Date: 2005-02-01
To: Just Another Sunday Night at the Station...
Miles today: 0.0

DONG DONG DONG DONG DONG DONG DONG! Bright lights blare their brilliance from the ceiling of the Bunk Room to accompany the jarring sounds of the ¢tones¢ dropping in the middle of the night, blasting us from deep REM sleep to sudden, confused, semi-consciousness.¢Ambulance 15 respond on Six Baker for a report of a pedestrian injured at 1234 Maple Avenue, cross street Sycamore Boulevard,¢ commands a disembodied voice from the overhead speakers.We struggle quickly into our boots and zip them up, grabbing hats and sweatshirts as we dash for the door. Down the stairs, past the Ops Room, out through the automatic doors and into the Bay to the still-sleeping truck. Someone hits the button for the overhead door; someone else pulls the extension cord from the side of the truck and clambers up into the driver¢s seat. The engine cranks to life, spewing diesel smoke toward the rear of the bay; the lights come on, flashing their urgency for all to see.   Doors slam shut, seat belts are fastened, and head-phones are crammed into place. The AIC (Attendant-in-Charge) grabs the mike and flips the radio over to channel B: ¢Dispatch ¢ Ambulance 1-5-1 responding with three¢ We roll out onto the empty streets with only the roar of the engine, saving the siren until we need it. I¢m in the back tonight. Normally, I¢d be driving, but a new guy is riding in the right front seat as the AIC ¢ hoping to prove to himself, as much as to the Crew Chief who¢s driving, that he knows what he¢s doing. Enroute to the scene, we get an unwelcome update from Dispatch:¢Ambulance 1-5-1 ¢ caller advises that a child on a bicycle had been struck. No further information at this time.¢ Damn, that¢s not good, we think silently to ourselves. Anything involving a vehicle and a pedestrian is never going to be a fair fight, but somehow it always gets a little more personal when a kid is involved. All kinds of unpleasant scenarios are loosed into our minds. The driver kicks the pace up another notch. Less than three minutes from the time the tones dropped we round a corner and approach the scene. Looking through the narrow alleyway that joins the rear of the truck to the front passenger seats, I can see the faces of people in a crowd, a tight semi-circle of concerned looks, illuminated by our headlights, staring down at a crumpled figure tangled up in the metal frame of a small bicycle. I grab the ¢House Kit¢ and the O2 Bag and launch myself through the side door of the truck, as the driver and the AIC jump down from the front and move toward the still figure lying on the ground. I drop the bags I¢m carrying within their reach and continue around to the other side of the truck for a back board and the KED bag, assuming we¢ll have what we call in the trauma business a ¢load and go.¢As I return to the front of the truck, I see the ¢victim¢ struggling to get up, staggering away from the young AIC who is trying his best to maintain C-spine control, his hands on either side of the victim¢s head. As he turns toward me in the light, I notice a several days¢ growth of beard on the ¢child¢, and begin to smell the odor of alcohol and related unpleasantries that accompany a thoroughly besotted state of mind, body, and soul. It takes me a few seconds to grasp what is going on, prepared ¢ as best I could be prepared ¢ for the worst, and now confronted by a middle aged guy, small-of-stature, an immigrant of uncertain origins whose inebriated efforts to get himself home via a stolen bicycle had ended in a crumpled heap as the fog of grog finally took over his mind. At a certain point, in the middle of the road, he just¢¦ couldn¢t¢¦.any¢¦.more¢¦¢¦By then, of course, the cops had arrived, and soon took charge of our unfortunate/but-oh-so-fortunate, ¢victim¢. With the exception of minor abrasions, he was fine, unless you count the toll on his liver and brain from whatever it was he¢d been drinking. And so, we were free to go. Back to the Station, back to the Bunk Room, back to bed, and ¢hopefully ¢ back to sleep. Until the tones drop once again, and the bright lights blare their brilliance from the ceiling, jarring us awake. ----------------------I loved running Sunday nights with the Rescue Squad. I¢m gonna miss them while I¢m out on the trail. The Sunday night crew just rocks: Bill and Kathleen and Jeff, our Medics; Mo and Deb and Lynn and Mitch, our EMT-E's; and Cathi and Kate and David and Jermey, and Anna. What an incredible bunch!They¢re all like that at the Sterling Volunteer Rescue Squad. From Byron, the Chief, and P.J., the President, all the way down to the newest probie. You won¢t find a better group of folks anywhere. Like I said, I¢ve always been lucky, and having the chance to be associated with them has been one of the best things that ever happened to me. Stay safe, guys. I'll see ya when I¢m back.Stay tuned,