Number 15

“Mom, I hate your job.”

His softly spoken words stung far worse than any slap to the face.  There was my little guy, the one that used to recreate EKG’s in his own notebook, standing in front of me. He was angry, hurt and disappointed.  Mom was missing another holiday.

I ran my hand through his sandy hair and pulled him towards me.  “Baby, I’m sorry.  We need the money, and I’ll be home first thing in the morning tomorrow.  You’ll have fun with SWR and Dad!”  I squeezed him tight, but he didn’t return it.  My heart broke a little more. “Why can’t someone else go?  Why does it always have to be you?”  He turned on his heel and headed for his room, not bothering to wait for an answer that I couldn’t give him.

I grabbed my stethoscope, shoved it half-heartedly into a pocket of my BDU’s and dragged myself towards the door.

Sometimes I hate this job too, Little Man.

**********

The shift had for eight hours straight consisted of mind numbing boredom.

Completed the squad check.
Stocked the squad.
Took the last crews trash out.
Washed the squad.
Sat down and attempted to study.
Fell asleep.
Watched Marine Partner take out some insurgents playing Xbox.
Open the Big Red Book yet again.
Fell asleep (again) reading about airway adjuncts.

I couldn’t have been dreaming of King tubes and NPA’s doing the Paso Doble more than a few minutes when I was rudely awakened.

“Medic  four you have a run.  Medic four, you have a run.”

Nothing like waking up to the voice of a very bored dispatcher. I slowly got up and took three steps towards the ambulance bay before I realized that my boots are sitting on the floor next to my bed.  A string of four letter words slipped from my mouth while my favorite Marine looked on laughing.

“You’re a bright ray of sunshine today, Missy.  You kiss your Momma with that mouth?”

“No, Sir.  Never, Sir.”  I managed to crack a sleepy smile his way as I zipped my boots up and followed him out to our truck.

**********

In four short minutes an  “unknown medical” had turned into “syncopal episode” which then (naturally) progressed into an “unresponsive”.

“Epi, are you a black cloud?” MP wasn’t smiling anymore.   He was behind the wheel, driving code for a run where we were going to probably be sweating literally and figuratively for a few minutes on our own.  It wouldn’t be the first time we were in this position, but given the few number of shifts we had worked together… It HAD to have him thinking.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”  I dug through the glove boxes (the one thing I neglected to check during inspection) for a box of non-latex mediums.  I was rewarded with one glove, which I promptly threw at MP.

“Medic four, come in.”

I swatted MP’s hand away from the radio.  “You…  Drive.”   I keyed up the mic, “Go ahead, dispatch.”

“CPR in progress.”

I exhaled and closed my eyes.  “We’re clear, Sir.”

Fan-fricking-tastic. I climbed into the back of the truck and threw the LP, airway bag and drug box on the stretcher before sitting in the officer’s seat.

14 codes I had worked in just under five years.  I wasn’t looking forward to number 15 with the same enthusiasm as I did with number one.  Knowing that the patient was two years older than myself didn’t help.  I sat in that chair with my head in my hands going over what I’d need to do to help my partner and my patient the most.

“CPR in progress” kept replaying in my head.  I swallowed hard as MP slowed the truck down and shifted into park.  When he flung the back doors of the truck open the biting cold wind rushed in.

Sometimes I really hate this job.

**********

It was a small trailer, the couch just a few feet away from the TV and practically on top of the kitchen.  Four TV trays were set up, and the smell of turkey hung heavily in the air. We knew getting the stretcher in was going to be an impossibility and settled on carrying in a backboard loaded up with what we’d need.  Even without the stretcher we struggled to navigate the closed quarters.  MP cursed out loud when he stepped a something that resembled a hand held game system.  My thoughts went to my little man, the one permanently attached to his Nintendo DS.  That birthday present that I had worked three overtime shifts to cover.

I really need to not work on personalizing every single fucking run I go out on.

To say that the home was less than hospitable to an EMS crew who had to try to entice a person’s heart to snap the hell out of it, behave itself and just act like it’s supposed to would have been an understatement.

On thanksgiving yet.

Our patient was laying in his bathroom wedged tightly between an overflowing trashcan, a bathroom cabinet and the tub.   The good Samaritan who was struggling to do compressions sprinted out of the crowded bathroom before I could even open my mouth.  I could hear him throwing up nearby.  I hoped he made it out the front door.

“Help me move him, Epi.”  MP’s voice was the picture of calm.  I was doing my best to mirror him, but my hands were betraying me, shaking like I had just mainlined a few pots of coffee.  We managed to move our patient a few feet further into the center of the tiny room.   I checked his pulse, ripped apart the gray button down work shirt and jumped on compressions without thinking about it.

The next few minutes were a blur of activity. I didn’t even notice when a BLS unit had arrived until one of them slapped me on the back.

“Let me take over.”

Four simple words had never sounded so sweet.  My arms were on fire and I could literally taste the salt from the sweat running down my face.  My ability to do effective compressions had come and gone.  I moved out of the way and took a spot squatting next to Marine Partner and the patient.

“MP, what do you need?”  The tube was in, a line was started, compressions were being done, there were sharps on the floor.

“We need to get moving. “  I watched as MP looked at our patient, the basic doing compressions and the patients wife who had made an appearance at the door to the bathroom, complete with two little boys who looked absolutely terrified. The sound coming out of her… was something that I’ve heard before, but never fail to take home with me.  It was gutteral.  It was the sound when you make when your worst nightmare is multiplied exponentially.  It’s the sound you make when you’re watching your best friend and the father of your babies die.  Right in front of you.

Sometimes I really REALLY hate this job.

**********

The back of the truck was a tornado of activity.  Wrappers were everywhere, I had vomit down my left leg, and there was a fine spray of what I assumed was arterial blood on the wall of the truck.

That’s what you get when I try to start a line in the other arm. Sorry about that, MP.

Basically what I’m trying to say is that the crew on our truck was wrecked, and the truck itself had seen better days. We were running the code, sure, and doing it well.  That being said, I’m pretty sure we were all convinced that this wasn’t going to end well for our patient.

And then, the clouds parted.

Right there in the back of that jacked up ambulance on a bumpy Michigan country road.

Marine Partner inhaled sharply,  “Fuck me sideways.”  Everyone’s eyes instantly went to the LP that he was watching intently.

Where there had been fine VF was now something that was at least hopeful.  My fingertips (and everyone elses’s) fought for a position along the closest pulse point.

I felt it.  I felt a pulse.  “That’s a fucking pulse.  It’s a pulse!  I feel it!!!”  Yes, I said that out loud.  I practically shrieked it.

I’m still being reminded of that fact.  To this day.  I have a feeling I’ll have coworkers squealing “THAT’S A FUCKING PULSE!” whenever they see fit for the foreseeable future.

And you know what?  I’m more than okay with that.

It took him almost a week but he walked out of the hospital.  Well, he was wheeled out of the hospital, in a wheelchair, but he was wheeled out knowing his name, the names of his babies, and the fact that he was married to the love of his life.

And we had something to do with that.

That’s a very cool thing.

Little Man, you’re right.  Sometimes this job sucks.  It’s not fair, it takes me away from you, after all.

But sometimes it really rocks.