Chapter 2

Someone once asked me to describe my job at EMS, and after some thought, the best description I came up with is this. EMS is twenty four hours of heart starting, blood pumping fun, broken up by periods of excruciating boredom. Now that may sound odd to the layman, but to anyone who ever pulled a shift at an EMS service knows just what I mean. We wait at the station, some stage in ambulances, but I can only speak for my experience, we wait at the station sometimes for hours on end, for that moment when someone's world crashes down around them, and then we roll to the rescue. There are days when we have a lot of downtime, but then there are those days when the wheels of the ambulance never stop rolling. Walking into the station in the morning you never know what you'll see or do nor when it will come. Oh, of course we all have some little superstition or ritual that we hope will keep the trauma gods at bay, but by and large, its like playing roulette or dice, you never know what will hit or when.

There are unwritten and often unspoken rules that we live and abide by, and I've yet to see these in any book or taught in any class I've ever attended. But you learn them quickly when you branch off into this line of work. One quickly learns never to say the "Q" word, just saying "quiet" at EMS will earn you a lot of grief, as will asking if they've been busy. The same goes for making the statement, "I'm bored." Planning a nap is asking for a call, as is planning or attempting to cook a meal at the station. In fact, in EMS never cook or buy a meal that can't be eaten on a slice of bread or while running 90 mph down the highway. Always keep Imodium in close proximity, never think you'll put off that trip to the john for a few more moments. These are the things one learns early on, and adheres to.

If one breaks these rules, well, it will come to haunt you. And that is the beginning of this tale, we dared flaunt the rules, and thus, did we pay.

It started out innocently enough, it had been a slow morning, a beautiful day, middle of the week, which is usually a slow time for us, so thoughts turned to lunch. We were bantering around ideas for what we wanted, we had long since worked our way through the menus of every eating establishment in the town, and we resolved to cook something, thus we broke rule number one.

One of our paramedics decided that she wanted to cook chicken and dumplings for the whole shift, she always swore she couldn't cook, but when she did, it made for some fine eating. Everyone quickly chipped in for the groceries before she changed her mind, and she headed out for the store. Little did we know the extent we had just angered the Trauma Gods at this point.

A short while later, the aroma of bubbling chicken and dumplings filled the station, a large pan of cornbread baked in the oven, and we were all drooling in anticipation of a wonderful lunch. Then, with only a few minutes more until time to eat, without warning, it struck.

The blaring Klaxon beep of the Rescue tones shattered the calm and stillness of the station, scattering thoughts of food and rest like glass against a brick wall.

"COUNTY EMS, SHERIFFS DEPT, COUNTY FIRE, RESPOND TO 4732 HIGHWAY 41 SOUTH, REFERENCE TO A STRUCTURE FIRE, FLAMES VISIBILE"

Even before the dispatcher had finished paging the call out, there came from the kitchen came the crash of pots being slid to the back burners, muttered curses and a loud exclamation as skin came into contact with a hot pan of cornbread. Out of the kitchen like a battering ram, flew our cook, for alas, she was on the rescue truck, and rescue responds to fire calls in the county.

"If all that food gets ate before I get back you all DIE!" she threatened as she went through the door to the bay.

The rescue unit rattled to life in a cloud of blue smoke, and she rolled out of the bay, lights and sirens wailing, cutting off a carload of startled old ladies from the church next door, and headed south.

We listened as she called enroute, and the dispatcher began to give her more information about the call.

"RESCUE ONE, YOU ARE RESPONDING TO 10-70 STRUCTURE FLAMES VISIBLE, NO PATIENT INFORMATION AT THIS TIME"

We settled back into the couch, this was most likely just another routine call, stand by on scene while the firefighters played with the hoses and stumbled around in their turnout gear, nothing to get excited about. We debated eating but decided the threats might be real.

In the background we could hear the fire radio chattering away as various volunteer units reported in, calling on scene, directing each other into positions. You always listen, but for the most part you tune it out unless it sounds interesting. Occasionally a voice would catch your attention with its excited pitch, or more so, the humor of a layman trying to sound professional over the air.

"Tanker one, back that big sombitch in right thar ... HEY Billy Ray, tell him to keep off them damn hoses ... Damn that bitch is blazin..."

Occasionally you would recognize one of the voices and chuckle, "there that damn Buddy..."

"RESCUE ONE ON SCENE RADIO" came the voice of our paramedic.

A moment of silence settled over the radio.

Then with a new timbre in her voice, she came over the radio again.

"RESCUE ONE RADIO, GET ME A MED UNIT HERE STAT"

The Trauma Gods had made their presence known. My partner and I jumped up and ran for the truck even as the tones began to sound again. At this point we didn't know what it was, but if she was requesting us that urgently, we knew that it was serious. She didn't cry Wolf unless the crap was hitting the fan.

As we rolled out my partner called us in service and requested a patient update, because at this point we had no idea other than a burn what we were headed to.

"M2 STANDBY, RESCUE YOU ADVISE LAUNCH AIR MED?" this from dispatch.

"AFFIRMITIVE LAUNCH AIR MED" the rest of her transmission was garbled and cut out.

My foot automatically went to the floor, and we flew through the city headed south, passing cars scurrying out of our way. My partner flipped rapidly through the map book looking for the nearest landing zone to the scene. I strained to hear what was being said on the radio, even as I watched for cars and other hazards in our path. Dodging an old man in a ragged rusty pickup, I turned onto the highway leading south into the county, as I passed him he stuck his arm out the window and shook his fist at me.