It seems as if most days, a lot of the calls I respond to could fit into the "minor" category. I've ran my share of drunk people passed out in the middle of the street (literally...this one guy was lying with half his body IN the street) and people who have waited until 3am to call 911 for the stomach ache that they've had all day ("I didn't want to bother you guys," they say. So you waited until 3a, when we were all sleeping, to call?). These calls, when run ad nauseum, have a tendency to burn firefighters out, myself definitely included. However, when we run a call where there's no doubt that our actions have made a significant difference in that person's life, it makes the repetition and tedium of the other calls all worth it. Memory of those calls fades away and all that's left is a reminder of why we decided to take this job in the first place: to make a difference. Yesterday was such a day; not because it happened once, but because it happened twice.
I was working in Germantown yesterday, driving the medic unit. We had ran a few calls during the first part of the day, taking us up to a little after lunch. After lunch, we did some training on setting up rope rescue systems (it had been raining all day, so we staid inside and used a set of small ropes and pulleys to create a miniature version of a "high line."). In the evening, some volunteers came in to ride along; one of them relieved me in driving the medic unit, so I was reassigned to ride on the tower ladder truck. I was excited about that because 1) I was riding a fire truck and 2) I was hoping to get some rest that night, as the ladder truck is usually not that busy at most stations. So I put my stuff on the tower, checked my equipment and hoped for the best.
After dinner, the tower and the medic unit ran a call for an unconscious person. While en route, our dispatcher told us that the call had been upgraded to a working code (the person is in cardiac arrest...not breathing, with no pulse). We got there and were told the arrest had just happened. Because of that, the medics hooked him up to their cardiac monitor and began to "pace" the guy (basically, their monitor can act as a pace-maker and control the man's heart rate). When done early enough, pacing is very effective in controlling and even restoring heart rhythm; fortunately this case was no exception...the pacing got his heart beating again. However, he was taking extremely shallow breaths...so shallow that he would die if we couldn't get him breathing normally again.
We got him onto our cot (no easy task since he was a BIG guy...easily 300 pounds) and headed toward the hospital, lights and sirens blaring. The medics attempted to intubate him (sticking a tube down his throat and into his lungs to help him breath better), but his throat was too tight. They attempted to intubate him through his nose and that was successful. We connected our bag valve mask (a big bag that you squeeze and, when connected to an oxygen tank, pumps 100% pure air into the patient) to the tube and I began to help pace his breathing for him, while the medics attempted to start an IV.
The pacing, intubation and breathing definitely helped him, for after we got him to the hospital and the nurses and doctors took over, they told us that he didn't have any cardiac damage and that more than likely he would pull through.
It took us awhile to clean up after this call (I will spare you the gory details, but let's just say a lot of things in the back of the medic unit needed to be disinfected). As we were finishing up, I was told that the volunteer who took over driving the medic unit injured his back during that call. So guess who was back to driving the medic unit? Oh well...these things happen.
We finally made it back to the firehouse. After fueling up, settling in and talking to Dee for a while, I hit the sack. Not five minutes after I laid down, the medic unit got a call. This one was for a man having trouble breathing. Sure enough, when we saw this guy, we new he was in trouble. He was sitting on the bed, eyes closed, barely conscious, struggling to breath. We got him into the medic unit and hooked him up to our CPAP (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure) machine. This device basically forces air into your lungs; it helps a lot with people who have congestive heart failure (CHF). We raced down the road, lights and sirens flashing and screaming once again. The CPAP machine helped this gentleman out a lot, and by the time we got to the hospital, he was looking a lot better. As we cleaned up and got ready for the next call, the man had stabilized and looked like he was going to pull through (ironically enough, we brought him into the same hospital room that we had taken our other critical patient).
That ended up being our last call of the night. I finally collapsed into bed around 1:30a, exhausted, reflective on the events of the day and grateful I got to help make a difference in these people's lives.
I tried to think back on some of the "minor" calls we ran that day, but I couldn't really remember.
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