The following is an email I received from a friend who has been in the Emergency Services field for many years. Remember to thank these public servants this holiday season. This post is lengthy but it is well worth taking the time to read.
From my 38 years in the field of Emergency Medical Services, I found this to be quite interesting. Over the 25 plus years I “rode” the ambulance as a Paramedic, my wife can testify to the many Christmas Eves and Days that I had to do my duty and miss out on some special times at home. It was, however, never without some very special blessings that came our way while serving others during the hours around Christmas. Something magical always seemed to happen and we were placed in some very special situations where not only medical help was needed, but many times we were given the opportunity to minister to the lowly and downtrodden who otherwise had no chance for a Christmas as we knew it. It was during those special moments that God allowed us to be used to bring a smile, relieve some burdens, share some tears, or provide for some needs for those whose only connection to someone who seemed to care came from a 911 call.
To this day, I can think back on those “special” Christmases and feel the joy in my heart that came as a result of God’s Divine interventions and how he always orchestrated in His perfect timing the needs of the less fortunate to meet with those who were willing and prepared to serve. Due to those experiences over the years, in some supernatural way, it convinced me that my profession was a “calling” like no other, and there was nothing in this world that I would rather devote my time and efforts to. What an honor it has been to have answered all these calls for assistance over these nearly 4 decades and get the blessings from them that I cannot begin to explain. Thanks be to God for the gifts He gives us and for allowing us to be put in the positions to use them to His glory.
Say a special prayer this Christmas to all those EMTs and Paramedics, Firefighters, and Public Servants out there protecting us and coming to the calls of those in need. Next time you hear the sirens or see the ambulances trying to make their way through traffic, just stop and remember the story of the Good Samaritan. While many passed by the one in desperate need, ONE took the time to stop and help a stranger who was very different from him and he did so out of unconditional love.
God Bless them all.
Russ McGee
Russ McGee
This article was taken from the Journal of Emergency Medical Services and shared by Russ McGee.
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse. But up in the city where life
carried on, Paramedics responded to their
own siren song ...
It was late afternoon, cloudy, starting to get pretty
chilly. “Medic 16, 2763 East Washington, Mental/Emotional, police on scene.” We
pulled up in front of the cruiser and shut down the lights. Two young officers
were standing by a woman who was sitting on a ledge outside of the library. The
female officer told us the woman had called because she was living in a shelter
down the street, but when she came back after taking a walk, the Sisters who
ran the shelter told her she was acting strangely and they thought they smelled
alcohol on her breath, so, being a dry shelter, wouldn’t let her back in.
“Do you guys have a PBT?” I asked.
“No, we’d have to call another car. She says she wants to go to the hospital to get tested because she denies drinking and has nowhere else to go. We didn’t know what to do for her so we called you.”
“Hi, I’m Guy, I’m a paramedic. What’s your name?”
“Cindy.”
“So what’s going on Cindy?”
“Do you guys have a PBT?” I asked.
“No, we’d have to call another car. She says she wants to go to the hospital to get tested because she denies drinking and has nowhere else to go. We didn’t know what to do for her so we called you.”
“Hi, I’m Guy, I’m a paramedic. What’s your name?”
“Cindy.”
“So what’s going on Cindy?”
I performed a gaze test, smelled no alcohol, and detected no
intoxication.
“So do you think if we go back to the shelter and I tell the Sisters I don’t find any evidence of alcohol they will let you back in?”
Everyone agreed it was worth a shot. So this unlikely procession of two cops, two medics and Cindy trooped down the street, chatting, until we reached the shelter. I rang the doorbell and a Sister in blue-and-white Mother Theresa-styled robes greeted us. I told her that I had completed a field assessment and found no evidence of alcohol or intoxication, explained the possible effects of the new medications, and asked the Sister if she would let Cindy come in from the cold. She was happy to do so, explaining that they had to maintain a very strict no intoxication policy for the safety of all the women at the shelter. Hands were shaken, holiday greetings given, I got a hug from Cindy, and we went our separate ways.
“So do you think if we go back to the shelter and I tell the Sisters I don’t find any evidence of alcohol they will let you back in?”
Everyone agreed it was worth a shot. So this unlikely procession of two cops, two medics and Cindy trooped down the street, chatting, until we reached the shelter. I rang the doorbell and a Sister in blue-and-white Mother Theresa-styled robes greeted us. I told her that I had completed a field assessment and found no evidence of alcohol or intoxication, explained the possible effects of the new medications, and asked the Sister if she would let Cindy come in from the cold. She was happy to do so, explaining that they had to maintain a very strict no intoxication policy for the safety of all the women at the shelter. Hands were shaken, holiday greetings given, I got a hug from Cindy, and we went our separate ways.
Toward evening we were dispatched to
one of the downtown missions. The Squad was already there assessing Sam, who
had gotten dizzy a couple of times during the day and lost his balance. Sam
didn’t look so good: jaundiced, poor skin turgor, out of it. His blood sugar
was 98 but his blood pressure was 76/68. He hadn’t felt well for a few days. He
was also short of breath and wheezing. Sam apologized several times for
disturbing us on Christmas Eve. We assured him there was nothing to apologize
for.
Five-hundred mls of normal saline and a breathing treatment later
Sam looked and sounded much better. By the time we rolled to Bed 2 and the
hospital team came in, I was happy to explain that Sam looked a lot better now
than he did when we picked him up. Sam smiled and thanked us again. We told him
we were sorry he had to spend Christmas Eve at the hospital, but I was thinking
to myself that were it me, I would rather be in the hospital than sleeping on
the floor at the mission. We shook hands, wished each other good tidings, I got
another thank you from Sam, and we went our separate ways. We finally got back
to the firehouse.
The engine crew was watching It’s a Wonderful Life. We
joined them but it wasn’t long before the tones dropped for an injury. On scene
we were flagged down by a woman who explained to us that her baby's daddy had
gotten drunk and slipped and fell on the ice. We went inside to find a
20-something-year old guy on the couch moaning, telling us his leg was broken.
Well, it was more like, “My leg is broken, I know it. Is my leg broken? I know it is. Is it?”
After a far-too-drawn-out discussion regarding the fact that in order to help him we had to actually get his pants off and look at his leg, we finally got Ben’s pants off and guess what—he was right. I could feel the disturbing grinding of crepitus with minimal movement of the leg. A SAM Splint and a good deal of interfamilial drama later, we finally got Ben into the ambulance. An IV and some fentanyl went a long way to improving interpersonal relations, and on the way to the hospital, to distract him from his injury (and because I find people interesting) I coaxed out his story.
Well, it was more like, “My leg is broken, I know it. Is my leg broken? I know it is. Is it?”
After a far-too-drawn-out discussion regarding the fact that in order to help him we had to actually get his pants off and look at his leg, we finally got Ben’s pants off and guess what—he was right. I could feel the disturbing grinding of crepitus with minimal movement of the leg. A SAM Splint and a good deal of interfamilial drama later, we finally got Ben into the ambulance. An IV and some fentanyl went a long way to improving interpersonal relations, and on the way to the hospital, to distract him from his injury (and because I find people interesting) I coaxed out his story.
Ben had been released from prison about a month earlier. He was 27, had a 14-year-old girl and an 8-year-old boy, and a bunch of felonies
that had kept him in the poky much of his young life. He was now working at the
first regular job he has ever had, and he loved it—loved to be able to start
providing for his family. But tonight, Christmas Eve, he and his girlfriend
were arguing about his drinking and the fact they had nothing for the kids for
Christmas.
Yes, he acknowledged it would be more responsible of him to buy
presents than booze, but he said it was hard not to drink because not being
able to provide for his family made him feel less of a man. He started to tear
up. Crap, I said to myself, did it have to be It’s a Wonderful Life on the tube
just before we caught this run? I told him when we got to the hospital I would
ask around to see if there was anything left from one of the hospital’s holiday
toy drives.
After transferring care to the hospital staff, I talked to the
nurses and a social worker about his plight, but there were no toys left at the
hospital. So I talked to my partner and we came up with a plan. We called our
lieutenant and asked to remain out of service for a little while after the call
to accomplish a “detail.” There was a CVS open down the block from the
hospital. We drove over and started walking up and down the aisles, quickly
finding a basketball, Nerf gun and bag of plastic soldiers for the boy, and a
large squishy stuffed dog, shaggy pink slippers and a fingernail applique set
for the girl. Yes, I know, we were gender stereotyping; but time was short, and
we figured the parents could distribute them in as egalitarian a manner as they
wished. We enjoyed the bemusement and good nature of the cashier as we paid for
our purchase and loaded them in the truck. We split the bill.
We drove back to the hospital and slipped the toys and a
roll of wrapping paper into Ben’s room. Beaming, he thanked us and asked whom
he should say the presents were from. “Santa of course,” we replied. The nurses
said they would help with the wrapping. We shook hands, exchanged Yuletide
greetings, and went our separate ways. But at least there would be two fewer
kids in the city that wouldn’t go without on Christmas morning.
I can’t remember if
we had any runs that Christmas Eve that required very much of our medical
knowledge or ability. In the street it’s essential to have that knowledge,
skill and judgment to be able to treat effectively any injury or illness that
greets us when we arrive “on scene.” But, eventually, we begin to understand
that this knowledge and skill make up the basics; they are the curriculum of
EMS 101.
When we were young, we would brag to each other about the
upside-down digital intubation or the chest decompression with the lawn dart or
the rescue with the skyhook. Students and rookies measure their worth in the
number and girth of the plastic tubes they can shove in the right place; assess
value in the quantity of shootings and stabbings and dramatic wrecks and MCIs
they attend. Eventually, though, enough tubes have been inserted that their
value diminishes; enough dramatic calls responded to that they blur together
and fade.
But with this passage of time and hopefully mellowing of
character, it’s things of a very different nature that stand out in greater
contrast from the background noise of EMS. Gradually the tale of the 14-gauge
angiocath inserted in the external jugular through the car’s sunroof while
dangling off the overpass is replaced by the story of the sad woman helped back
to shelter on a cold Christmas eve; the tale of the fellow offered genuine
concern when he got sick at the mission; the anecdote of the father given a
hand to feel a little more worthy in the eyes of his children, and his children
given a few toys to feel a little more valued on Christmas morning. Such acts
can assuage the sadness born of our daily portion of poverty and sickness and
violence, can be a balm to the existential sadness that comes from trying to
hold back the flood of pain and suffering and anger, call after call, and shift
after shift.
So be of good cheer. Our vocation may not offer us much in
the way of material reward—this is certainly true. But it does offer us great
opportunity to make our world a better place in many small ways—even for the
least among us. Amen
Nothing you could say would add to that story. Thanks to all our emergency personnel who sacrifice their time and safety to take care of us. A special thanks to the Upson Regional Medical Center in Thomaston, Georgia for their care this week during our two visits to the emergency room which resulted in an overnight stay for my husband. Thankfully, we were able to come home on Christmas Eve. I hope all of you had a wonderful, emergency free Christmas!
.jpg)