Backboard Tape.

"Where are we heading?" I should already know... because my employer issues us all these very nice pagers. I should be able to pull it out of my pocket, press a button, and be rewarded with some information (accurate or not is another question entirely) about the run.

Like the location.

I should, but I can't because I washed the damn thing again.

Pseudo Dad rolls his eyes at me for the fifth time tonight, "Over to the mall area, code 2 county run. You're really going to have to stop washing your pagers."

I nod and wrap my frozen fingers around a steaming hot cup of coffee. The snow has been steadily coming down for the majority of the day. Now that the sun has gone down the roads are a sheet of ice. For once I'm glad that Pseudo Dad is driving.

He parks the squad in the only available spot. Directly behind the firetruck in the middle of the narrow street. After marking us on location with dispatch and the county, Pseudo Dad steps out. I don't.

"We're you planning on coming?"

"Well, I was hoping I could just sit here and let you do all the work. It's pretty cold out there. And the snow flakes will definitely ruin my hair." I flashed him a toothy grin.

"You're the flake. Let's go."

"You need to get more sleep, Dad. You're no fun." The truth was I was checking out our entrance. There were two sets of steps we were going to have to navigate. In the snow and ice. With a patient on the stretcher.

I hope our patient is light.

"Do you think the fact that we haven't been met by TFD has anything to do with the fact that it's 10 degrees outside and snowing?" I was looking at the four big guys standing just inside the front door of the house.

I bet their fingers aren't numb.

"I think there's a chance you could be correct there. " Pseudo Dad laughed. "Maybe they saw your hair."

"Maybe they saw your lack of it and felt sorry for your frozen melon? Ehhh?"

**********

The small living room was standing room only, and even that was at a premium. Four from TFD, the patient, and five members of the patients family. Everyone was talking at once. That combined with the large LCD tv blaring an episode of Cops and it was impossible to figure out what was going on.

I pulled the first Medic I came across aside. "Hey, I'm Epi from Little Private Service... What's going on?"

"She fell on the steps outside and twisted her ankle. They're arguing over where to take her. She's refusing an ice pack or a splint." He looked more than a little frustrated with the situation.

"OHHHHHH LAWDY! My whole leg is hurtin'... Owwwwww Lawdy Lawdy!" Enter our patient. 315 pounds of quivering drama.

I stepped forward while Pseudo Dad dropped the stretcher to the floor. "Hello Ma'am, I'm Epi with Little Private Service. Can you tell me what's going on tonight?"

"I was heading out to take my Grandbabies to McDonalds for dinner... Oh Lawdy it hurts..." She was holding a stuffed animal, which for God knows why struck me as odd. It was a Winnie the Pooh for those truly interested.

"Which leg is it?" I had to ask because I could see both ankles, and they were both edematous. I couldn't see any discoloration... Everything looked normal. The truth was I had no idea which limb was supposed to be injured.

"It's the left one... Lawdy Lawdy Lawdy..."

I checked her PMS, which was all normal. Being someone who's broken her left ankle twice and twisted it more times than she can count, I can sympathize... Of course I've never called for an ambulance for it, but then again I don't weigh what she does.

"Okay, well we'll certainly take you to the ER if that's what you want... Is there a reason you don't want at least an ice pack on it?"

"Oh Jesus it hurts too much for ice... I need some percocets or something... Oh JESUS it hurts..." She was fanning herself with a church bulletin.

Perfect. She wants Percocet. Fantastic.

**********

We managed to convince her to go to the closest hospital, a five minute transport. Her family argued that this was unacceptable as her doctor was at Inner City ER. What they didn't realize was that Physicians at Inner City ER also practice at The Closet ER. One of the benefits of belonging to that particular health system.

Our patient, for the record, didn't care where she went. She just wanted pain relief. Relief we weren't going to be able to provide her with, but at least she only had a five minute bumpy ambulance ride ahead of her. Inner city ER was at least three times that.

With our patient packaged on the stretcher we made our way outside. I took the foot end of the cot, as customary when working with Pseudo Dad. We had an extra Firefighter to help me. Pseudo Dad claimed he didn't need any help.

The first set of steps (four in total) went fine. 315 pounds wasn't even enough to justify a bari cot.

The second set of steps however...

I don't know if it was my frozen fingers on a metal cot, or ice under my boots, or the EMS Gods hitting that smite button, but I lost my footing and in an attempt to right myself, managed to land directly on my ass.

*A collective gasp is heard from the tiny bunch of Firefighters braving the snow*

I jump to my feet instantly and rejoin the firefighter, grateful that my Pseudo Dad didn't lose his grip. "I'm fine... sorry about that..." I stammer. My face is a furious shade of crimson.

Jesus, how could I let that happen? Seriously, Epi... You could have dropped your patient...

Thank God I had that Toledo Firefighter there lifting with me, or God only knows what would have happened.

While we were loading the patient into the back of the truck I heard a whistle and a comment about "pink". I didn't think much of it at that point.

The ride to the ER/ED/EC was uneventful. Although I did manage to convince her to allow me to ice her ankle. A tiny victory for me.

**********

I was sitting in the EMS room completing my report when Pseudo Dad appeared. He was in the process of grabbing a Diet Pepsi from the fridge when he paused. "Ohhhhhhhh..... Hahahahahhahahahahaha *pause to breathe* HAHAHAHAHAH" He was doubled over, he was laughing so hard.

I found myself completely confused. And a little annoyed. "WHAT? What's so effing funny?"

He wiped tears from his eyes, "I hope you packed an extra pair of pants... Because the ones you have on have seen better days."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Yes, I'm truly that clueless. Clearly that's what makes me the source of entertainment for my partners.

"I'm surprised you didn't notice the draft..." He set the can down and wiped his eyes with a tissue.

**********

Yep. I ripped a pair of pants.

I destroyed them, in fact. And no, I didn't have an extra pair with me. And wouldn't you know it, Dispatch had two runs waiting for us. No time to run home (25 minute drive) to change.

The solution... Backboard tape.

I did two more runs that night with an eight inch long strip of backboard tape over my backside.

The moral of the story is... Make sure you pack an extra pair of pants. Or watch where you step.

Grace, thy name is Epi.

Take care, Henry.

It was hot. Not just hot, but that oppressive kinda hot where your uniform sticks to you. Your hair sticks to you. The heat radiates off the road making the local Taco bell ahead of you look like a mirage. Even doing that simple breathing thing takes a little extra effort.

You know, hot.

I pull into the parking lot of The Closet station and park next to Pseudo Dad's truck. He's got the light bar, the Fire Chief license plate, and the Lifeflight sticker on his back window.

I bet he never gets pulled over.

My car isn't nearly as impressive. No EMS stickers. No light bar. No special license plate. I don't have a FOP sticker. I do have a powder blue Littmann draped over my rear-view mirror. If I don't leave it there after every shift I'll forget it somewhere along the way.

Pseudo Dad and I were always early arrivals when it came to work. Our relief was the same way in the morning, and it’s mutually appreciated. Tonight is no different. We were sitting in the air conditioned station talking about what it's like to work as a Volunteer in EMS versus working for a Private service on a night car.

We talked about doing CPR on an actual human. Something that at that point, I had never done. We talked about what it felt like to actually make a difference in someones life, what it felt like to save someones life, literally. He told me it was a feeling he's only experienced a handful of times in 15 years.

*sigh* If someone would just have the decency to drop in front of me...

I wanted to know that feeling, even if it was just one time. To know that by my being there, someones life was saved.

Bless my sparky little heart.

I didn't know any better at the time. I believed that because I wasn't out there doing the more exciting runs, that I wasn't making an impact on anyone's life. And that's what had initially attracted me to the job. Like I said, I didn't know any better at the time.

Pseudo Dad understood what I was talking about. He reminisced about being new and being excited, and “Just hoping to see… Something... Anything.”

It's 6:55pm. Shift starts at 7.

As I’m about to pick up the phone to clock in at The Closet, it rings, startling me. "Uhm, The Closet," I stammer.

Cool Dispatcher, who is ending his long day in five minutes, laughs. "Forget what station you're at?"

I grab a pen and the pad of paper nearby, "Actually I have it written on my hand. I just forgot which hand. What's up?"

"Is your partner in?"

I look at Pseudo Dad who’s mouthing the words “No” while shaking his head. He's not nearly as sparky as I am, poor guy. I stick my tongue out at him. "He’s here, whatcha got?"

Cool dispatcher is on another phone, confirming the run, it takes him a few seconds to respond, "County Run, Code 3, at the Local Nursing Home."

I scribble down the nursing home name and hand the pad to Pseudo Dad, "We're clear and heading out."

I hang up the phone, grab the portable radio and say goodbye to the day crew. On county runs (911 runs) we have a mandatory "chute time" of two minutes. That means we have two minutes from accepting the run to get our butts out to the truck, contact our dispatch as well as County dispatch, and put ourselves enroute. At The Closet it's not difficult to make it to the truck in two minutes. Just a quick walk down the hallway and out the doors to our waiting truck.

Pseudo Dad, of course jumps behind the wheel. I glare at him and mumble under my breath as I climb into the truck. "I never get to drive." I key up the mic and wait for the beep telling me that I can talk. "Unit X to dispatch, we're en route."

"Clear Unit X, be advised Lifesquad is on the scene."

"We're clear." I put us en route with the County next, while Pseudo Dad turns the lights on and pulls us out of the parking lot.

I check each intersection as we approach them, making sure that our intended path is clear before we proceed through. The drive to the ECF is only four minutes. I can't help but notice had we gone code 2 it would have taken us maybe thirty seconds longer. Even with one of the safest drivers I've ever had the pleasure of riding with, the risk doesn't seem worth thirty seconds.

We arrive at the Alzheimer's Unit of the ECF and unload the cot. Lifesquad is still there, which is unusual. Typically they're gone before we arrive.

One of the TFD Medics meet us at the door and explains the situation as we work our way through the building. "The Patient was eating, aspirated some food and started choking. He has a DNR. His sat is at 68, up from the low 50's. They're suctioning him."

Pseudo Dad looks at the empty cot we're dragging toward the patient's room and exhales. "Damn... Okay, I'm going to run out and get the portable suction and the airway bag. I'll be right back."

I nod and continue to play Follow The Medic. I find myself turned around. Haven't we gone down this hallway twice now? "Do you think they design these Alzheimer units as a maze of hallways on purpose. I'm not sure I can find my way out on my own." I'm not kidding.

No, that wasn't my half-assed attempt at flirting. He was cute though. I love a man with a southern accent.

The red headed Medic laughs, "Hell it took me five years to figure this place out. No worries, we'll getcha out. Have ya'll been busy tonight?"

"No, Sir... We haven't had a busy night in a coon's age." Okay, I didn't say that. "We just came on, actually... We work overnights out of The Closet ER."

"How do you like it so far?"

Holy cow, the TFD Medic is talking to me. "I like it well enough. It's not TFD, but I work with some excellent people."

"Have you thought about TFD? We need more Ladies on, yanno."

Sign me up for the next test. Sign me up now. I respond by blushing and telling him that I'd be sure to get an interest card sent in.

We round one last corner and are instantly greeted by a wall of navy blue. Seven from Toledo Fire. They get to wear shorts to work while I sweat my ass off in BDU pants thick enough to stop bullets. I'm not bitter. Really.

Oh my goodness. Here we go. Where in the hell is Pseudo Dad?

I'm pushed forward by some of the FF's into the patients room. He is BLUE from the knees down. his hands are blue as well, although not as dark. His lips are a sick purple.

Now, I know what cyanosis is. I've studied it, I've seen pictures. I have never seen a blue person before. My three months on the job had been limited to some very uninteresting County runs and a couple of hundred Dialysis transfers. A nurse is working on suctioning the patient while everyone else watches. They have oxygen on him by cannula and a pulse ox that they seem to be especially interested in. You don't need a pulse oximeter to tell you the guy looks like shit.

Pseudo Dad enters the room seconds behind me. I turn to him instantly. "YOUR Patient," I blurt out. I'm immediately ashamed of myself. I stick my shaky hands into my pockets in a pathetic attempt to hide my nervousness.

Pseudo Dad being Pseudo Dad shakes his head. He whispers in my ear, "You wanted to make a difference? Here ya go. You'll do fine."

Another nurse shows up with the signed DNR, thrusting it at my chest. "Suctioning and O2 only," She stresses. "The family wants him to go to Inner City Hospital." Since The Closet was closed to EMS when we left, Inner City Hospital would be an appropriate alternative. I shove the DNR paperwork and the patients file under the head of the cot.

"He's as clear as I can get him," the nurse sighs. She backs away from the patient so we can move him.

With some assistance from TFD we move our patient from his chair over to the cot and begin to wheel him out. His name is Henry, according to his paperwork. The same as my Grandfather.

The suctioning nurse stops me at the door. "Honey, if he dies on the way to the hospital, it's okay." She pats me on the back.

Well, thanks so much. I'll keep that in mind.

Red-Headed Medic escorts us out. I walk at the head end of the cot.

"Henry, my name is Epi. We're going to take you to Inner City Hospital. Your family will meet us there, I'm going to take good care of you." I don't know if he can hear me, but I talk anyway. If he can hear me maybe I'm calming him, if he can't, at least I'm calming myself. He still looks like crap, eyes closed, and not talking. I have him on a NRB on 15L. He's breathing is shallow, but at least he's moving some air.

We reach the truck and load Henry in. I climb in next to him. I catch Pseudo Dad's eye as he's about to close the doors and shake my head.

"You know what you're doing, Epi." He closes the doors and leaves. Now it's just me and Henry.

I realize he's a terminal patient. I realize he has a DNR. It just didn't seem right to me that he should die from choking on dinner. "Just keep breathing, Henry, Please."

Pseudo Dad yells from the front of the truck, "You ready, Grasshopper?"

“Drive fast,” I yell. I push feeling of hopelessness and panic out of my head and flip the switch on the trucks onboard suction unit. It roars to life and I use the suction for all it’s worth. I’m getting all kinds of nastiness out. I suction for another ten seconds and put the O2 back on him and check his pulse.

60-ish. It wasn't regular, it wasn't particularly strong, but it was there, I could feel it. I held his hand. "Henry, if you can hear me, I'd be really grateful if you could try coughing."

Nothing. I leave him on the oxygen for another minute and remove it to try to suction him again. I'm rewarded with more food. I slip a little with the suction tip and get my second reward of the day. Henry coughs. I pull it out and give Henry a chance to clear his own airway.

"How's he doing?" Pseudo Dad yells. I throw the oxygen back on him. He's coughing weakly.

"He's coughing," I yell. "I'll take a patch."

Pseudo Dad gets the receiving hospital online and hands me the mic. I give what can only be described as the worst radio report ever. PD would later tell me all he heard was "Six minutes out... DNR... Suctioning... Non-verbal..." and something about blue feet before I tossed the mic back up at him. The patient would have given a better report.

I decided to try to suction him one more time as it sounded like Henry wasn't going to be able to clear what he was coughing up. One more time, I was rewarded with a hunk of what I can only assume was once roast beef. Almost instantly he started pinking up.

I stroked the back of his hand and took his pulse again. 80-ish, still irregular. He was breathing at a rate of 20 or so. He still wouldn't open his eyes. We were pulling into the hospital when I allowed myself to exhale. I checked the pulse ox that I had all but forgotten about. He was at 86. Still hypoxic, but a hell of a lot better than when we climbed into the back of the truck.

I handed him over to the ER/ED/EC Nurse and gave my verbal report before retreating to the quiet EMS room. I tried to fill out my paperwork but couldn't do much other than shake. So much for the adrenaline junky I thought I was. On one hand I was happy that he was doing better. On the other hand I had to wonder what kind of life I had just prolonged. A Diet Pepsi can appeared next to my shaky hand.

Pseudo Dad put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "You did good, Kiddo. You handled yourself well."

"Shush. I think maybe I suck at this."

"Henry's daughter wants to talk to you."

She was standing outside of the EMS room wiping tears from her eyes. She thanked me repeatedly and hugged me. Her father was completely alert and speaking.

"What? Really?"

She nodded and I followed her back to his room where I saw the most beautiful green eyes I had ever laid eyes on.

I couldn't do much other than smile. "Henry, you scared the heck out of me. How are you feeling?" I was choking on my words. I could feel tears forming, I just wanted to get out of that room before my eyes betrayed me.

"Thank you, Young Lady. Thank you." His voice was raspy. He outstretched his hand and I grabbed it. He pulled me into a long hug.

"You're welcome," I whispered. "You take care, Henry."

As we were leaving the ER and heading toward the truck I heard someone yell to us.

"Hey, Little Private Service! How'd our guy turn out?" It was the red-head medic.

Pseudo Dad yelled back, "She saved his life. She's a rockstar!"

"Right on!" He winked at me.

I just smiled and climbed into the truck.

The Importance of Scene Safety

(Prologue: A few weeks ago someone emailed me and asked that I write about the time my partner saved my life. Here you go Gwendolyn :)

Here, for your reading pleasure...

How to Get Yourself Killed by Being Too Eager
(A lesson in "What NOT to do" by Epijunky)

The Scene: A rainy April night in Toledo, Ohio on the wrong side of the tracks.

The Players:
Epi - One brand new Basic EMT.
Quixtar Partner - One very experienced Intermediate EMT.
Father Time - One very old and crusty dispatcher.

Epi: (Sitting in a chair in dispatch) I'm tired. I really need to sleep.

Quixtar Partner: (Bright eyed, even at two in the morning)

He doesn't have two little ones waiting for him at home in four hours, he gets to go home and SLEEP! I hate him.

QP: Go to sleep... I'll come get you if anything happens.

Epi: But there's a commercial for OxyClean on... And that stuff is great at getting those minor blood stains out.

QP: Go to bed Epi, that's an order from an Officer.

Epi: You realize I have problems with authority, right? Particularly when they're ordering me to sleep. (Rubbing her eyes) We've done sixteen runs today. How are you still vertical?

Father Time: (mumbles something under his breath about youth being wasted on the young)

QP: I eat these. (QP pulls out an Energy Bar and hands it to me.)

The label doesn't say Amway right on it, not that I can see immediately anyway, but I'm fairly certain based on prior conversations that it's a Quixtar product.

Epi: (reading the nutritional facts) QP... The main ingredients are sugar, caffeine and crystal meth. That explains why you're still so damn perky.

Father Time: (Chokes on his coffee. Once he clears his airway and hacks up some aspirated coffee, he laughs until his face is purple.)

Cue the loud crash directly outside the windows in the dispatch office.

QP: (Jumps out of his skin) Good Lawd... What the... (He struggles to look out the window and see what's going on)

To his credit the windows are higher up on the wall than typical windows. And QP is barely tall enough to ride the bumper cars at Cedar Point.

Two cars have collided on the corner directly in front of the station. The scene is lit by one street light. To the North is an abandoned warehouse. To the South is our station. To the East and West are aluminum recycling yards. We're not in the roughest neighborhood in the city, but we're definitely in one of the more colorful ones.

Father Time: I'm going to call TPD, Ya'll gonna go check them out?

QP: (Looking at me) I know. I know. Let's go see what we see.

Epi: (Trying my hardest to not be excited over something like a car accident) Okie, lets go.

I grab the First In bag that is sitting next to the door and proceed to walk (not run, not skip, not do the cabbage patch kid dance) towards the scene. I make it about fifteen steps, or about a quarter of the distance there before I'm yanked violently backwards.

QP: (In a loud whisper) Epi. STOP!

QP is pulling on the strap to the First In bag. He's not just stopping me, he's pulling me backwards. It takes me a second or two to process what is going on and regain my balance. When I turn to look back at the scene I see why I'm being dragged back to the station at a sprint.

Male Driver has pulled a gun and has it pointed directly at Female Driver.

I feel my heart kick into overdrive. I let loose with a few very appropriate four letter words and haul ass back to the station. I'm convinced I'm about to be shot in the back.

Let me repeat that. I was absolutely POSITIVE I was about to be shot.

I can't even begin to describe what goes through your head when you're convinced you're going to be killed any second. All I can say is that they involved my children, my husband, and just about every person I care about. Faces flashed before my eyes.

When we reached the door to the station it was locked. QP fumbled with his nametag for what seemed like an eternity before he could swipe us in. We crash through the doorway and land on the linolium floor just inside.

Father Time leaned over in his chair and eyed us suspiciously.

QP: (Panting) Gun!

FT: You two okay??? (FT is calling TPD back to let them know what's transpired)

Epi: We're okay.

QP: (Still catching his breath. He looks me directly in the eye.) When, exactly, did you finish school?

Epi: Three months ago.

I know where he's going with this. I prepare for the verbal beating I'm about to receive.

QP: Do you remember when they talked about Scene Safety? Do ya REMEMBER THAT?

I nod. That's all I'm going to allow myself to do.

QP: Did you size up the scene before you ran out there?

Epi: (Stammering) I thought...

QP: (Slams the palm of his hand on the glass door) You DID NOT think. You charged out there Johnny and Roy style and didn't wait for me. You put us both at risk. We could have been shot. DO YOU REALIZE WE COULD HAVE BEEN SHOT??? Jesus CHRIST Epi!!!!

I've never seen QP angry before. But then again, I've never almost gotten him killed. I'm thirty years old. And for the first time on the job I feel like a stupid foolish child. I swallow hard and fight the urge to cry. I'm sitting on the floor next to QP staring at my knees shaking like a leaf.

If I could be so stupid as to ignore one of the most basic of things they teach you in school, I have no business working as an EMT. I want to jump to my feet grab my bag and run for my car. Instead I continue to sit next to QP.

Epi: (Whispering) QP, I'm so sorry.

QP: I could shake you, girl. You scared the hell out of me. (He wraps an arm around my shoulder.)

Epi: I don't think I have ever been so terrified in my entire life. QP... I'm so sorry.

QP: I almost shit myself when I saw that gun. Epi, promise me something.

Epi: You name it, Partner.

QP: I don't want you to EVER forget what just happened.

Epi: I promise.

**********

I had a dream last night about the car accident I wrote about a few months back. That in turn reminded me of when the above fiasco took place. The incidents are about three years apart, but I have to believe Someone up there is trying to tell me something.

I'm listening.

For Naomi.

(Slight edit: Apparently I posted the wrong draft. Some slight changes towards the end, my apologies)

This post is a contribution, although late, once again, to Normal Sinus Rhythm. A collaborative writing project by EMS bloggers all over the country. Please visit them if you get a chance!

"This might be the best taco I've ever had." Marine Corp Medic crams the remains of said taco down his gullet. I'm not even sure he chewed it. He inhaled it.

God he's hot.

I picked up a shift working with a Medic for 24 hours. It's a welcomed change from working at the Closet, and while I adore Pseudo Dad, the snoring is a bit much sometimes. Last shift I contemplated suffocating him with one of those plastic covered hospital pillows. If the lack of oxygen doesn't do him in, maybe one of the diseases on the pillow will.

A girl needs her sleep ya know.

"So, Marine Corp, tell me. What exactly is that contraption you have strapped to your belt?" It looks like the Galls catalog vomited on him. It looks like a pair of trauma sheers/seatbelt cutter/window punch/scalpel/maglight/corkscrew/vanity mirror/hunting rifle. It's deliciously wankerish, yet fantastic at the same time.

He hands it to me so I can play with it. "It's beautiful," I start, fighting back the giggles.

Marine Corp Medic is not amused with my ribbing. He mumbles something about it being lucky and issued to him by the Corp.

"No, no, I understand." I snort out loud before losing it completely. "If I ever need to open a bottle of wine and perform surgery in the dark I'll know who to call."

"Epi, give it back."

"Can't I just hold it awhile longer?"

"No, you can't. Give it." His hand is outstretched palm up. I stick my bottom lip out and give him the mammoth five pound Galls Special back.

Marine Corp Medic and I have just stopped at one of Toledo's best kept secrets. El Camino. The BEST Mexican food I've ever had. My Medic Partner approves.

We're sitting in the parking lot looking out as the traffic flies down Sylvania Ave. It's the first meal we've had so far after back to back to back 911 runs. It's already 4:30 in the afternoon.

My partner has finished his third and last taco around the same time I start my second. I offer him my last taco as there's no way I'll be able to finish it.

"Girl you need to learn to eat faster or you're going to waste away to nothing working this job."

"Fat chance of that happening." Just as I take a bite of my delicious bit of ground beef, chilies, cheese and sour cream I see something odd out of the corner of my eye. It flies past too quickly for me to process it.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST DID YOU SEE THAT?" Marine Corp Partner is yelling for me to call dispatch and he disappears before I can even realize what has happened. I scan the street in front of me trying to put together what happened.

There's a 1990-ish Oldsmobile on it's roof, not forty feet away from the truck.

I key up the Mic mouth full of taco. "Uhm, Unit 2 to dispatch."
"Unit 2, go ahead."

"We're at Sylvania and Douglas, We just witnessed a MVC, one car on it's roof, contact Toledo's Finest for us and send another unit"
"We're clear Unit 2. TC, Fire and police are being notified."

"EPI!!! AIRWAY BAG!" Marine Corp is yelling from the street. I look up to see where he is and that's when I notice the second car.

Oh... Shit.

I jump out of the truck with the portable radio and run to the back where the airway bag is. I pick up the heavy blue bag and the Narc bag next to it. I pull a backboard out and move as fast as I can towards the first car, the one on it's roof.

The snow is coming down. There's close to two inches on the ground already.

"Epi, do you know where the intubation kit is? Hand me the BVM."

I've never been so happy in my life that I did the rig check that morning.

I pull the BVM out and tear the plastic bag it's in. I put it together and hand it to MCP.

"Uhm, MCP, seven or 7.5? What blade do you want?" I pause long enough to see a 70 year old woman hanging upside down. Blood cakes her face. She's not breathing. Groceries are everywhere in the car. A head of lettuce, cans of baked beans, a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk are scattered everywhere. It hits me, we're going to have to get her out.

"Epi? Answer the damn radio before I throw it across the street."

"Unit 2, come in, Unit 2...."

"Oh... Uhm, Unit 2 here. We have one patient, two cars involved." I look up at the other car, the driver is talking on his cell phone excitedly and watching us work. "The driver of the second car looks okay, I would still send that second unit though."

"We're clear 2. Fire and police should be there shortly."

MCP is holding C-Spine. "Let's get her out, she's not trapped. I can't tube her at this angle and the car isn't stable."

I pull the board towards us and ask him where he wants me. He has me take C-spine while he retrieves that deliciously tacky tool off of his belt that I had been laughing at not five minutes prior. He cuts through her belt and supports her body as she starts to fall from the seat she's in.

In seconds she's on our backboard. MCP is tearing open a tube when I notice her chest rise.

"MCP?" I watch her take another breath, then another.

"MCP???" I repeat, tapping his arm.

"What?" He says attaching the syringe to the tube.

"She's breathing, MCP. Looks like 12 or 16... Color's improving."

MCP watches her chest for a second then looks at her face. "Well shit. Go Grandma." He cranks the O2 up to 15 liters and puts a NRB on her.

"Do you want me to go check the other driver?" I ask as I dust the snow off of me.

"What other driver?"

I motion towards the pimped out Neon with heavy front end damage across three lanes of traffic.

"Jesus I didn't even see that car. Go check the driver, if you need me, yell."

The driver is still yammering loudly on his cell phone, I can hear him from across the street.

"Sir?" I start as I approach him. A shiver runs through me. I'm soaked to the bone. "Sir, are you okay?"

"Eric, duuuude, you need to come get mee. Pleeeease dude." The smell of the alcohol coming off of his breath is so strong that I have to take a step back. "Whoa."

"Go take care of that stupid bitch. THAT STUPID BITCH THAT CUT ME OFF!!!" Douchebag patient screams into the phone. "Duuude. PLEASE." Douchebag patient is begging to whatever poor bastard he's trying to convince to come pick his sorry ass up. He keeps looking around nervously as cop cars are showing up.

MCP is standing by the first patients car watching everything unravel. I look back at him and he's starting to walk towards us. Another crew has arrived and are loading up the first patient.

"Sir, you need to hang up the phone." I stammer. Douchebag patient is dialing another number. Completely ignoring me.

Shit. He's not listening to me. Why am I so nervous. Why won't he listen to me? I'm going to look like a complete moron. Dude, put down the phone, just let me take a look at you and shut the fuck up. Please. I'm begging. Okay, time to pull up your big girl panties and take control of the situation.

"SIR." I yell this time. I use my Mommy-is-pissed tone-of-voice. "Hang up the fucking phone. NOW." I can feel my heart racing, but enough is God damned enough.

"I'm fine..." He continues to dial.

"You're bleeding from your forehead and you're drunk. Now hang up the damn phone before I call the cops over."

"Everything okay over here?" MCP walks up behind me.

Douchebag patient is 5'10" and a buck fifty soaking wet. I'm three inches taller and a bit heavier. Marine Corp is 6'5" and 250 pounds of muscle with a vein that bulges out of his forehead when he's pissed.

And He IS pissed. "He giving you a problem?"

Dipshit, er, I mean Douchebag patient's eyes are the size of half dollars. Marine Corp Partner is rather intimidating.

I look at Douchebag with renewed courage. "Just hang up the damn cell phone and let me take a look at you. Please. Unless you'd be more comfortable with my partner." The street lights are on, the snow is falling, I'm chilled to the bone. What I'm assuming is broken glass or asphalt has ripped a hole in my pants, melting snow is running down my leg into my socks.

Translation: I'm balls ass cold.

The Douche in the end submitted to a stellar BLS assessment by yours truly. He ended up boarded and collared but okay. Seven stitches to his forehead. And a pair of shiny handcuffs.

Patient #1 made a complete and full recovery. She went from a bloody blue upside down old lady to a very grateful patient who still sends me emails from time to time. Apparently she had been feeling ill most of the day. She didn't remember heading out to the grocery store in the snow. Turns out she had a massive MI. Per the local STEMI protocol she headed to the nearest ER with a Cath Lab. I met up with her two days later during a shift with Pseudo Dad. Her family was fantastic.

One more reason why I love my job.

I was a newer EMT then, I was easily intimidated. I'm proud to say I've grown a bit since then. I still like working with the guys, and I miss Marine Corp and Pseudo Dad, but I don't need them to feel secure as a female EMT. I don't feel like I have to be protected from a patient because I'm a woman.

It took a little old lady and a drunk asshole to begin to teach me that.

Hey Epi... Where'd you get that scar?

I need to get a better shot of the scar, I know.

"Unit 152, Code Three for the County, One-Eight-Seven-Seven Collingwood, Cross of Springs Blvd. Code Three for the County, time out 1545."

"Unit 120, A direct call, 15789 Sterns. That's Sterns in Michigan, cross of Laskey. That's code three for a chest pain."

"Unit 262, Code Three for the County, Coral Gables Trailer Park, Lot 15. You'll be responding as the South West car, code three for the county."

"Unit 262 to Dispatch, can I get location on that run?"
"Unit 262 that's Burn and Moses, Burn and Moses. Across from Burning Bush Plaza."
"Two-Six-Two is clear on Burn and Moses, put us enroute."

**********

I take a long sip out of my bucket-sized styrofoam cup of coffee and continue reading the paper. We're posted at one of the 24-hour-stations, but we decide to sit out in the truck. It's almost 9pm. I'm quickly losing daylight so I fold the paper up and stuff it behind the drivers seat with my camera bag and the neon vests we've never used.

Join Quixtar Partner is furiously typing on his laptop. "Epi, it's not a scam, it's not a pyramid... You just have to put some time into it..."

"QP... It's Amway. Which is great. They have some great cleaning products. But I can't afford Amway for myself, I'd have a hard time selling it to my family and friends."

"You're right, they do have some amazing cleaning products but --"

The radio... sometimes I'm saved by the radio. "Unit 260, Two-six-zero."

We focus our attention on fighting for the mic. "QP...My.....truck.....give...me...Yes, Unit 260, go base."

"Unit 260, Code three for the county, 150th and Sunset, Sunset Mobile Home Park, lot A24, Code 3 for the county."

"260 is clear on Sunset, we're enroute" I grab the mapbook and hand it to Quixtar Partner. "I'm pretty sure I know where this is, can you look it up for me?" He nods and flips through the binder while I light the truck up and pull out of the parking lot.

**********

The trip there is blissfully uneventful. After the accident a crew had the week before, I'm a little shaky driving code three. The time of day and resulting lack of traffic help considerably. QP confirms the location of our run as we're pulling up to the same location. The large red firetruck gives it away.

Another of Toledo's finest greets us at the curb. "Hey Epi, how ya been girl?"

I pull my purple gloves on and reach for my sharpie. "I'm doing okay, hows your little guy?"

"He'll be in third grade this fall... Okay, so... Here's what we have," He pulls a small piece of paper from his front pocket. "38 yo female, with psych history, no one on scene can confirm what exactly that psych history is... Her daughter states she hasn't taken any meds today and that she's "just not acting right"... Her vitals are all normal, maybe a little tachy, but she's been running laps around the courtyard for the last half hour." He motions towards the small courtyard in the trailer park.

We see our patient, in her pink nightgown doing exactly what Toledo's Finest said she was doing. Running laps around the courtyard, up one side down the other. Most of the time she was jogging, occasionally breaking out into a sprint. There's a crowd of thirty or so residents, six of us EMS folks, and four police officers watching with rapt attention.

"How long has she been doing this?" QP asks staring at our patient.

"Oh... I don't know, ten minutes," A police officer answers.

Another officer leans towards me and whispers, "Too bad she's not built like my partner here, she would have fell out nine minutes ago." I lean back to get a better look at the partner he's referring to and find myself laughing out loud.

**********

"What's her name?" I ask.

QP looks at the paper the firemedic handed him. "Glenda... No, Glinda. Glinda."

"Like the Good Witch?" I ask. QP does not get the Oz reference. "It's okay, QP, I'll explain it later. So, do we have a plan?"

"Tackle and hog tie her?" One of Toledo's Finest offers.

"No one is tackling anyone, " I start. Eight guys simultaneously look at me like I have two heads. "Okay, no one is tackling or tazing anyone yet. There has to be a better way." I look out at Glinda, her pace is slowing. "Has she showed any signs of being violent?" I ask.

"No, nothing like that, She just need her meds," Her daughter says trying to be helpful. "Please don't hurt her..."

"Let's go talk to her," I say to QP and whoever else cares at that point.

"Like hell you will, I'll go talk to her." QP is feeling way too much testosterone at this point and it's pissing me off.

I look at him directly in the eyes. "My patient. Quit treating me like a delicate flower because I'm female. We can go together." QP is speachless. I start walking towards Glinda.

"Hey Glinda, how are you?" I'm walking next to her now. QP follows protectively a few steps behind. She's taking her pulse at the wrist, just like I've done a hundred times during a workout.

"I'm doing okay, are ya'll here to take me to the hospital?"

Wow, that was easy.

"Actually I am. Are you ready to go?" I can't help but be a little shocked at how normal she's acting. I guess I expected her to be bat shit crazy.

"Well, I need my purse, but other than that I'm ready."

"Glinda, I'll have your daughter grab your purse," I start, motioning to her daughter. Our crowd's collective jaws have dropped at how smoothly things are going. It's gotten very quiet at the scene. I help her climb into the back of the truck, sit her down on the cot and sit next to her on the bench seat. QP climbs in as well and starts on getting her blood pressure and other assorted vitals.

"Glinda, how are you feeling?"

"I'm okay, I guess. My head feels a little funny. And my neck hurts."

"Your neck hurts?"

"Well, yes, Ma'am... I fell down the stairs earlier..." She brings her right hand up and rubs the back of her neck.

QP is already reaching for the collar and towel rolls.

**********

"Alright, Glinda. We need to get this collar on you. When you fell you could have fractured your neck. I realize that you've been running a bit since you fell and that you probably feel fine, but I would feel better if we got you on a backboard and put this collar on you. Now my partner here is going to hold your head perfectly still, and any questions you answer for me I'd like you to answer without moving your head. Let us do all the work. Okay?"

Glinda nods her head.

"Hold still hon, Don't move your head at all, okay?"

QP holds c-spine while I put her collar on. If she shows up in the ER without a board and towel rolls the Doc will lose his mind. As a Basic I have no c-spine clearing protocols. Everyone with a fall and neck pain gets a board and a collar.

It was right about the time I was taping her down that I realized something might be wrong. My arm is caught on something.

My arm is caught on her mouth. I scream. "Jesus CHRIST she's biting me she's biting me!!!!"

QP lets go of c-spine and starts yelling at her as well. He finds a pressure point on her arm and presses down hard.

Glinda screams out. "Shiiit that HURT! Why did you do that???"

"Are you serious? You were BITING ME! You FUCKING BIT ME, GLINDA!" I'm so angry I find myself having a hard time not kicking her ass while she lay on that backboard. My heart is racing along, blood is running down my arm and pooling at my feet. I grab a hand towel and hold it to my fresh bite mark resort to taking several deep breaths in an effort to calm down.

(Eta - So that pretty much dispels all rumors that I'm a hand holder, right?)

We finish taping Glinda down and QP runs up to the front of the truck to drive us the short distance to the ED. My partner gives the radio report as I'm still cursing under my breath. Today I'm not so much feeling like a good Catholic Girl.

Glinda is whimpering. "Why he hurt me? I didn't do nothin' to no one..."

"Glinda, calm down. You bit me. You hurt me. You need to get some help at the ER. You need to take your meds when you're supposed to take them. You need to know that it's not...nice...to...bite...people." I'm fighting off the feelings of anger by telling myself over and over that she's sick.

It's not her fault, right?

**********

The rest of the run was uneventful. Several crews greeted us when we arrived at the ED, including Pseudo Dad, who was demanding that I go home for the night. I was a little shaken up. But honestly, she bit me, there was some blood and a few butterfly bandages involved. She didn't have any diseases that I had to be worried about.

She was just a little off.

I spent a few hours in the ER getting everything done. Paperwork, some ibuprofen, more paperwork, a visit from a Supervisor, and a few high fives on my first EMS scar.

As I was walking through the ER to find QP I caught a glimpse of Glinda. She was sitting up in bed laughing with her daughter. I started to get angry and considered popping my head into her room to say... Goodbye.

I kept walking.

LODD... I'm shocked and heartbroken...

I've been off work for a few days, I'm not sure how in the hell I didn't know about this, but Gary the Captain from Whitehouse Fire Department died from an apparent Stroke.

Jesus. Gary's gone.

Easily one of the nicest guy's I've ever met.

I remember one of the last shifts I worked at The Little Ambulance Service... We saw them four times that shift. The last time we walked in there with a BS county run he told me "I better not see you in here again tonight. Go back to your station and get some sleep."

I adored him. And I'm heartbroken.

Every Mile A Memory...

Intersection of Delaware and Omaha: The first MVC I responded to as a Basic.

Cherryview Nursing Home: The first time I ever did compressions.

Suburbia Hospital: First and second body runs.

Mossing and Hill: MVC with a fatality.

Chesterfield Apartment Complex: Child Abuse case.

Meadowview Park; First time I was physically assaulted on the job.

Parking lot at St. Moneybags ER: First time I was assaulted on the job where it resulted in a scar.

Lincoln and the expressway: We rolled up on a car accident where the occupant been ejected.

Navarre and Moore: Second time I did compressions.

Regional Mall: Slip and fall patient. Broken fibula.

The Closet ER: First Fire and subsequent evacuation I've ever been a part of.

Ambulance Bay, St. Holy Hospital: First and only crowning baby (She delivered in the hallway inside!)

Twenty five feet away from the dispatch room at The Little Ambulance Service That Could: First time I had a gun drawn in front of me. Also the first time my partner saved my ass.

The side of the highway, ten miles into Michigan: I was puked on.

Two doors down from where I grew up: First time I transported a friend.

Gas Station around the corner from NC Station: Runaway I managed to convince to call her Mother.

The Same Gas Station as above: Domestic Violence run.

Alley behind Kroger's that I used to shop in: Patient having chest pain from Crack/Seroquel combo.

My Mom's next door neighbor: First time my Mom saw me on the job.

Ethnic festival downtown: First time a patient who I had transported recognized me and thanked me.

**********

Have you ever felt like there isn't a place in the city where you haven't experienced something job related?

Inspiration... My favorite patient.

Elsie Bloom was born in 1939 at the tail end of the depression in Birmingham, Alabama. She moved north of that infamous Mason/Dixon line in her twenties with her husband, Franklin so he could start a new job at the local Jeep plant. She was a career homemaker. She kept a beautiful home in the historic Polish Village neighborhood of North Toledo, a home with an immaculate emerald green lawn and a flower bed filled with tulips in the spring and petunia's in the summer. Elsie and Franklin were parents to five children, the youngest just five years older than myself. Her six grandchildren (ALL under the age of ten) were her pride and joy.

I grew up just three blocks away from her home. In fact, I walked past it countless times on the way to my best friend's home up the street. I don't have any memories of her from that time, and when I once questioned her about that she told me that Franklin had taken ill and she was his caretaker for almost eight years before he passed on.

I first met Elsie in the back of my ambulance.

I was a very green, freshly minted EMT at The Little Private Service That Could and I remember that transfer run like it was three days ago instead of three years ago. We were taking her from her home to a dialysis clinic across town. I remember that she she barely weighed 120 pounds soaking wet, yet she was worried about Pseudo Dad and I having to carry her on the stretcher down the three steps in front of her house. That was one thing that never changed over the several dozen times that I took care of her. She always worried about us. She took a genuine interest in us. She thanked us after every run.

I instantly fell in love with her. I found myself looking forward to picking her up. I know how odd that sounds, what EMT... what saver of lives, comforter of the infirmed, counselor of the downtrodden... actually LOOKS forward to a dialysis transfer?

Yeah, that's me. What can I say? She had fascinating stories, she was grateful, she cursed like a sailor, told crude jokes, never complained, and made me laugh.

Oh GOD how she made me laugh. She quizzed me on my love life, she tried to play matchmaker between me and a dialysis tech (who to this DAY I STILL have a crush on), and she teased me for being an Irish lass with an Irish mouth. (We had that in common.)

It still boggles my mind how someone who just went through 4 ½ hours of dialysis could still be in such great spirits... She always was. Always with a smile on her face. She'd beam as she spoke about her grandbabies, she'd smile when she talked about her children, and she positively glowed when she spoke about her late husband. I loved to hear her stories about growing up in the South. I even loved being teased by her, and anyone who knows me knows how I get when being teased.

She was my favorite patient, without a doubt.

Other than Pseudo Dad and a few select others, I missed her the most when I left the Little Private Service last year.

It was a random day in June last year, I wish I remember the day, when I happened across her obituary. Sitting in a doctor's office of all places. I wasn't even working an EMS job at this point, I was there for an Ortho appointment for myself.

“Elsie Bloom, 68, went to live with our Savior...”

No... Not Elsie...

I crumpled instantly. It felt like I had lost a family member. I remember going home and crying to my husband about it... He didn't get it, and I was wrong for expecting him to. It's difficult if not impossible for those outside of our tight knit circle to understand the relationships we form within EMS. Yes, even private EMS.

Even on a transfer truck. Even on a Day Car. Even when we're not busy out there saving lives and living the dream. We make an impact on people.... And sometimes they make an even greater impact on us.

* Thank you to my inspiration... You're just what I needed exactly when I needed it.*

The girls... Photo Of The Day

*rrrriiiiiiiing*

Me: Hello?

Former Partner/Partner In Crime: Epi... Hey! I was wondering... Would you like to shoot my kids and nephew? I need some pictures for my Mom for Christmas, it's been years since we've had pictures of them taken together, and I know you could probably use the pics for your portfolio...

Me: Yeah, sure, where do you want to do this?

Former Partner/Partner In Crime: I was thinking outside by the lighthouse...

Me: You realize it's Winter, right?

FP/PIC: Yes...

Me: And there's snow on the ground...

FP/PIC: Yes...

Me: *Exhales* Okay.

So we were off. And it was cold. And there was snow on the ground. And I'm an idiot and wore my crocs. Well they're comfy. Epi never claimed to be a smart girl.

They were very photogenic and very easy to work with. Here are some of my favorite shots.




This last one is my favorite... mostly because of what's going on in the bottom of the pic :)

I need some good vibes sent my way...

I'm getting ready to go back into The Little Private Ambulance Service That Could to beg... once again... for my job back.

I'm not above crawling here.

I need to work. I miss the people there, I miss dealing with patients... And I need the money. I really... really...REALLY need the money. Mortgages don't pay themselves, ya know? Unemployment is about to run out.

It's starting to rain, folks.

Could It Be? (Originally Posted September 20, 2006)

Could it be that this job is making me lazy? I’m willing to give myself the benefit of the doubt and say that maybe the combination of school, studying, work, and lack of sleep is just stressing me out a little bit. I seriously underestimated how much time would be required for studying. I seriously overestimated how much sleep I’d be able to get during the day while working the 7p-7a shift at The Closet. I’m kind of just stumbling through life right now. It’s a familiar feeling, kind of like that feeling you have for the first few weeks there’s a newborn in your home.

Tonight was supposed to be quiet.

When will I learn that number of calls in a 12 hour shift directly relates to how many hours of sleep/studying time one needs?

I know how bad that sounds. They’re paying me to work. I understand that. I’m not one of those people who believe that they are entitled to sleep during a 12 hour overnight shift. Sometimes you just need a quiet night.

It was as far from quiet as it possibly could be.

The CT scanner at Backwoods General Hospital 35 miles away was broken. They contacted The Little Private Service that Could and contracted with us to transport any patient who needed a CT up to St. Moneybags hospital where the CT would be done, then return them to Backwoods General.

It didn’t sound too bad, how many people out in the middle of nowhere need a CT scan? I’ve been to Backwoods ER more than a few times, and typically, it’s empty.

That night everyone within ten miles of this hospital needed a CT scan.

(This wouldn’t normally be a problem except She Who Rules The House had been teething and miserable all day resulting in net sleep of ZERO for me in two days. So I’m exhausted.)

We ran patients back and forth all night long. And had to complete a run report for each segment of the trip. We would end up with 22 run reports by 7am.

At one point around five am I was literally in tears, babbling about something. Pseudo Dad grabbed me by the shoulders and steered me toward the patient compartment.

He told me in no uncertain terms that I would sleep, and I would sleep now. And he’d wake me up when the next patient was ready. If I chose to defy him he’d ground me. Or something.

“Yes, Dad,” was all I could mumble at that point.

He actually put me to sleep like I was a cranky five year old, which makes me think I must have been acting like a cranky five year old. I’m not proud of that.

I really need to work on getting that 24 hour shift.

A Fly On The Wall. (Originally Posted Friday, September 15, 2006)

Another night of school followed by work.

I arrive at The Closet around 11pm. The rig check is done (they haven’t even had a run in the four hours before I arrived), and there’s not much to do other than sit back in my nice comfy black leather recliner and watch CSI: Miami. A nice quiet night. Pseudo Dad is snoring at a volume that would wake any corpse.

Weeknights at The Closet typically are calm. It helps as far as studying goes at least.

My eyes start to close. I fight to keep them open.

EpiJunky: Hey, Pseudo Dad, I’ll be in the ER.
PseudoDad: *SNOOOOOOORE*

I scribble a note for Pseudo Dad on a post it and put it on the door. I pick up the radio and venture the 50 paces or so that leads to the ER. I turn the radio on. It’s quiet. I let dispatch know I’m on the portable for a few minutes. It’s easier for me to find PseudoDad if there’s a run.

Nothing going on in the ER. The nurses are playing solitaire on the computer or shopping Ebay for discount Crocs. I walk back to The Closet. The radio is still quiet. Sounds like everyone is in the same boat as I am. The light in the hallways is blinding. It gives me a headache.

The Closet is dark, lit only by an episode of Cops on the 19 inch TV. Pseudo Dad is still snoring away. I sink back into the recliner.

Maybe I can mentally WILL the phone to ring. A run, please, just to keep myself awake. I have a hard time sleeping on overnight shifts. I don’t like the feeling of waking up, groggy, to a ringing phone.

A Police Officer with a very thick southern accent is chasing someone on foot through some random neighborhood.

My eyes start to closer again. I give up and doze off......

(Three hours later)
*RRRRRIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGG*

I mumble an obscenity under my breath and reach for the phone.

EpiJunky: The Closet *yawn*
Dispatch: Sorry to wake you. County run to the nearby Taco Bell.
Pseudo Dad: *SNOOOOOOORRRRREEEEEEE*
Dispatch: What the hell was that?
EpiJunky: Copy that. We’re heading out.

It takes me thirty seconds to rouse Pseudo Dad from his coma.

It’s four in the morning.

We get on scene and it’s a minor aged female with abdominal cramps. My first thought is, “What in God’s name are you doing on the street at four in the morning on a school night?” This is closely followed by, “In a private school uniform carrying your back pack with your boyfriend.”

I rub sleep from my eyes.

On closer inspection, in the warm patient compartment of the squad, I see she’s muddy from her knees down, freezing, and in a pretty good amount of pain. Abdominal pain. She’s gives pretty vague answers to my questions.

On the way to the hospital I get a little more of the story. She says that she had been staying with her Grandmother and had snuck out. Grandma is not her guardian, mom and dad are. For some reason I’m still suspicious.

I rub my eyes again. I knew I wasn't getting the entire story, but I can't force her to be honest with me.

Yes, there's a chance she could be pregnant, she admitted. She gives me a phone number for her parents. The number is disconnected.

We arrive at City Hospital, I give the ER Nurse report. The nurse tells my patient that she absolutely must give her a real phone number, the hospital has to call mom to get permission to treat her. The patient is clearly not happy with this, but gives up the phone number. She cuddles on the ER bed with her boyfriend. They watch the TV.

My suspicions were right on. It turns out she's a runaway. Not just from her Grandmother’s house. She’s been missing four days. Her parents are frantic. The police department show up to sit with her until her parents can get there.

Of course I'm giddy to witness any drama that's not my own. I relay this info to Mike and suggest we get popcorn and sit back and wait for the show.

I'm sure her Mother is going to be thrilled when she shows up. I can’t wait for Dad and the boyfriend to meet. We call dispatch and let them know of the situation (we need mom's signature as well... not to mention we need insurance info if there is any.)

We were too tired to hang out for too long, and the signature and insurance information isn’t more important than getting back to our district.

I'm a bad bad nosy person.

A two ice cream cone night. (Originally Posted August 2, 2006)

*RIIIIING*

Why am I always the one sitting next to the phone? It rings loud enough to wake the dead and typically makes me jump clear out of my skin.

EpiJunky: The Closet
Dispatch: Got a County Run for you, They’re at the Dollar Store at the local strip mall around the corner. Code 3.
EpiJunky: Copy that. We’re heading out.

I relay the information to Pseudo Dad who is already ahead of me on the way out to the squad. He jumps in the drivers seat.

EpiJunky: I never get to drive code 3. *pout*
PseudoDad: That’s what you get for pawning that last call off on me. *grin*
Pseudo Dad puts us enroute and flips the lights and sirens on.

We arrive at the Dollar Store one minute later. The local Fire Department waves us into the store.

Sitting on a chair is my very pale patient, getting some oxygen through a non-rebreather. Sitting on the floor next to my patient is a LifePak 12. Sitting next to the LifePak is the BIGGEST HAIRIEST dog I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s her service dog. One of the firefighters is giving the dog some water.

I get the rundown from the Medic on scene who has decided that ALS is not needed, the patient had a near syncopal episode. It’s 105 degrees outside, and she walked with her service dog close to two miles to shop. She’s had a 12 lead, which was unremarkable, all of her vitals are stable, she’s feeling much better on the O2, and has had a bottle of water. She wants to go back to the Local ER, it’s only a two minute transport.

EpiJunky: And I can only assume that we’re taking her service dog as well?
Firefighter: *Looking at me funny* Well, yeah… Got any dog treats in there? He looks hungry.
EpiJunky: I don’t know, Pseudo Dad, you have any biscuits on you? Pseudo Dad rolls his eyes at me.
Firefighter: Tell me you’ve never transported a pooch before…

I haven’t. There’s barely enough room for me and a patient let alone me a patient and a 150 pound dog. It’s a beautiful friendly dog, but still.

Firefighter: *Looking at Pseudo Dad* Your partner owes you an ice cream.

(Little sidenote: There’s a tradition in the Fire Department where you have to buy ice cream for your coworkers the first time you do something. I’m pretty new, and I’m the number of ice cream cones I owe Pseudo Dad is skyrocketing.)

Pseudo Dad: I think she owes ALL of us ice cream. *grin*
EpiJunky: I think you’re a pain in the butt.

Our patient perks up. “You boys be nice to that girl”. I decide I love my patient and her dog.

We load the patient and her dog into the back. I climb over the dog a few times to get my vital signs done. The dog doesn’t have any idea what’s going on, and really doesn’t want to sit down.
The patient has a condition called cardiogenic syncope, and that’s why she has the service animal. She’s feeling considerably better now, the color is coming back to her face, her vitals are all normal. The transport was over before it started.

I was able to check in on her later and she was getting ready to be discharged. The ER staff had fallen in love with her dog.

Oh yes… I also managed to park at St. Holy Hospital that night, with some guidance from Pseudo Dad. That would be ice cream number 2 for the night.

I think I'm lost... (Originally Posted 7-12-06)

I'm just not sure what to do with myself today. I need to get my head on straight. It feels like I can’t do anything right. I’m grateful that for the most part it’s nothing major, but yikes. Maybe my B-12 is low again.

Let me start by running down how last night went.

EpiJunky LOVES her some fireworks. I’m like a five year old. I get goosebumps watching them. I *HEART* fireworks. Tonight they’re shooting a rather large display off from a huge suspension bridge. I spent the first half hour of the shift trying to figure out how we could end up over on that side of town.

Pseudo Dad managed to pull it off. That’s why I love having him as a partner. I still don’t know how we managed it, but at 21:55 we were pulling into the gas station RIGHT NEXT TO the bridge where they were shooting off the display. God love that man. Of course we had to report to dispatch that we were “blocked in” at the gas station.

I should be ashamed of myself, I know.

We weren't terribly busy the rest of the night. We can blame this on a real nice little car accident with multiple patients, two of them in the back of our lil "van"bulance... Did I mention the fact that I got us a bit lost on the way to the call? Just a little bit. Added a minute on to our arrival time. Long story short it was an old map. Yeah, that’s what I’m blaming it on. Old map.

We get to Local ER, deliver our patients, yes, that's two, did I mention in the back of our van we had TWO patients? Yes, I'm babbling. It's just that this van is tiny enough. PseudoDad is close to 6’4” and I’m 6’0”, and it's kind of cramped under normal situations. Anyway, I digress. Both patients were delivered safely and without incident.

We go out to start the rig up, we're both cold, soaking wet from being out in the rain... And lo and behold, the rig does NOT start. No, I did not leave the lights on, no I did not leave the battery on...

There’s nothing more humiliating more than having the local competition (who coincidentally has SIGNIFICANTLY newer and nicer rigs) laugh and offer to jump your ambulance.
An hour and a half and several jump attempts later... It starts. We take the rig directly down to The Little Private Service that Could’s HQ, switch rigs (oh yeah, not only was the rig battery obviously having issues, but our "angry horn" wasn't working.) and head back to The Closet.
So now it's practically three am. We're both still wet. We're both cold. We're both tired, yet not tired. But tired.

After maybe three and a half hours of sleep I wake up, stumble out to the car, drive home, pick up milk, drive out to my 0815 physical therapy appointment, and find out that it's actually at 1715 as opposed to 815, tomorrow it's at 815.... *cries*

And it gets better still, most of the rest is revolving around whether or not I, EpiJunky, EMT-B wants to become EpiJunky, Paramedic, instead. I want it so much I can hardly stand it... It just looks like it might take a hell of a toll on my kids, my husband, my marriage, my sanity etc... I'd need some significant babysitting help from my family, and it just doesn't look like it's going be able to happen. It seems as if everything I do is wrong right now, but it’s not enough to deter me. I want to learn more.

Mosquito Bites? (Originally posted 6-4-06)

The last week has been pretty slow at The Closet. Now that I said that I'm sure the next few weeks will be absolute insanity.

Now last Friday, that was an exception. To get the whole story out, I have to back up a little.
Last week I had a dream, a nightmare really, that Pseudo Dad and I were working out of Very Inner City Station and that we were getting shot at. Woke up in a cold sweat, heart racing... Wow. Didn't really want to go back to sleep after that.

The next night I get to work and my partner finds out he has a pager waiting for him at the main station of the Little Private Service. Excellent. We've been waiting for these pagers for over a month, so we hop in the rig and head down. We knew that if we were heading that way we'd probably end up picking up a run.

We did. No big shock there.

Then we get asked to go post at Very Inner City Station. I had told Pseudo Dad about my dream the night before. He looks at me and starts with this nervous kind of laugh. "If I hear gunshots, you're getting out first" He said. Thanks :)

We sit at the station for awhile, then it starts to pour. I don't have my sweatshirt or my coat with me, so naturally, we get another call. Car accident. I took that one. The patient was pretty upset, but physically okay. She was boarded and collared and delivered safely to the ER.

I didn't even get time to finish my paperwork when we got another county run. I drove. Here's all I have to say about this... Kids should not be inhaling fumes from various household items. Mom's oblivious. For God's sake. The kid couldn't even stay on his feet. And I loved his explanation. Mosquito bites. I call BS.

The rest of the night was a mix of paperwork, runs, rig check, and exhaustion. Passed out in the recliner around four am, alarm went off three hours later.

Wow... I just reread what I've typed and I can't believe how boring it is. My apologies. :) Boring is better than something horrific happening. Like actually getting shot at and having to use Pseudo Dad as a human shield :)

Do I need stitches? (5-6-06)

Well, apparently since Pseudo Dad and I are both new employees we can't work as partners for 30 days. Never mind the fact hat Pseudo Dad has 16 years of Ambulance and Firetruck driving experience, he still has to serve the 30 days... You gotta love the Little Private Service that Could...

As a result I'm working with any number of partners between now and then... Tonight's partner, Irritated Burn Out. It's Cinco De Mayo. I'm in a predominantly Hispanic area.

Drunk person #3: "Do you think I need stitches?"
I look at this person, who's face is split open above their eye, nose is bleeding, a few other minor lacs... ETOH on board to the degree that I'm catching a contact buzz.

EpiJunky: "I don't know, I'm not an expert."

Ten seconds later...

Drunk Person #3: "Do you really think I need stitches?"

EpiJunky: "I'm no expert, but I'm guessing, yes, you probably need stitches."

Drunk Person #3: "My buddy is a cop, I hope he can find my car."

EpiJunky: "Well, cops are good friends to have for that."

Drunk Person: "Do you think I need stitches?"

EpiJunky: "Probably."

Drunk Person: "I'm going to have a cigarette."

EpiJunky: "Not a good idea.... See that big oxygen tank over there?"

Drunk Person: "Oh.. Okay... well then, as soon as we get to the hospital then... Do you think I need stitches for this?"

I suspect a head injury in addition to his lacs.

(This continues for another five minutes or so... Then this person realizes I have them strapped to the cot, not restrained, just secured.)

Drunk Person: "Hey, why am I strapped down? Am I under arrest?"

EpiJunky: "Think of them as extra seat belts... can't have you flying through the back doors if we were in an accident..."

Drunk Person: "Am I under arrest?"

EpiJunky: "I'm not a cop."

Irritated Burn Out Partner: "I don't think they're following us, you're probably safe." (Probabloy the nicest thing he said to ANYONE all night.)

Drunk Person: "Thank God they didn't search me, I have all this Coke on me. Wanna do a line?"

EpiJunky: "Not tonight, thanks..."
(Drunk person reaches into their pocket to pull it's contents out)

EpiJunky: "HEY... keep that in there, I don't want to see that."

Drunk Person: *giggles* "Do you think I need stitches? Do they have a plastic surgeon at *hospital name*? Do you think I'm going to have a scar? I'm sexy you know..."

I'm mentally rolling my eyes at this point while simultaneously praying to the gods that we get to the hospital soon... very soon... like yesterday.

This patient also proposed to me. Just what I need :)

I survived my first shift... It was interesting... I'm just too tired to write much more... maybe later.

Cleared. (5-4-06)

Tomorrow I start my official shift at the Little Private Service That Could.

I'm going to be stationed out at the Local ER (know from this point on as "The Closet"). My partner, Pseudo Dad, is new to the company (Hired the same day as I was!) but not EMS... In fact, he's the Fire Chief from Podunk Twp. THANK GOD!!!

Am I nervous? Yes, a little. If I wasn't, something would be wrong, right?

I'm confident in what I know, mostly, I just hope what I know is enough for the patients I have in the near future.. I have a lot to learn, and I'm grateful that at the very least, I have an experienced EMT as a partner.

If any of you are reading, please don't have a massive heart attack in the near vicinity of the Local ER/The Closet tomorrow night. Thanks very much :)

A very good day... (5-1-06)

Mr. Epi Junky got a new job, which means there will be no lapse in pay for him.

A good thing.
We are in a much better mood, collectively. Life is excellent.

I found out I don't have to serve 30 days as a non-driver at The Little Private Ambulance Service That Could... Although the thought of me, driving an ambulance, particularly code 3...

Yikes, scary stuff.

I'm feeling better too... Yesterday I had a fever from hell, felt like hell, looked like hell... Thank god that's over with. Just took my temp. No longer febrile! YAY!

Ran around with Best Friend, Drama Queen today, went to St. Charles to get my TB shot read, went to The Little Private Ambulance Service to get aforementioned good news, went to get the kiddo at school... AND GET THIS... She who rules the House (My baby girl) IS WALKING! She took seven consecutive steps at least three times today... Before I know it she'll be running around.

As you can see, I'm good at babbling... A bunch of random thoughts essentially. So enough for now, got laundry to do, dishes to do, etc.