DEATH OF AN INNOCENT

I went to a party, Mom, I remembered what you said. You told me not to drink, Mom, so I drank soda instead. I really felt proud inside, Mom, the way you said I would. I didn't drink and drive, Mom, even though the others said I should. I know I did the right thing, Mom, I know you are always right. Now the party is finally ending, Mom, as everyone is driving out of sight. As I got into my car, Mom, I knew I'd get home in one piece. Because of the way you raised me, so responsible and sweet. I started to drive away, Mom, but as I pulled out into the road, the other car didn't see me, Mom, and hit me like a load. As I lay there on the pavement, Mom, I hear the policeman say, the other guy is drunk, Mom, and now I'm the one who will pay. I'm lying here dying, Mom.. I wish you'd get here soon. How could this happen to me, Mom? My life just burst like a balloon. There is blood all around me, Mom, and most of it is mine. I hear the medic say, Mom, I'll die in a short time. I just wanted to tell you, Mom, I swear I didn't drink. It was the others, Mom. The others didn't think. He was probably at the same party as I. The only difference is, he drank and I will die. Why do people drink, Mom? It can ruin your whole life. I'm feeling sharp pains now. Pains just like a knife. The guy who hit me is walking, Mom, and I don't think it's fair. I'm lying here dying and all he can do is stare. Tell my brother not to cry, Mom. Tell Daddy to be brave. And when I go to heaven, Mom, put "Daddy's Girl" on my grave. Someone should have told him, Mom, not to drink and drive. If only they had told him, Mom, I would still be alive. My breath is getting shorter, Mom. I'm becoming very scared. Please don't cry for me, Mom. When I needed you, you were always there. I have one last question, Mom, before I say good bye. I didn't drink and drive, so why am I the one to die?

I WISH YOU COULD...

I wish you could see the sadness of a business man as his livelihood goes up in flames or that family returning home, only to find their house and belongings damaged or destroyed.

I wish you could know what it is to search a burning bedroom for trapped children, flames rolling above your head, your palms and knees burning as you crawl, the floor sagging under your weight as the kitchen beneath you burns.

I wish you could comprehend a wife's horror at 3 A.M. as i check her husband of forty years for a pulse and find none. I start CPR anyway, hoping against hope to bring him back, knowing intuitvely it is too late. But wanting his wife and family to know everything possible was done.

I wish you could know the unique smell of burning insulation, the taste of soot-filled mucus, the feeling of intense heat through your turnout gear, the sound of flames crackling, and the eeriness of being able to see absolutely nothing in dense smoke--"sensations that i have becomed too familiar with."

I wish you could understand how it feels to go to school in the morning after having spent most of the night, hot and soaking wet at a multiple alarm fire.

I wish you could read my mind as I respond to a building fire, "Is this a false alarm or a working, breathing fire? How is the building constructed? What hazards await me? Is anyone trapped?" or to an EMS call, "What is wrong with the patient? Is it minor of life-threatening? Is the caller really in distress or is he waiting for us with a 2x4 or a gun?"

I wish you could be in the emergency room as the doctor pronounces dead the beautiful little fire-year old girl that I have been trying to save during the past twenty-fve minutes, who will never go on her first date or say the words "I love you Mommy!" again.

I wish you could know the frustration I feel in the cab of the engine, the driver with his foot pressing down hard on the pedal, my arm tugging again and again at the air horn chain, as you fail to yield right-of-way at an intersection or in traffic. When you need us, however, your first comment upon our arrival will be, "It took you forever to get here!"

I wish you could read my thoughts as I help extricate a girl of teenage years from the mangled remains of her automobile, "What if this were my sister, my girlfriend, or a friend? What were her parents' reactions going to be as they open to find a police officer, HAT IN HAND?"

I wish you could know how it feels to walk in the back door and greet my parents and family, not having the heart to tell them that you nearly did not come home from this last call.

I wish you could feel my hurt as people verbally, and sometimes physically, abuse us or belittle what i do, or as they express their attitudes of, "It will never happen to me."

I wish you could realize the physical, emotional, and mental drain of missed meals, lost sleep and forgone social activities, in addition to all the tragedy my eyes have viewed.

I wish you could know the brotherhood and self-satisfaction of helping save a life or preserving someone's property, of being there in times of crisis, or creating order from total CHAOS.

I wish you could understand what it feels like to have a little boy tugging on your arm & asking, "Is my mommy o.k.?" Not even being able to look in his eyes without tears falling from your own and not knowing what to say. Or to have held back a long-time friend who watches his buddy having rescue breathing done on him as they take him away in the ambulance. You knowing all along he did not have his seat belt on--sensations that I have become too familiar with.

Unless you have lived this kind of life, you will never truly understand or appreciate who I am, what we are, or what our job really means to us.

I WISH YOU COULD.......

Just Another Day In EMS

I delivered a baby on the ambulance gurney; I baptized a newborn whose life ended before it began. I hugged a frightened child; I was kissed by an intoxicated old man.

I held the hand of a teenage girl as she delivered a 3-pound baby; I listened to the mournful squeak of a stretcher being wheeled to the morgue.

I gently stroked the fragile hand of a 102 year old woman; I hesitated at the outreached hand of a 300 pound prisoner in handcuffs.

I trudged for 10 hours in my boots; I had a teenager vomit on those same boots.

I rubbed the feverish body of a 14 year old cancer patient; I cradled the ice-cold hand of a child hit by a car.

I was referred to as "an angel of mercy"; I was called every four-letter word in the book.

I always see fear in people's eyes; I never see joy or relief.

I listened to a tormented voice pleading for the preservation of life; I heard the threatening words of one bent on self-destruction.

I spoke with the girl who was hoping she had the flu, not a pregnancy; I see innocent people hurt or killed by a drunk driver, and the drunk driver is never hurt.

I marveled at the genius of a cardiologist; I saw a 12 year old boy who shot himself in the head, and the gun was still loaded at his feet.

I talked in circles with a schizophrenic person; I was horrified at the battered body of a child whose parents were incapable of love.

I gazed at a horribly burned body; I shuddered at a cold water drowning.

I see women beaten up by their spouses, but they never press charges; I walk into houses and do CPR with family watching over my shoulder in tears.

I arrive at serious auto accidents, and the first words I hear are, "Am I going to die?"; I find out hours later they did die.

I listen to the repeated question, "Why?", from a family devastated by death; I search my soul for the answers to their question.

This is just another day in EMS.

"THE MIRACLE OF A BROTHERS SONG"

Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling. They learned that the new baby was going to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sang to his unborn sister in his Mommy's tummy. The pregnancy progressed normally for Karen. Then the labor pains came. Every five minutes - every minute. But complications arose during delivery. Hours of labor... Would a C-section be required? Finally, Michael's little sister was born. But she was in serious condition.... With siren howling in the night, the ambulance rushed the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary's Hospital, Knoxville, Tennessee. The days inched by. The little girl got worse. The pediatric specialist told the parents, "There is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst." Karen and her husband contacted a local cemetery about a burial plot. They had fixed up a special room in their home for the new baby - but now they only planned a funeral. All the while, Michael kept begging his parents to let him see his sister, "I want to sing to her," he said. Week two in intensive care: It looks as if a funeral will come before the week is over. Michael keeps nagging about singing to his sister, but kids are not allowed in Intensive Care. Still, Karen made up her mind. She decided to take Michael into the ICU whether the staff liked it or not! If he didn't see his sister then, he may never see her alive. She dressed him in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into the ICU. He looked like a walking laundry basket, but the head nurse recognized him as a child and bellowed, "Get that kid out of here now! No children are allowed." The motherly instinct rose up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered lady glared with steel eyes at the head nurse's eyes, her lips showing a firm line. "He is not leaving until he sings to his sister!" Karen towed Michael to his sister's bedside. He gazed at the tiny infant losing the battle to live. And he began to sing. In the pure hearted voice of a 3 year old, Michael sang: "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray..." Instantly the baby girl responded. The pulse rate became calm and steady for the first time since her birth. "Keep on singing, Michael," his mother told him. "You never know, dear, how much I love you, Please don't take my sunshine away..." The ragged, strained breathing became as smooth as a kitten's purr. "Keep on singing, Michael," Karen encouraged. "The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms..." Michael's little sister relaxed, as rest -- healing rest -- seemed to sweep over her. "Keep on singing, Michael." Tears conquered the face of the bossy head nurse. Karen glowed. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Please don't, take my sunshine away." Funeral plans are scrapped. The next day - the very next day - the little girl is well enough to go home! Woman's Day magazine called it "The Miracle of a Brother's Song." The medical staff just called it a miracle. Karen called it a miracle of God's love! Perhaps this is one way of saying, "never give up on the people you love."

The Gift

(names and addresses have been changed)

Attention Engine 20, Rescue 24, for one unconscious at 1010 Gill St. That's what we heard as the call was toned out that day. We were responding on Rescue 24 from Lathan Fire Station where Truck 24, Rescue 24, and Engine 16 are housed. Gill St. is about 6 miles south of Lathan Station. The residence was located about 3 miles from Station 20, the closest Engine that responds with our Rescue Unit in that neighborhood. The time of day was around 1 o'clock in the afternoon. That call would change my life and the lives of several others forever. I am a Fire Medic Captain (Paramedic) with the Mobile Fire Rescue Dept. and I answered that call (Sept. 30, 1996) for one unconscious. When I walked through the front door, a familiar face asked for my phone number. I remembered having met her at one of my wife's family reunions. She said to me in an excited voice, "Glenda is at your house visiting Jackie (Jackie is my wife), I need to call her!". Jackie, Glenda and another relative were fishing for bream fish behind our house on Robinson Bayou that afternoon. Jackie turned to the others and said, "There goes my husband on the Rescue Truck" as she heard the siren in the distant. They had no idea that I was responding to Glenda's house. Glenda's brother Darrel (Glenda and Darrel are Jackie's first cousins) was lying on the bedroom floor in full arrest. When I walked into the room I could tell he had been down for a while because of his appearance. He was very cyanotic. Having served 19 years in the Fire and EMS business, I had seen that look on many occasions and the outcomes were usually grim. I was the only Paramedic on the unit (Rescue 24) that day. Capt. Jed, my partner, was an EMT Basic. The 4 man Engine Company crew (Engine 20) arrived just ahead of us and started CPR. On our arrival, I directed them to continue CPR while I setup for a quick look with the EKG paddles. He had an A-systole rhythm on the monitor. A-systole is a flat line on the EKG meaning there is no electrical activity in the heart. While the crew continued to perform CPR, I prepared to intubate (intubation is where an endotracheal tube in placed down the trachea to gain complete control of the airway). It was a difficult tube because of Darrel's condition. Darrel was a 26-year-old muscular dystrophy patient confined to a wheelchair. It took 3 attempts, before I could successfully intubate him. Once the tube was in place, he was hyperventilated with 100% oxygen. I made another quick look with the EKG paddles after a round of chest compressions. Low and behold, he had a pulse with a heart rate of 56 on the EKG monitor. We quickly loaded him for the 12-mile ride to the ER. When we got under way, I heard my own Engine Crew from Lathan Station (Engine 16) clearing up on a call over the radio. I called them by radio and told them to meet us in route because there was another paramedic on E-16. At this point I didn't have an IV established and I was looking for all the help I could get. We rendezvoused a couple of miles down the road and Chipper (paramedic) got on board and we continued. While in route to the ER, Darrel went into V-fib several times. We were able to successfully shock his heart back into a normal sinus rhythm each time. We were unable to establish an IV, but we did give the maximum amount drugs down the endotracheal tube. (When an IV cannot be started, cardiac drugs can be injected to the endotracheal tube directly into the lungs.) When we arrived at the ER entrance we continued to breathe for Darrel with the ambu bag. Chest compressions were no longer necessary because he had a strong pulse with a heart rate of 160 beats per minute. Darrel was wheeled into the code room where I gave my report and he was placed on a ventilator as he was stabilized by the ER staff. What is so unusual about this call? Please, let me continue. The next day I got off shift at 7 o'clock AM. I drove home, did a little work around the house and around 11 o'clock, Jackie and I decided to go out to lunch and to do a little shopping. We returned home a little over 4 hours later at about 3:15 PM. The light on the answer machine was flashing. We had several messages. Some of the messages were from family and a couple from UAB (University of Alabama Birmingham Hospital). They all sounded urgent. Jackie was diagnosed with cirrhosis of unknown origin in 1994. She had gotten progressively worse since then. After making numerous trips, over the last two years to B'ham to see the transplant surgeons, they decided it was time to place Jackie on the Liver Transplant List at UAB around the middle of Sept. (two weeks prior). We were told, it would be 9-12 months before she would receive a new liver. Darrel's mother (Jackie's Aunt Ruby) knew Jackie needed a liver transplant. It was on this day, Oct. 1, 1996 when the Doctors told Jackie's aunt that Darrel would be a good candidate for organ donation because he was brain dead. Aunt Ruby told the doctors "Jackie, my niece, needs a liver transplant and if Darrel's liver is a match, she should be the recipient." The doctors agreed too her request. The messages on the answer machine from Jackie's family were frantic calls about a liver donor. The calls from UAB also advised us that they had found a liver for Jackie. We had no idea where the liver had come from at that time. The message also said, Jackie needed to be in B'ham by 5 PM or someone else would receive the liver. That was less than 2 hours as it was 3:15 PM at that time. B'ham is a 4-hour drive. We had only been home for a few minutes when Glenda drove up. She said everyone had been looking for us since 12 noon. She also gave us the news that Jackie was to receive Darrel's liver. At that point we were in shock. We were completely caught off guard. Jackie made a quick call to her son John and told him, "we are on our way to the airport." John said he would meet us there. We threw some clothes into a suitcase and sped off to the airport some 20 miles away. A friend had made arrangements for a charter flight to B'ham. A family member had called him earlier in an attempt to find us. When he was told of the urgency to find us in time for Jackie to arrive in B'ham by 5 PM, he had the forethought to call and make arrangements for the charter flight in the event we were found. While in route, we happened up on one of the off duty District Fire Chiefs, Chief Salvy in his red car equipped with red lights and siren. I waved him over and asked for an escort to the airport. He obliged and again off we sped. That escort saved precious minutes as it trimmed at least 20 minutes off our trip through rush hour traffic, down one of the busiest streets in Mobile, Airport Blvd. When we arrived at the airport, John arrived just behind us and he and Jackie boarded the plane and off they flew to B'ham, arriving by 5 PM. I drove back home and packed for an extended stay and departed for B'ham that evening. In order to save time, I made a dozen cell phone calls to family and friends from my car while driving the 4-hour drive in 3 hours. I arrived in time to spend some time with Jackie before the 8-hour surgery began that night at 11 PM. After a long and sleepless night, I was sitting in the UAB hospital waiting room. I overheard some other family members talking about their relatives who were also receiving transplants. I heard one person say, "we got a kidney from Mobile." Another person spoke up and said, "We got some heart valves from Mobile." Still another person said, "We got a pair of lungs from Mobile." Finally, the surgeon came out and gave me the good news. The surgery was over and Jackie was in the recovery room. The surgery went well but, the recovery process would be a long and painful ordeal. As I spoke to the surgeon, he confirmed, all of those organs the other family members were talking about did indeed, come from Darrel. Our stay in B'ham was over a month as Jackie slowly recuperated from her major surgery. We actually came back to Mobile a couple of weeks early because I was able to handle wound care and drug administration due to my medical training. In the beginning, a massive amount of drugs are given to transplant patients. A check off list of medications that have to be administered every two hours was a vital part of the recovery process. The drugs are tapered off over time. She is now taking the minimum dosages twice a day and that will be the course from now on. It has been 24 months since the surgery. I don't know the outcomes for those other families but Jackie's new liver is working just fine. I hope, all of the other recipients are accepting their new organs as well as Jackie has. In retrospect, I had no idea what kind of impact that call would make on my family and those other family's lives that day. If there is a hero in this story, it is Darrel and his mother. Darrel made the ultimate sacrifice by giving his life. His mother, Aunt Ruby, is a hero for giving the gift of life. She made the decision to donate Darrel's organs so others might live. I would also like to think, I didn't lose a patient that day, but rather, had a part in saving several lives with the help of Darrel. Capt. Diddy onrie@aol.com

Right where they've always been

Sometime back we were called to an address of one of our frequent flyers who lived on the second floor of an old two story apartment building with a one butt wide stairwell leading directly to the tenants door. The call came in as an unknown, we recognized the address and geared up for the usual problem; emphysema, alcohol and cigarettes. A tenant from the apartment below said that she could hear the lady upstairs banging on the floor and shouting, but couldn't get in to help her. We arrived at the door and could hear the woman shouting for help. The door lock was old and was easily opened with a credit card. Once inside we found that the woman was in the bathroom and couldn't get up. Her chief complaint was that she was stuck to the floor. She explained that she had walked to the bar just a few blocks away, to celebrate her birthday. She had a few (too many) and returned home to take a hot bath and go to bed. When she got up from the bath to towel off, she passed out and fell to the floor and was now stuck and couldn't get up. One of the medics that responded was trying to determine just exactly how she was positioned and asked her where her legs were. After a few moments, she responded "they're still hooked to my butt just like they've always been". Shortly after the laughter subsided, we were able to open the door enough to remove the hinge pins and pry the door past the hinges. She had laid there long enough to become completely dry, but also had become stuck to the old tile floor. To compound the problem, she had fallen with her head and shoulders behind the stool, her bottom and legs up against and extending beyond the door. Her body position would not allow us to open the door because it needed to swing into the bathroom where she was lying. The patient was transported for examination and was soon after released with no injuries. We have since transported this patient many times, and her legs are still ... right where they've always been.

Miracle

It's 9 am I am just coming from a head on and we get a call to search for a man who had been missing for 3 days. We grab ATV's and head to location. There we get informed he is a male in his 70s that had alzhiemers. He was on a walk with wife and disappeared. We had a (last known position of the person) by a cane and glasses identified by his wife . We split-up in groups (trackers to last known ,ATV operators to search all other trails in area (me) , The sniffer dog and handler to go where ever her nose led her (the dog that is ). The Capt. running the command unit ,and a group of searchers to comb area inch by inch. Trackers start to do there magic and work area and I start to check trails on ATV .I had spent 10 min and the call came over the radio (we need ATV , chainsaw ,rescue-sled , and a med bag with 02 we have a locate !!) This is where my years of ATV racing came in for the best use .I was back loaded and on the move in less then 2 min. .Up steep hills over very bad land for we had floods early in the week and the land was badly washed-out .I got to location and started in on foot .The tracking team who had two paramedics, one emt-a, two emts and three 1st responders had him stabilized and ready for backboard in record time. the trip out was long and slow (3miles on bad land). Last known update he was doing well and released after a few days in hospital . It still amazes me 3 days no food ,no water , his med condition and his age all working against him and he had the will to live. Never give up hope till you see the body is the one thing to always remember no matter the odds. Its a great feeling to see what all our hard work &training can do! I hope you find this interesting Peace & Safety to all!

The Heart of EMS

Sorry if we woke you In the middle of the night But someone in you neighborhood is fighting for his life.

Sorry if we blocked the road And made you turn around But there's been a bad wreck with injured people on the ground.

When you see us coming I hope you'll understand Let us have the right of way Someone needs a helping hand.

Sometimes a child is choking. Sometimes a broken leg. Sometimes a heart stops beating If we don't arrive it may be too late.

So if you see us crying When we think we're alone You'll know we had a bad one And we're feeling mighty down

We don't do it for the money you know the pay is not that great.

We don't do it for the glory But for the life that might be saved.

Somewhere deep within us Our souls are crying out We're here to help our neighbors In their hour of pain and doubt.

God gave us something special To help us see you through We do it cause we love you And we care about you too!