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Fakers, flaggers, and fighters.

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FakerPaperclip

“Ugh… you have got to be kidding me.”

On average, I say that about five times per tour. In this particular instance, I was (quite comfortably) slouched down in the passenger seat of Ambulance 12—returning from my fourth switch-out that night—when a woman ran out into the street, frantically waving one of her arms. The other, unsurprisingly, had her cell phone sandwiched to the side of her head.

I blinked twice, hard, as if to clear both the sleep from my eyes and the woman from my view. As I climbed out and grabbed a pair of gloves, I convinced myself that rolling my eyes was an Ancient Chinese Secret used to increase alertness—at least, that’s my story if anyone saw me do it.

Flaggings usually don’t amount to much. Granted, there’s the occasional “this guy was just shot,” or “she clutched her chest and fell down and now she’s not breathing,” but for the most part, being flagged down is akin to hailing a taxi on a day when it might rain: “…So, should we? Eh, maybe not, we can make it… oh, here comes one! Let’s get it anyways, since it’s here!”

Let’s not assume anything, though. I mean, she was quite the Samaritan: She ran out into the street, laughing at something on her cell phone (trust me, she was not speaking to a 911 operator); flagged us down; then barged past us into the storefront as we tried to find the patient, saying “Ooh, I gotta finish gettin’ my nails done!” Of course, she stepped over the unmoving supine figure on the ground, nearly skewering his skull with a stiletto in the process.

Quite the Good Samaritan, indeed.

Bystanders said he walked in and laid on the ground with no explanation. Okay, well he’s breathing. That’s good. Strong pulse, also good. Outwardly, there doesn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him. Blood sugar? Well within normal limits. Maybe a heroin overdose? It’s fairly common, so let’s just take a look at his eyes…

Cue the Microsoft Word Paperclip Assistant. If you were to click “yes,” you would see a small list:

  1. Do not roll your eyes in the back of your head when I lifts your eyelids. It’s a dead giveaway.
  2. If I lift your hand up and then drop it, let it fall to the floor. Lowering it in a controlled manner is another silly move.
  3. Please do not let me catch you opening one eye to look around at what’s going on. I will tell you to stop wasting my time, as well as the time of the other ambulance, EMS supervisor, and the entire damned engine company who you woke from a nice deep sleep.

So into the ambulance we went. As expected, the patient miraculously “woke up” moments later and said he was fine. Now grinning from ear to ear and looking at the swarm of people gathered around, he kept saying that he didn’t want or need any medical treatment. No history, no complaints, no physiological problems, and not a care in the world.

“What happened? I fell down? I must’ve just passed out… long day, you know? Ha-HA!”

“Yes, sir, I do know. (sigh) Please just sign this.”

—————

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Hey, it could be worse. About a month ago, a man in Australia flagged down an ambulance (expecting just a ride, no treatment) and then attacked the crew when they wouldn’t take him where he wanted to go.

Damn. In America, the public is at least able to come up with some reason why they need to go to the hospital–whether it’s toe pain or a cough for two weeks, at least it’s a reason.

I first encountered “free taxi” syndrome when I worked in Pittsburgh. Let’s say you wanted to go visit your friend, but you don’t have a car or any money and he’s waaaay across town. So, call 911! Tell us you have something like elbow pain, and that you want to go to Allegheny General because your doctor’s there, or something. (Really, anything. As the patient, legally you’ve got plenty of leeway.) As soon as you get to ER triage, though, you can just sign out AMA* and walk to your friend’s house!

Wonderful, isn’t it?

We run our strips. We go home.

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flatline (3 of 3)lowres

Damn, I was just about to go to bed.

Halfway to the bunkroom to wake up the next guy on watch, the tones went off. I shook the sleep out of my head as I spun in place and headed to the desk. I didn’t catch the dispatch, so I grabbed the printout and read it as I grabbed the intercom mic.

“Engine, engine. Medical local, for the…”

I paused as my eyes finished the page a split second before my voice did. Dammit.

“…cardiac arrest.”

—————

A hysterical wail cut through the air to my left, now audible only because we had turned our sirens off. I grabbed the medical bags and started in that direction (it’s usually not a good sign, but it ain’t a bad locator beacon, either).

As I had pretty much expected, there were three things present inside the apartment:

  1. some bored-looking cops;
  2. a hysterical family member;
  3. a motionless body.

As I passed the first, deftly avoided the second, and approached the third, one of my hands found a place near the side of her head and tried to position her airway—the other snaked up beside her neck and felt for a pulse.

I recoiled slightly; she was as cold as the sidewalk outside, and about as flexible. Rigor was setting in, so I turned to my crew (who, wonderfully, had grabbed a BVM, oxygen, and a tube kit out of my stuff) and gave them the curt headshake reserved for TV characters who have to stoically answer the female lead’s tearful rendition of “Did he make it, doctor?”

“Just the monitor, guys.”

I still feel strange running EKG strips on obviously dead folks. I mean, in certain DOA situations, our patient is exhibiting obvious “signs incompatible with life” (decapitation, dependent lividity, rigor mortis), and yet… we must prove it.

So, we put EKG stickers on cold limbs, palpate depressurized arteries, and take pink and red pictures of motionless hearts.

I folded the paper up and turned to leave. By this time, the screaming daughter had left, replaced by a much calmer son with a thousand-yard-stare.

“Excuse me.” It was barely a whisper.

“Yes?”

“So, what’s the situation?”

“Well, she’s been down for too long, so… there’s unfortunately nothing we can do for her.”

I kept it simple. I’ve tried the other route, and it doesn’t usually work out so well in these situations. So, I swallowed all the typical, feel-better phrases that I’ve heard used countless times before. They sound like bullshit, and they feel acidic in your throat.

“So, she’s gone?”

I stared for a second.

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, okay.” His thousand-yard stare turned from me, scanned the room, and stopped on Mom.

I left without a word, seeing his back still turned on me and his head slowly nodding.

We run our strips, and we go home.

flatline (2 of 3) lowres

Welcome to the Hivemind.

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RL_badge“Holy crap! What happened to your site?!”

I’ve received more than a few of these emails in the past few hours, and I suppose I’m to blame for not really explaining how this drastic refurb job came to be.

Some time ago, I was officially invited to join FireEMSBlogs.com, the new home for what are being called the best of the best industry writing on the web. Essentially providing access to our interconnected community of blogs, the new site is designed to serve as a “home base” for news about fire/EMS that’s spread all over the web.

And just how does this affect RaisingLadders, you may ask? Well, it gives me an opportunity to rub shoulders with the big dogs, to paraphrase FireCritic—bloggers with much more experience, exposure, and readership like STATter 911, FireGeezer, HappyMedic, et al. The biggest benefit that I’ll see is increased traffic, because the bloggers who have a lot of eyeballs on their pages each day help drive more readers to those of us in the network who are not-so-famous, myself included.

I encourage everyone to check out the blog network’s homepage and read some of the other blogs listed on the front page—there’s a reason they were chosen by the guys who founded Firehouse.com, and I feel very honored to be included in this group.

Congratulations Chris and Dave for pulling this off! I’ve been eagerly awaiting the launch, and now I’m very excited to see how all this network synergy affects us; we few, we happy few, we band of bloggers…

Enjoy RL v2.0!

The Gauntlet.

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"You should stop…"

I froze in place, realizing for the first time how sweaty I had grown in only a few minutes in gear.

"…drop…"

I crumpled to the ground, covering my face and bashing my knuckles in the process. Come on… stage training be damned—why commit to a fall when they probably don't care how it looks anyways?

"…and roll!"

I could barely contain my laughter as my world went alternately bright and then dark, bright and then dark. The ecstatic squeals and shouts of first-graders were all around me as I flopped around, probably looking for all the world like a big tan fish rimmed in Scotch-Brite.

Yes, it was time for the elementary school kids to meet their Friendly Neighborhood Fireman!

Gijoe Don't play with matches, don't use the stove, ask your parents if you have a smoke detector… 

I had to seriously stop myself from quoting a childhood hero: "Now you know. And knowing is half the battle!"

Demonstrations for elementary schools seem to be pretty common in the Department; the only unfortunate part is that it usually falls to the rookie to demonstrate the finer points of, well, everything.

"How quickly can you get dressed?" Uh, let me go get my gear, and I'll show you!

"What's the stuff on top of the fire truck?" Give me a second to climb up there, and I'll show you!

"How do I call 9-1-1?" Well…

The kids really seem to enjoy having us come by their school; it's really not all that bad unless the children turn violent. And I don't mean playful-violent. I mean full-on, someone-call-a-priest, Children-of-the-Corn violent.

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The Gauntlet.

We try to teach children not to be afraid of us in gear. Admittedly, with our helmets, masks, gloves, air cylinder, and Darth Vader voice, we do tend to frighten the little ones (we always get a few at every school who hide behind the teacher). However, when the children are encouraged to approach and see us up close, one of them always gets a little adventurous. This "fun" spreads like wildfire, and before I know it, I feel like Mickey Mouse on a bad day at Disney World.

Once, I had a child raise his hand not three feet in front of me. In his calmest voice, he asked his teacher: "Can we slap the fireman?"

That was not a good day.

Nevertheless, it's a pretty rewarding experience. From showing them the inside of the engine, to making sure to give the siren a little extra juice when we (inevitably) have to go on a run, they love every second of our show-and-tell.

I may have felt like an idiot while I crawled around on a sidewalk, or been embarrassed by getting bowled over by a bunch of sugared-up six-year-olds…

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…but it's totally worth it.

National Fallen Firefighter’s Memorial – Live Streaming Feed!

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For anyone who is unable to physically attend the memorial ceremonies in Emmitsburg, MD this weekend, Firehouse.com is offering live streaming coverage of both the candlelit vigil Saturday night and the ceremony on Sunday. 

More information is available at the link above, or at STATter911.