I prayed that it wasn’t his wife in there performing CPR on her husband.

As I pulled our behemoth of a truck up just past their house and put it in park, Grace jumped out of the passengers seat.  “Epi, don’t forget to mark us on scene… And grab me some gloves, will ya?”

“Squad Five to dispatch, we’re on scene,” I hooked the portable to my waistband and shoved a handful of purple gloves in my pocket.  As I opened my door to get out, I noticed a figure sprinting towards me.  He was a large bear of a man, holding what looked like a blur of pink in his hands.  A woman was shrieking inside the house, her screams a soul shaking guttural wail.  All of a sudden things were becoming very clear to me.

This was not an old couple.  There was no 80-year-old man laying on the floor of his kitchen waiting for me.

I didn’t even get two steps outside of the truck before the man practically heaved the Baby to me.  “DO SOMETHING!  My Baby Girl! Please!” The Father was breathless, unable to complete a sentence.  I’ve seen the look on his face before.  I’ve had the same look on my face.  It’s the look of absolute and complete terror.  Panic.  It’s the look a parent gets when they realize that something is horribly wrong with their child.

I stopped in my tracks.   I stood there, on the side of the big white ambulance with the snow falling around me with a dead baby in my hands.  I froze.

She was so incredibly tiny, wearing a little pink sleeper with hearts and a princess crown on it. Despite being just a few weeks old she had a full head of thick curly dark hair.  My hand instinctively went to hers.  The fact that her little fingers were ice cold snapped me back to reality.  I gave her two breaths as I bolted towards the back of the truck, her chest rose under my hands.  The taste of baby formula filled my mouth. It was the only time I’ve ever skipped the pocket mask on a patient.

Grace was pulling the stretcher and our bags out of the back of the truck when she saw me, the color instantly drained from her face.  She shoved the stretcher back in and pulled me up into the ambulance.  I had my hands wrapped around the baby’s chest, desperately trying to circulate blood through her tiny body.

You can’t die, don’t die on me… Don’t you die on me… Your Mommy and your Daddy need you, little one… Please please please don’t die on me… This isn’t supposed to happen…

I started to think of my daughter.  My own little princess who not that long ago was wearing a similar sleeper.   My baby girl, who I forgot to kiss goodbye before I left for work.  I was in such a hurry to get out the door that I forgot about our ritual.

I tell her that I’m leaving for work.

She tells me that she loves me.

I tell her that I love her.

She tells me she loves me more.

I kiss her on the forehead and retreat to the car.

It’s our ritual.  And today I had just slipped out the door.  Too busy for the ritual.  Running late.  I swore to myself that I’d never allow that to happen again.

I gave the baby two more breaths while Grace cut through the baby’s onesie and applied the AED pads.  Even the pedi pads seemed too large for her tiny chest and back.  Grace pressed analyze and we waited, praying and holding our breath.

Please, Little One…  Give us something to work with.

I looked up at Grace, “Where’s ALS?  Where are they?”  The tone of my voice was not that of a calm collected health care professional.  I was absolutely terrified.  My hands were balled up into fists so tight that they ached the next day.

“They’re coming, Epi… Hear the siren? We’re doing everything we can for her.”  She was tearing apart an infant mask. When the AED informed us that there was no shock advised, my stomach dropped.  I continued compressions, my hands wrapped around her chest.  I couldn’t look at her face, instead I focused on a spot on the AED pad on her chest.  I cursed myself for not finishing the Medic program.  I thought about what I could have done as an ALS provider.  I could have done more.  Something.  Anything.

Without warning, the Mother of the Baby stormed the back of the ambulance, closely followed by her husband.  Her long black curly hair matted to her flushed tear-soaked face. She was wearing a hooded sweatshirt of the local university.  She couldn’t have been 25 years old.  She clawed at the floor of the truck trying to climb in while her husband did his best to pull her out.  She was sobbing, “My baby!!!  My baby!!!!  Please save her… Oh Jesus save her!” Her husband physically dragged her out of the truck, they fell together, in a heap in the street.

“Let them help her,” I heard him yell sternly.  His voice was firm. Almost calm.   He held her tight against his chest, refusing to let go.  He did what he could for his Daughter, now he was doing what he could for his Wife.

Please… Please don’t die. I recited every prayer I could think of, I made promises that I had no hope of keeping. Promises of church three times a week.  Promises of reconnecting with my Father.  Promises of volunteering at homeless shelters, giving money to any charity that needed it.  Anything God wanted me to do, I’d do, if only he allowed this child to live.

Medic One appeared out of nowhere behind us,  Scotty, a paramedic who I had worked with on the previous shift came from the back side of the Blazer, carrying the monitor.  His partner, Jay,  followed closely behind carrying the airway bag and the large beat up orange tackle box that held the drugs.  They darted around the parents and climbed in the back with us. Grace filled the guys in.  I didn’t hear any of it.

Jay sat next to me.  “Epi, let me take over.  A fresh set of hands, ya know.” His voice was shaking.  He was no calmer than I was.

“NO,” I replied a little louder than I had intentioned, “I mean… Really, I have this.  It’s okay.”  The truth was, I didn’t want to hand her over to anyone.   I felt like I had my own child in my hands.  Her father had put her into my hands.  She was my responsibility.

“Epi, let him take her.  It’s okay, Baby.”  Grace had her hand on my back.  I reluctantly pulled away and climbed out of the side door of the truck.  I leaned up against the cold metal skin of the ambulance and closed my eyes.  My partner appeared after a minute and stood next to me – neither of us spoke. We just stood there, both feeling completely and totally helpless.  The Parents of the Baby were off to our right being consoled by their neighbors; in my head I wanted to talk to them, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I felt like a coward.  I retreated to the passenger seat of the ambulance, embarrassed and broken.  I found myself immediately NEEDING to be with my kids.  It was more than a need, it was an urge that was so strong that I found it hard not to run like hell towards my house, several miles away.

Screw this job.  I quit.

**********

The drive home from work passed quickly.  The truth is, I don’t remember most of it.  I remember pulling into the driveway and getting out of the car.  I remember putting my key in the door and walking into a dark house, my children already sleeping.  I remember opening FC’s bedroom door and watching him – I hoped he was having a good dream.   My daughter was tossing and turning in her bed.  I ran my fingers through her curly hair blond hair and told her I loved her, over and over, until she fell back asleep.

I started the shower.  Extra hot.

If only we could shed our shadows as easily as we take the uniform off.  Life would be so much easier.

In that shower, with the steaming hot water rushing down my face, I finally let the tears fall.  I cried for Ashley, the 7-week-old baby we couldn’t save.  I cried for her parents, who just a few hours before had been playing on the floor with their little girl, who now had to make funeral arrangements.  I cried for my coworkers and myself.  Especially Jay, who came close to losing it completely in the ambulance bay.  I found out on the way back to the station that his wife had just had their first baby, a boy, four days before.  When I couldn’t cry anymore, I turned the water off, dried up, and slipped into a nightshirt.

I crept back down the hallway towards my Daughter’s room, narrowly avoiding a barbie doll and two Thomas trains.  She was sleeping soundly now, her little hands clutching her favorite blanket and a Beanie Baby in camouflage.  I climbed into her bed, and cuddled up to her, my chin resting on the back of her head.  My little angel.  My princess.  She was safe, I knew that.  I just needed to hold her in my arms.

I finally began to feel my body relax.

“Tomorrow we’re going to the park,” I whispered as I closed my eyes.