DrakeBryan
Forum Ride Along
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I wrote this after a recent call, although now it seems a little melodramatic. I was hoping for some feedback on it, maybe somebody else out there shares this feeling i have. Please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors...
Its two thirty AM and in the last one awake, our double wide in the middle of smalltown USA is quiet except for the grating sound of the dying heater. At this point I’ve been awake for over 14 hours on something like 4 hours of sleep and I feel the pressure behind my eyes telling me to do the natural thing and go to sleep. Yet I sit knowing that the next call that drops is ours and the EMS gods are never kind, the second you put on your pj’s the harsh sounds of tones ring out from the base radio denying any sort of rest, at least for a little longer. I bide my time watching TV, staring at the subtitles since I muted it to preserve the silence. As I give in to the urge and start getting ready for bed the inevitable call sounds and in glad I didn’t change into my pjs yet. Instead of irritation I feel relief knowing that after this I can embrace the sweet darkness behind my eyelids at least until the next person decides to up and die on this town. The dispatcher speaks and lays out the reality that is going to be my life for at least the next hour. My partners awake and I respond to dispatch with a slight tone of sarcasm in my voice, my little attempt to undermine the seriousness of the dispatch center. It’s cold outside and fog has descended thick on this little town reducing the visibility to less than 50 feet, but it's inconsequential since there’s not a soul on the roads anyway. My partner hops in the truck wiping the sleep out her eyes and begins filling out the paperwork that seems to dominate our time in this field as I pull out onto the road. I neglect to turn on the lights because there’s nobody around to appreciate them and I certainly don’t need to see them again. It’s off to the low income trailer park where it seems majority of this towns lowlifes and junkies live. I blow past the officer on the way to the scene turning on my lights to let him know I’m taking this call at least a little seriously. As I drive past the rows of trailers I appreciate the minor irony of a permanent housing complex built of houses on wheels. The officers get into the trailer before me full of their self-important pomp and circumstance and I follow with my equipment in tow. I see a young girl holding back tears and I await the inevitable panic that follows when a person finds their loved one in a poor state, but to my surprise it doesn’t come. Following the trail of blood I find a man passed out on his bed and I hope he has a pulse, not out of concern for him entirely but for the fact that restocking the truck after a code is a pain in the *** and I’m tired. I politely ask the officer to get out of the way and he complies with a slight tone of condescendence because his importance has been reduced in the face of a medical emergency. The guy looks dead but has a strong pulse so we move him onto the floor and get to work, my adrenalines up because this is the first real call I’ve run in over two months and it seems I forgot how quickly a scene can get out of control as all the alpha males vie for the symbolic leadership role. The patient is moved to the floor and we get to work, he’s completely unresponsive but still breathing and we begin all the standard rule out procedures to figure out what’s going on. I draw up two mg of narcan in a needle that’s probably a little too big (since our stock doesn’t have the appropriate size… it’s on order or so I’m told) and proceed to inject the whole amount into his deltoid muscle silently swearing when it starts to run out of the new hole I’ve put in his body. No immediate effect but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t going to work and we move on to the next step, with the patient’s ABCs maintaining I pull out the IV kit and start my preparation. Handing the saline to nearest face in bunker gear I search for a vein, finding a nice juicy AC just waiting for me to penetrate it. I’m a little nervous as I line up the catheter with his vein, knowing I’ve been ish with IVs for the last couple of months, and I break the skin. I get a good flash but the catheter kinks and I know I’ve missed but I disconnect the needle to check anyways, no good it seems and I start my search anew. Second attempt goes in right above the first one and I doubt it’s because of my skill and chock it up more to luck at this point. The patient starts getting restless as the narcan blocks his opioid receptors from whatever substance he took before we got there and he starts fighting. Confused and still not fully conscious we have to restrain him to prevent the situation from deteriorating. My partner pulls the nose hose out and I can almost feel his relief, those things are super uncomfortable. With the situation seemingly under control we start with the same routine it seems I’ve done a thousand times and get the patient to the hospital. As I’m cleaning the gurney of the blood and stink of our previous occupant the thought occurs to me, I’m happy. Furthermore I’m having fun, which is closely followed by the self-deprecation that comes from the fact that it takes a twisted individual to find things like this fun. It’s a feeling I haven’t felt in a while, I’m burnt out or at least crispy on the edges from all the bs we see that it takes the real application of my knowledge to remind me why this job is rewarding at times, but I’m torn. I know my time in this field is limited, I don’t have the constitution to turn this plan B into a career nor would I want to. Yet I take pride in my performance, cognizant of the fact that it has little to do with the fact that we helped a stranger hold onto his addicted life for at least a little longer. His gratitude barely registers because I’m not doing this for him, or to help, I’m doing this because it’s a relatively easy job that gives me more down time than some other bs part time job while I’m in school and because I enjoy the work. Whatever my motivation or point of view on the field of EMS I know that when all is said and done I will be richer in character than if I’d never done it and from this I take solace. I respect the people that do this to truly help others and I appreciate that concept even though it is not one I share. Yet in this moment none of it matters because I did my job and I did it well and ill ride this wave until the next bout of crippling cynicism hits and I openly curse the people who call 911 for whatever reason I justify as bs the next time around… but tonight, right now, I can close my eyes and sleep contentedly knowing that in some way I’ve done some good in this world….
Its two thirty AM and in the last one awake, our double wide in the middle of smalltown USA is quiet except for the grating sound of the dying heater. At this point I’ve been awake for over 14 hours on something like 4 hours of sleep and I feel the pressure behind my eyes telling me to do the natural thing and go to sleep. Yet I sit knowing that the next call that drops is ours and the EMS gods are never kind, the second you put on your pj’s the harsh sounds of tones ring out from the base radio denying any sort of rest, at least for a little longer. I bide my time watching TV, staring at the subtitles since I muted it to preserve the silence. As I give in to the urge and start getting ready for bed the inevitable call sounds and in glad I didn’t change into my pjs yet. Instead of irritation I feel relief knowing that after this I can embrace the sweet darkness behind my eyelids at least until the next person decides to up and die on this town. The dispatcher speaks and lays out the reality that is going to be my life for at least the next hour. My partners awake and I respond to dispatch with a slight tone of sarcasm in my voice, my little attempt to undermine the seriousness of the dispatch center. It’s cold outside and fog has descended thick on this little town reducing the visibility to less than 50 feet, but it's inconsequential since there’s not a soul on the roads anyway. My partner hops in the truck wiping the sleep out her eyes and begins filling out the paperwork that seems to dominate our time in this field as I pull out onto the road. I neglect to turn on the lights because there’s nobody around to appreciate them and I certainly don’t need to see them again. It’s off to the low income trailer park where it seems majority of this towns lowlifes and junkies live. I blow past the officer on the way to the scene turning on my lights to let him know I’m taking this call at least a little seriously. As I drive past the rows of trailers I appreciate the minor irony of a permanent housing complex built of houses on wheels. The officers get into the trailer before me full of their self-important pomp and circumstance and I follow with my equipment in tow. I see a young girl holding back tears and I await the inevitable panic that follows when a person finds their loved one in a poor state, but to my surprise it doesn’t come. Following the trail of blood I find a man passed out on his bed and I hope he has a pulse, not out of concern for him entirely but for the fact that restocking the truck after a code is a pain in the *** and I’m tired. I politely ask the officer to get out of the way and he complies with a slight tone of condescendence because his importance has been reduced in the face of a medical emergency. The guy looks dead but has a strong pulse so we move him onto the floor and get to work, my adrenalines up because this is the first real call I’ve run in over two months and it seems I forgot how quickly a scene can get out of control as all the alpha males vie for the symbolic leadership role. The patient is moved to the floor and we get to work, he’s completely unresponsive but still breathing and we begin all the standard rule out procedures to figure out what’s going on. I draw up two mg of narcan in a needle that’s probably a little too big (since our stock doesn’t have the appropriate size… it’s on order or so I’m told) and proceed to inject the whole amount into his deltoid muscle silently swearing when it starts to run out of the new hole I’ve put in his body. No immediate effect but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t going to work and we move on to the next step, with the patient’s ABCs maintaining I pull out the IV kit and start my preparation. Handing the saline to nearest face in bunker gear I search for a vein, finding a nice juicy AC just waiting for me to penetrate it. I’m a little nervous as I line up the catheter with his vein, knowing I’ve been ish with IVs for the last couple of months, and I break the skin. I get a good flash but the catheter kinks and I know I’ve missed but I disconnect the needle to check anyways, no good it seems and I start my search anew. Second attempt goes in right above the first one and I doubt it’s because of my skill and chock it up more to luck at this point. The patient starts getting restless as the narcan blocks his opioid receptors from whatever substance he took before we got there and he starts fighting. Confused and still not fully conscious we have to restrain him to prevent the situation from deteriorating. My partner pulls the nose hose out and I can almost feel his relief, those things are super uncomfortable. With the situation seemingly under control we start with the same routine it seems I’ve done a thousand times and get the patient to the hospital. As I’m cleaning the gurney of the blood and stink of our previous occupant the thought occurs to me, I’m happy. Furthermore I’m having fun, which is closely followed by the self-deprecation that comes from the fact that it takes a twisted individual to find things like this fun. It’s a feeling I haven’t felt in a while, I’m burnt out or at least crispy on the edges from all the bs we see that it takes the real application of my knowledge to remind me why this job is rewarding at times, but I’m torn. I know my time in this field is limited, I don’t have the constitution to turn this plan B into a career nor would I want to. Yet I take pride in my performance, cognizant of the fact that it has little to do with the fact that we helped a stranger hold onto his addicted life for at least a little longer. His gratitude barely registers because I’m not doing this for him, or to help, I’m doing this because it’s a relatively easy job that gives me more down time than some other bs part time job while I’m in school and because I enjoy the work. Whatever my motivation or point of view on the field of EMS I know that when all is said and done I will be richer in character than if I’d never done it and from this I take solace. I respect the people that do this to truly help others and I appreciate that concept even though it is not one I share. Yet in this moment none of it matters because I did my job and I did it well and ill ride this wave until the next bout of crippling cynicism hits and I openly curse the people who call 911 for whatever reason I justify as bs the next time around… but tonight, right now, I can close my eyes and sleep contentedly knowing that in some way I’ve done some good in this world….
)
