EMT's Best Treatment

It was 3:27 a.m. and I was sleeping fitfully at the firehouse. For the 9th time this shift, I was jolted awake by a dispatcher sounding the loud, distinct tones used to notify us of a medical emergency.

I never sleep well here. Maybe it's got something to do with knowing I'm gonna be the first one in if the gates to hell suddenly swing open. Anyway, I got up quickly, cursing the fact it was my night to be on the medical truck.

The address was that of an 89 year-old, male "frequent flyer". My partner Maureen quickly scribbled down the information, glanced at the map & called us on the way while I started our truck, hit the overhead bay door and eased the unit out into the dark, deserted street.

I flipped on the flashing lights and then *smirked* and hit the siren.

If I'm up, everybody’s up. Call it a character flaw, but I love to do that.

A couple minutes later, Maureen & I pulled up in front of a 50's era two-story house in a once elegant, now declining neighborhood. We had been here several times before and knew this patient's condition to be terminal. There wasn't really much to be done other than to make the frail man's few remaining days comfortable.

Maureen & I briskly walked up the stairs and across the long, wide wooden porch. I hollered "Fire Department" and we entered thru the screened front door.

As we lugged our medical bag and heart monitor inside, a fat, dull looking man in his early 20's grunted & jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the stairs. He, another young fellow and a woman continued to drink beer and watch a movie, all of them hoping this would be the night the old man died. It was clear that they believed any obligation to the guy that built this house with his bare hands, The guy who's meager pension checks still paid the bills, there ailing grandfather, had ended when they called 911.

I didn't want to be there either...but I promised myself for the hundredth time that I'd quit when I became jaded enough to care as little as they did. I swore to kick some ass first though.

In the midst of climbing the stairs, I stopped long enough to dip my gloved index finger into a small jar of Vicks Vapor Rub. I then pushed some up into each nostril, making my nose blissfully oblivious to anything but the Vicks.

Maureen wordlessly took the jar from my hand and did the same. We've been doing this a long time.

We went up to his small, shabby room at the end of a dark hallway. It was a hot night and the mixed stench of urine, mildew, & impending death leaped out of the doorway and temporarily overwhelmed us in that way a house fire does just after you've turned the corner and suddenly seen the flames roll over your head, but before you unleash the water.

He was laying there in a filthy bed, hooked to an oxygen mask, surrounded by various medicines, some magazines, a bible, and a couple of marvelous end tables he'd made years ago that the grandkids hadn’t thought to sell off yet.

When the job takes us into the homes of old folks, Sometimes I like to take a minute to look around at the displayed pictures & mementos. They poignantly introduce me to who these people were before I met them on their deathbeds. The pictures breathe life into an era of Lindbergh, FDR, Babe Ruth, fedora hats & running boards. Once, in a now deceased elderly woman’s home I saw her photographic progression from bright eyed 20’s flapper to Rosy the Riveter to June Cleaver to 60lb. cancer victim.

In this man’s room I noted a faded photo of a young 1930's couple, standing by a Model "A" Ford in a hayfield, A picture of a battle hardened, bone tired Marine holding a samurai sword on Iwo Jima, next to a 1958 photo of a little league ball team, next to a 1965 photo of him shaking hands with Elvis. On the other walls were ribbons, plaques, photos of family, friends, parties, weddings and a cabin on a lake.

Turning my attention back to the failing old man in the bed, I touched his knarled, arthritic hand as I smiled and gently asked how he was doing. He tried to speak, but had to settle for a weak, affirmative nod. It was not his way to complain.

He wouldn't start at this late date.

On a previous run here, we chatted a bit in the rig while enroute to the hospital. He'd spoken of his life and times, his joys and disappointments and how not a day passed anymore that he didn't miss his wife and the ability to be involved in the world around him.

He told me that I needed to make more time to smell the roses, to tell people dear to me that I love them....and how life owed him nothing and that now, with the finish line close,he looked forward to soon being reunited with those dear to him.

This man was a member of the "Greatest Generation". The kind of people they just don't make anymore.

This was a helluva guy and I liked him immediately.

Maureen checked him out to make sure our first impression was correct...In addition to everything else that was wrong, He WAS a little bit dehydrated, so she started a line and gave him fluids...partly because he needed it, mostly to justify our presence here.

It was while listening to his heart and knowing that nobody in the house had the slightest inclination to come up here, that an idea suddenly filled my head.

I no longer saw a withered, tired old guy ready to check out. I now saw a good man, a guy I liked at the end of the line, simply overtaken by the natural order of things.

From what he'd told me of himself, He had lived a full, satisfying life. He'd traveled to places we only dream about, won a world war, earned the love of a good woman, built a home, raised a family, had a successful career, and met people we'll only read about in books.

Did I mention that I had been "doing" my partner on and off for the last couple of months?

Yeah, Well, I have.

Now I looked over at her, caught her eye, and whispered my plan into her ear.... "Let's give him a good story to share with the boys while they all wait outside the pearly gates."

Maureen grinned back at me.

"Hey Earl, I said softly,” You wanna see Maureen show off that sweet ass and shake them nice titties for ya?

The uninspired, slow moving lines on the heart monitor screen suddenly spiked erratically.

"Don't try talkin, Earl"..."just squeeze my hand once if it's "YES", or "Blink your eyes twice if you want us to get the hell outta here"

Maureen waited for his reaction, then smiled warmly into his tired eyes for a long moment and leaned close enough to allow him to smell her perfume while I tried in vain to disengage my hand from his.

I laughed quietly.

"Dammit Earl, give us a minute will ya? "You almost broke my fuckin hand, man"...