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King Salmon
Join Date: Dec 2001
Location: The Narrows, Wilson River.
Posts: 6,151
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As promised: One for your high-school kids
**I wrote this 10 years ago, when I worked for a private ambulance service. This is going to be long, but it has a special purpose.**
"Oh, no... It's a bad one."
It's 2:28 a.m. and suddenly I am wide awake. The 911 dispatch center has parted me from my sleep. I have been dispatched to a car wreck on Miami-Foley Road, near milepost 7. You would think that I would be used to it by now, but I am not. I can't be.
I slide off my warm bed and throw on my uniform. Funny, I still tuck in my shirt and glance in the mirror to make myself presentable even at this hour. Out into the ambulance quarters I walk. I groan at my partner and she groans back at me. "Another one?" we both silently ask each other.
We step outside and the night air immediately chills us to our bones. Good thing we left our jackets in the ambulance. My partner and I climb in. She starts the ambulance up.
"3141 responding," I say into the microphone, and we're off.
The ambulance's overhead lights pierce the night air with an ominous glow. Everyone nearby takes note of the wail of our siren. As we respond down the narrow road, I reflect back upon my responsibilities.
I am an Emergency Medical Technician. Two long years have gone into the training I have received. The state has certified me to perform advanced emergency life support. Yearly and bi-yearly recertification requirements keep me busy constantly reviewing as well as upgrading my skills and knowledge. My partner and I are both employed by a rural private ambulance service. Our ambulances are a combination of an emergency room and intensive care unit on wheels. We carry everything from heart monitors and defibrillators to intravenous medications to bandaids.
We work under "standing orders", meaning that we can perform lifesaving techniques and administer emergency drugs without having to contact a physician. Of course, if the need arises, we do have 24-hour radio communications with the hospital if we would like to consult with a doctor. We maintain professional standards and care at all times. Personally, I have never........
"Oh, no," my partner says, "It's a bad one."
We are rolling over broken glass now. I am looking out the window at an awful site. The ambulance rolls to a stop. My partner gets out to survey the scene as I pick up the microphone. "3141 has arrived," I say, trying to control my personal feelings. "Copy" the monotone dispatcher replies.
I put down the mike and open the door. I make a quick glance at the wreck to look for safety hazards like fire or leaking gasoline. Suddenly, I realize that my partner is yelling at me from inside the car.
"Activate Life Flight!" she yells.
She is requesting the helicopter ambulance from the trauma hospital. This is bad news. Only the very critically injured require helicopter transport to the Level I trauma center.
After giving the appropriate information to dispatch, I grab our emergency kits and hurry to assist my partner. I hear the wail of more sirens coming to help us.
My eyes now take in the full extent of the accident. The midsize car has taken a corner to fast and has hit a tree head-on. All I can see is broken glass and crumpled metal.
I reach the passenger side door and climb in through the broken window. There are three other people in the car, my partner and two victims. There is blood everywhere. The driver is unconscious and my partner is looking after him. The passenger is jammed down on the floor between the front seat and the dashboard. She is screaming and crying hysterically. Both seatbelts were not worn.
Two fire department personnel show up and ask what we need. I tell them to help me in maintaining the passenger's cervical spine to prevent paralysis. In the background, I hear the Jaws of Life start up.
I begin to assist my partner in keeping the driver alive. We administer oxygen and start I.V. lines on him. The firefighters outside hand me in a blanket to cover everyone up in the car as they pry and tear apart the vehicle. After 40 minutes and several different tool changes, I hear the door break off its hinges. They shut down the Jaws. Everything is quiet now except for the sound of a helicopter landing nearby.
We position a backboard to slide the driver onto. It is then when I saw it. An ice cooler on the backseat has its lid broken off. Inside, there are about 20 cans of beer, most of which are empty. It is then that I realize that this is not your ordinary happily married couple out for an evening drive.
They were kids. Not grown ups, but young adults. I call them kids even though I am just a couple of years older than they are.
"YOU FOOLS!" I want to scream, but I don't.
We get both victims out. The teenage male is going to the trauma center via Life Flight helicopter. As they are loading him in, I see them inserting a tube down his throat, almost to his lungs. He has stopped breathing. They are going to have to breathe for him.
We are loading the young lady in the ambulance now. She's in bad shape, but she will live. Somebody asks me why my shoulder is bloody. I must have cut myself climbing into the car. No time to worry about that now.
I do a full assessment on the teenager. She has cuts all over her face, which will require several corrective plastic surgeries. Too bad, she probably was a pretty girl. She is missing most of her forearm flesh and muscle. I can see the jagged white edges of crushed bone protruding from her elbow. All I can do is cover it and comfort her. She won't be able to play tennis anymore. I give her oxygen and I.V. fluids.
We are on the way to the hospital now. It's a long way there, even with our lights and siren going. She has calmed down somewhat. I start to ask her questions.
She says her name is Denise. She and the driver, named David, have been going out for two years. Dave's best friend had a party tonight and they were going home. She says that they are engaged to be married. She holds up her left hand and shows me a ring.
Then she asks me about Dave.
I hate those questions. I want to make up a big lie, but I can't.
"I'm not sure," I say, "but last I saw, it doesn't look good."
Denise screams and blacks out. She awakens to my verbal commands and begins sobbing. "I'm sorry," I say with a lump in my throat.
She says she thought Dave was too drunk to drive home, but Dave said he was okay. She suggested calling her parents for a ride, but Dave said his dad would kill him if he didn't get the car home.
As we pull up to the Emergency Department, I think back to wreck looked like and its impact on my life today. It hurts greatly to think about it.
You would think that I'd be used to it by now, but I'm not... I can't be.
___________________________________
I know about peer pressure. I know all about the excuses and the justifications. I lived through my young adult years. I wish everyone could.
I hope this story has had an impact on you. That is its intention. If you, or someone else thinks you are too drunk to drive, then you are. It’s that simple. Call or find someone sober. Your family would rather be wakened by you at 2 a.m., than by a hospital nurse or medical examiner.
Good luck
(Authors note- please feel free to distribute this)
--spud--
[ 05-20-2003, 10:20 AM: Message edited by: 24 on/ 48 off ]
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