Monthly Archives: October 2009

Knowing

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“Smile!”

As a parent, I spend the year on the lookout for cute photo opportunities. The best shots go into the family calendar for next year and make good Christmas gifts. Beth has appeared in the living room in full princess regalia, and this is too good to pass up.

In the corner, the fire scanner mumbles. I keep the volume low, but years of experience have trained my ears. Neighboring Smalltown has been dispatched for a car crash.

But the dispatcher is using THAT voice.

My readers in public safety will understand. There is a tone of voice which says the dispatcher knows something that you don’t. He may not have concrete evidence himself, but something has led him to believe that this is The Big One.

Click. Click. “Smile again.” Click. “Let’s try one with your doll.” Beth is a ham; it’s impossible to take just one photograph.

From the corner, the voice of the first arriving firefighter is breathless. “Car 68 to Fire Alarm, dispatch another paramedic unit and the helicopter.” The adrenaline in her voice is apparent.

The photo shoot finished, it’s off to bed. As Beth heads upstairs, I can still barely hear the radio in the other room. The helicopter crew requests the age of the patient. “Eighteen,” comes the reply.

After the teeth brushing, stories, and lullabies, it’s time for my chores. As I load the trash cans into my truck, another update: “Command to Fire Alarm, we have CPR in progress with no shock advised.”

I slowly drive to the end of my driveway, listening to NSFD attempt to make order from the chaos. I swing the cans to the curb, then I notice the sky. It’s a beautiful fall night; cool, clear, and starry. I pause to lean on my truck and stare into the heavens, somehow taking comfort from the familiar vibration of the diesel behind my shoulders.

To an observer, I am just another suburban guy taking out the trash.

But I know.

Haunted Happenings

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I’ve been out of the cab less than 30 seconds when Regular Partner ‘burps’ the siren to get my attention. Dinner will have to wait.

As is often the case when potential food is involved, the call is clear on the other side of the city. We set off as fast as reasonably possible through the evening traffic, for the “suicidal female, possibly taken an unknown quantity of an unknown medication.”

We make decent time, and I don’t have to invoke my Moses impression. RP does catch me reaching for the microphone once and chides me.

We turn into the block to see the fire engine lumbering away, silent and dark. This can’t be too serious, then. They will get to eat on time. A police officer meets us in the parking lot, advising us that no one here knows anthything about the call.

Great. “Medic 9, we’re clear.”

 

Downtown, a carnival has arisen in a vacant lot. I didn’t notice it there earlier in the shift. A Ferris wheel, resplendent in blue neon, towers over the small commercial buildings. At mid-week the crowd is non-existent, yet the rides spin and blink merrily, reflecting their glow out onto the harbor.

We flash past, crossing town yet again; our red and white strobes mixing with the blue neon and adding to the surreal atmosphere. I wonder if I could find the time for some fried dough.

 

We eventually find a crowd, this time of firefighters. The trim on their coats blinks, reflecting the fury of our arrival. Chocks, tarps, and tools, both hand and hydraulic, disappear into the scrum. As we approach, the line parts and we see a car on its roof.

Twenty feet away sits an empty chld seat. The driver claims to know nothing about it. We never do locate a child.

 

Much later we clear the hospital. It hasn’t rained tonight, but the dew has left enough moisture to make the streets shine. A man in an electric wheelchair zips down the street, moving at a speed I didn’t think possible. He hunches forward with one hand on the controls, running against the flow of traffic and weaving around parked cars like a madman.

I wonder aloud where he could be going with such urgency at 0400 in the morning?

Funny thing about firemen. . .

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“Eighty-Two to Ancestral Hometown Fire Alarm, advise responding units I can confirm smoke showing on Near Horizon Mountain. It looks like it’s somewhere on the northeast shoulder.”

“Received Eighty-Two. Fire Alarm to all AHFD units, Rescue 82 confirms smoke showing at that location.”

My sister lowered her binoculars. Even without their aid, the column of smoke on the other side of the valley was visible from her deck. This would be interesting, as the fire appeared to be located in an inaccessible area on the side of the mountain, and the AHFD crews had just returned from a mill fire in neighboring Little Bigtown.

As Eighty-Two began to gather her EMS gear, Deputy Dad and I made it clear we weren’t going to be left behind. Even though we were two states away from our district, we would find some useful support function. If I was reduced to handing out bottled water in the rehab sector, I could still do something valuable.

The trek across the valley, around Near Horizon Mountain, and then as far up the dirt road as possible seemed to take forever. AHFD units confirmed there was a wildfire on the mountain and had begun calling for additional assistance. With the ongoing mill fire, backup would be coming from far afield.

We set up our rehab sector in a field, and I kicked myself for forgetting my camera. Rural fire departments keep some strange vehicles around specifically for operating in the woods. Today’s odd mix of companies meant there were apparatus present I’d never seen before and might never see again.

At the tree line sat one of my favorite local engines, a 1970′s Chevrolet truck with an old oil tank and plywood compartments, all painted in Chevy Engine Orange. At one time this amazing piece of Yankee ingenuity had been the pride and joy of its company, attending all the local parades. (It always left me wondering what the apparatus left behind looked like.) The Chevy was being supplied by a constant stream of tankers. Most were ex-military 6×6 trucks, although a couple old oil trucks and one modern Mack joined the mix. One of the AHFD engines sat alone at the side of the road, its crew already deep in the woods. A single hose line snaked from the orange Chevy, over a stone wall, and up what was most likely a snowmobile trail.

Soon came the radio call everyone dreads: “’Firefighter down!” The hot summer day, the mill fire, and the hike up a mountain had converged in disaster. The on-duty Rescue crew commandeered an ATV to carry their gear and started off up the trail. Eighty-two, Deputy Dad, and I set off after them on foot.

The single hose line, our only clue to our destination, wound up the rough trail. In winter this would be a major snowmobile route, but right now it was an eight-foot wide rocky path. We soon caught and passed the ATV. Though nearing retirement, Deputy Dad led the party up the trail with a purpose. None of us will ever hike the Appalachian Trail, but many summer hikes in the White Mountains left us in better shape than the pursuing EMTs.

Much to our surprise, over 1000 feet up the trail, we rounded a corner and found another fire engine. An intrepid 6×6 driver had forced his steed as far into the woods as possible, finally stopping where the trail narrowed and crossed another stone wall. My beloved Chevy far below was in fact merely shifting water uphill to the front lines, not directly supplying the battle.

The three of us plunged onward, not yet finding the fire or the injured firefighter. Radio messages placed him above and ahead of us. Eventually we came within earshot of the working crews, but still could not see them. We had veered off course, placing the firefighter (and the fire) below us and to our left. Thankfully by this time the fire was under control. I’ve never been uphill from a wildfire, and I have no desire to start now.

We descended to the fire line, to find a firefighter suffering from heat exhaustion. Eighty-Two began ALS care, while I assisted with BLS and Deputy Dad fulfilled the all-important role of IV pole. Soon the rest of the crew arrived, and we began the long carry back down the mountain into the dusk.


Mandatory retirement caught up with Deputy Dad this July. The department honored him with a retirement party last weekend. As he puts it, he’s going ‘happily but not willingly’ after 48 years in the fire service.

Dad actually started chasing fires on his bicycle at age 16, in a time when an eager teenager was welcome and appreciated on the rural fireground. I’m willing to spot him those two unofficial years and call it an even half century.

“Funny thing about firemen: day and night, they’re always firemen.” – Ronald the Arsonist, ‘Backdraft’

My New Office

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Previously I mentioned that we were expecting delivery of a new ambulance at work. I’ve never had a new rig in over 10 years in EMS, so this was a bit exciting.

We received it last week, with only 1600 miles on the odometer. (Most of that is the trip from the factory.) Alas, it rained for all of my shift, so I didn’t get a chance for any photos. This week the weather was better, but I left my camera home.
Here are a couple of cell phone shots from yesterday’s shift. As my blog is unofficial, I’ve removed the company markings with a photo editor. If you know, you know.

I kinda like the scare stripes, and the white LEDs look cool.

It has a few features I like, and one or two I’m not so crazy about. I’m sure I’ll blog more about it later, but right now I’m just enjoying the new ambulance smell.

Now I’m awake. . .

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Gravel sprayed behind us in a ‘Dukes of Hazzard‘ cliché as we tore away from our post.

“Medic 9, we have it.” A reported neo-nate with difficulty breathing. We had been enjoying the warm summer night at the city line. If I had to be out of my bunk, this particular post wasn’t a bad spot to be.

Engine 68 was also rolling with us. Their quarters were closer to the scene, but they had been comfortably in bed. It was anyone’s guess who would arrive first.

Empty streets; the roar of the diesel; the WHOOSH of our passing at high speed. There is no need for sirens at this hour. We drive inside a disco-bubble, with the strobes randomly illuminating our world in red and white. You learn to look low, watch the headlight beams, and try not to look directly at passing signs as they flash.

We could see the engine approaching the block from the other direction, and they beat us to the turn by a split second. The captain and backstep firefighter jumped out almost before the rig came to a complete stop and were off at a sprint.

As I rounded the back of our ambulance, my world froze. The captain, who had been in the house less than 15 seconds, was returning at a jog. He held a baby in front of him, with his arms fully extended, and his face bore a look of shock. I uttered something profane to Earnest Partner, who threw the back doors open and climbed inside. I followed him, and we began to set up for resuscitation.

Our beautiful summer night suddenly looked very bleak.

Within a matter of seconds, the captain jumped into our ambulance and placed a three-week old girl on our stretcher. The infant took one look at me and began to cry.

(M505 exhales a long-held breath. Even years later the memory of the moment is intense.)

The world resumed its normal speed. It was soon evident that we were dealing with a common cold and a set of nervous first-time parents. A gentle ride to Local Children’s Hospital took care of everything.

Except our adrenaline. No point going back to bed.

HIPAA Mad Libs II

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Another Mad Libs submission, this one from EMT-P/RN/BSN/sister Rescu82. For the backstory on what this is all about, read this post.

We arrived at Fryeburg Fair for a reported hangnail. The reporting party said Tyler was doing laundry when she lost her balance, resulting in an explosion that caused an illness.

Casco Rescue moved quickly to apply an LMA and extricated the patient to the awaiting roller skates. In the back I started a surgical airway and rapidly shifted gears to the alcohol swab. I charged the blood stopper to Samoset and pressed the “Easy” button. The smell was intense. The patient’s eyeball had caught fire, literally, as a result of the Foley care despite my use of a Diesel bolus.

Needless to say the accepting Dr. Roby at Northern Cumberland Memorial Hospital was not at all amused at our predicament and immediately started Lasix.