"Hi mom?, It's me, yeah, I almost got killed today..."

Last week, there was a shooting at the mall, gang-related, of course. A kid was trying to protect his sister on a city bus and just happened to belong to the Crypts. Some Bloods were fucking with her and he was doing his best to keep her out of his gang war. They got off the bus at the mall and were followed, where a fight ensued and he was shot in the chest and killed. He was 16.

His funeral was today at the church at intersection of Roxboro and Dowd. We got called out there to assist another medic unit because people with "tachylordia" and "the vapors" kept coming outside of the funeral home and DFO-ing. (Done Fell Out) After the second time of getting called over there, I have the following conversation with a Gang unit officer on an OPS channel (An OPS channel being a shared communications channel on our 800mgHz radio):

"George 12 to Medic 5"
"Medic 5, go ahead"
"Yeah, medic 5, you can 10-22 (cancel) the call, the patient reported having a seizure but she got up and walked back into the funeral home"
"10-4, hey George 12, you want us to head on over here anyway and hang out so you guys don't have to call us every 5 minutes?"
"That would be great"
"10-4, 10-17 (en route)"

So we get out of service and head on over there to keep from having to get up from the nice warm recliners at the fire station every 5 minutes. Every time we got up, we'd get halfway to the call and be cancelled. Certainly can be annoying... We had a conversation on the way to the call, my partner and I, about whether or not to hand this standby off to a southside Lincoln unit, since its their district anyway. I say, of course, "what's gonna happen? It'll be a quick standby and then we can head back, without having to run any calls..." Durham is really burning me out, I have a bad acute onset of "short-timers" and don't really feel like being bothered to do anything. It turned out the be just the thing that the shit-magnet gods wanted to hear.

We check on scene and it's a mess. There are gang-members everywhere, there's a lone reporter milling around and several members of the gang unit off to the side. We get out and hang out with the Gang unit guys and shoot the shit. We catch up on people who have gotten married, getting ready to have kids, who used to be in the Army (they know about my soldier), blah blah blah. This lady walks by and makes the following comment: "They shouldn't be here, these COPS should be out trying to find the killer." What a stupid bitch, I just sighed, because responding to that crap is a futile attempt at trying to educate the ignorant. There are prepubescent kids everywhere, laughing, joking, talking on their cell-phones and dressed in what can only be described as less than appropriate attire for a funeral. I wonder out loud how many of them have guns burried beneath their "sean-johns". The funeral lets out and the family drives off in a red, yes red limo. People begin to leave and pretty much we're just waiting for traffic to clear so we can go back to the station.

Suddenly, about 15 or 20 feet away, there's a loud *POP* and cops and medics start running to the sound. One single gunshot in a crowd of 200 or so people. People and gang members and teenagers. A nasty combination and the only thing I can say is "FUCK" as we both continue to run.

There's a rule in EMS that my safety comes first, my partner is second and the patient is dead-last. It reminds medics to always keep a watchful eye and make sure you don't create another casualty because you, yourself are acting like a dumbass.

I grab a backboard and my partner grabs the stretcher, but I'm way ahead of her down to the patient. There are a couple of 'bangers standing near him and a cop from the Gang unit. I'm trying to get the people away from him but its like trying to get styrofoam peanuts off of some item in a box, useless and they just kept sticking. The patient is apparently worried about who will sling dope on his corner while he's laid-up at the hospital, because he is handing baggies of rock to anyone who will take them. The kid is shot in the upper thigh with a nice swollen area on the lateral side of his thigh, that was, no doubt, the bullet lodged next to his femur. At this point, several kids pull up in a minivan behind me and start hollering because they think the cops shot this kid. The cop and the patient both are trying to tell them different, but they are still reaching for several "somethings" inside the van. The patient is able to get them calmed down and they drive off. I didn't see this part, but was told later by my partner, who said her "pucker-factor" was instantly activated. She said something to me on scene that I don't particularly remember, but I heard something in her voice and regardless of what she actually said, what I heard was:"Hey, retard, its time to get the fuck out of here before we get our asses shot off.." I didn't argue.

We attempt to leave just as a fight breaks out about 10 feet away. It's a large brawl, with lots of 'bangers involved. People are screaming and cops are running and pulling up their patrol cars from all angles to break it up. I just turned my back on it.

We get to the truck and have to wrestle the kid back on the stretcher because he's decided that we aren't, in fact, there to try and help him. So, strictly as a revenge tactic, he got a 16 gauge in his arm. We transported him without incident. Just goes to show you that the assignments you think will be easy are the ones that will come the closest to getting you killed.

Guppy-breathing and freshly-shined boots

So, today was the day to get poked and prodded by my new employer to see if I was "EMS material". I got to give blood, get a TB skin test (which requires another needle poke) and piss in a cup to see if I was on drugs or worse...pregnant. Not a violation of privacy at all, just the modern working order of things. It only took 2 hours and then signing the paperwork for my direct deposit and getting my ID badge was a fun little 20 minutes too. I got measured for my uniforms and ordered all of my flare for the shirt and then...

The REAL fun came after I left the personnel department and traveled to the cleaners to pick up a buddy of mines boots which were being resoled at a fraction of the cost he could get it done for where he lives. Once again, G-d Bless the military. As I walk into the store, I see the owner, frantically screaming into the phone about some guy that fell and "I dont think hes moving!!!" So I turn around and sure enough, there's some poor schmo laid-out in the parking lot with 4 or 5 people standing around him. So I take off running across the parking lot, thinking all the while to myself:" This poor old guy probably tripped and these stupid people are keeping him in the freezing cold until EMS gets here..." WRONG!!! He had not tripped, he had, in fact, fallen 10 feet from a ladder and if that wasnt bad enough...I asked the guy at his head what the hell was going on, and he says to me:"He had nails in his mouth, he was up fixing the sign." So I look at this guy and holy shit Pyle, he is spewing forth a constant waterfall of bright red blood from his nose and mouth. His eyes are glazed and he's guppy-breathing. Translated, that means that he's sucking air once every 5 or 6 seconds and he isnt getting enough. He has strong radial pulses and his pupils look okay. He has a big gash on the back of his head and I'm sure a nail either in his soft palate, the back of his throat, or both. Either way this guy looked like he was CTD (Circlin' the drain). So I ask for any EMTs, and the guy at the head says that he used to be one. So I tell him to:"Put your hands on either side of that guys head and hold his neck still and dont let go until someone tells you to." I have one leftover glove and one 4x4 so I just do a jaw-thrust to open his airway and start pulling blood out of his mouth and nose. He needs to be intubated, or assisted at the very least with his ventilations but there's no pocket-face mask and theres no way I'm giving mouth to mouth to someone who's bleeding into his airway. I'm becoming very concerned that this guy is going to die right here in front of me.

I start to hear sirens in the background and I think, PRAISE G-D for the the Fire Department!!! I have no equipment, no stethoscope, no nothing and here this poor guy is dying right here in the parking lot of a dry-cleaners/tattoo emporium. As soon as the FD checks on scene, the guy stops breathing. So I tell them that and check for a pulse. There isnt one.

"Guys, we got a trauma code!!" I yell as they grab a c-collar and hand me a bag-valve mask. I tell them that I'm an off-duty medic from another county and I can only do BLS. They suction him and keep his airway open and tell EMS to step it up, they've got a code-5. I keep bagging him, the former-EMT continues with c-spine and we get a collar on him. EMS shows up and puts him on the monitor. PEA. Pulseless electrical activity. Electricity is moving, heart isnt pumping. He needs a tube, TCP (pacing) an IV and lots of drugs. What he really needs is a surgeon, which the female medic was quick to point-out; "Guys, lets hurry it up, he doesnt need a paramedic, he needs a surgeon!" The paramedics go to set up the equipment they will need to intubate and start an IV and we get him on a backboard. The FD rolls him to the bus and I continue to bag him. We load him up and shut the doors. The whole time I'm thinking to myself:"I don't start here for another 2 weeks and here I am working a code in the middle of the street." I help the FD clean up the scene and get some alcohol wipes to get the blood off of my hands. The medics take-off, code 3 to wherever.

I thank the FD and wish them a Merry Christmas and walk back to the dry-cleaners to get my boots. As I walk in, there's a soldier there who was calling 911 while I was attending this guy. He and the store-owner look at me and say:"Is he going to live??" At which point, I say, probably not.

And FINALLY, a day off.

My first post as a blogger...quite the untimely reality of things, but I suspect a positive outlet nonetheless. Perhaps a little background on me is fitting. I am a EMT-I in Durham NC who lives with a paratrooper stationed at Fort Bragg. I am here, living in some bum-fuck-ass town named Sanford and he is defending our country in Iraq. We have the quintessential life, 2 cats and a very large dog, who thinks he a Chihuahua, a house and reasonable rent. But we have very skilled and at times, very dangerous jobs. We both wear Kevlar, drink beer and discuss how fucked up people are to each other on a daily basis.

This experiment is self-awareness is intended to allow me an outlet when Leroy decides its a good idea to get completely 56 (plastered) and beat the shit of his wife in front of little Dick and Jane on Christmas eve and to let me vent when I am melancholy about having the love of my life thousands of miles away.

I did just find out via a telephone call that his expected return date is February 5th. He was supposed to be home mid-January, but I know from the little experience I have with the Army, that they are on their own time-table. I am proud of my soldier, sometimes I wonder if I tell him that enough. I know his job is not finished and when it is, he will come home. I know that this deployment is not about me or what I want personally, but as explained in a recent letter to him: It is about the rebuilding of a weaker nation with the help of a stronger one. The instillation of the freedom this country has fought long and hard to protect over the last 200 years on a nation who so desperately needs it. Iraq is the little kid who gets bullied in the playground by the terrorists who are the bully. And only America and her allies are attempting to make this fight a fair one.

This entry may be melancholy but to explain, I have to go back to 9/11. I became a public servant and by serving, I mean helping, not being the uniformed whore of yuppie-America. I am NOT here to bitch-at, assault, shoot-at or spit upon. (Here's to hoping that the gang-bangers have internet access...) I am not here to fuck up your day or judge your sexual escapades. I am here to treat medical problems and face trauma with gusto, a sick sense of humor and pride. If you dont like the way I do my job then stop calling 911 and shut the fuck up. I am NOT a taxi-ride because you can't afford a can of RAID and have a cockroach in your ear at 0200. BUY A CAR, TAKE A TAXI, PHONE A FRIEND, or WALK....there aint shit I can do about that but tell you to go see your friendly physician.

To get back to the point, I felt a calling after 9/11 that can only be described as one of patriotic pride. I was going to go to medical school but decided to try EMS instead. I just took my Paramedic final and have been hired on in a city that is much closer to where we want to live. I have been working in a city for 3 years that is racially political and motivated. I have been the recipient of discrimination and the county that I work for chose to side with the person who was, how shall I say, "more ethnically diverse" than myself. I have put in my notice there, it is a losing battle to try and do my job in a place that binds my hands on every single call. I love this country and am proud to call myself an American. I dont like liberals and even had a policy when I was single NOT to date Democrats. Liberalism will be the fall of this country, just look at all of this "holiday tree" bullshit circulating in the media. I am a Jew and I take offense to calling a Christmas tree anything other than what it is.

I am an EMS instructor and I consider myself skilled. Thats one thing about us medics, we have an arrogance that just isnt found in other professions. Don't like it? Drive yourself to the ER. I have been working for almost 3 months straight and now as I put my notice in in my racist-city, and decide not to work any OT, I find myself with 3 days off, in a row. Yippee! What a nice feeling it is to lay around and do absolutely nothing, without fear of the tones dropping and having to go out on a call.

Phil ( thats my soldier), is an airborne infantryman for the 82nd. He enlisted for similar reasons as my own when I ventured into public service. He has been in for 2 years and has 4 left to go. He left for Iraq on October 3rd and will be returning in early February. This is a short deployment and I am glad for it because I am NO holster-sniffer and have never loved a soldier before, so this is new to both of us. I am a hard-ass at work, my nickname is potty-mouth, but I am a collossal baby when it comes to him. Its weird, I have always been sensitive to my patients needs when they are in a time of crisis, thats what makes me a good medic, but when it comes to life and love, I had a blase' attitude. He changed all of that and I love him more than I thought people could love each other. He is doing well and I will be using this outlet as a way to express what I can only describe as mourning. My life is incomplete without him.

I have been writing him everyday and sending packages once every couple of weeks. I send video-letters and sneak him the Playboy (after I read it first). I make damn sure that he wants for nothing since he cant be at home. He is guarding prisoners in western Iraq and, much to his chagrin, is not involved in much combat. But he is policing the Hajji and is training Kurdish police forces. I am pissed off about the way we as Americans must behave toward prisoners. These people get anything they want, its disgusting. They havent treated us with the same courtesy...

My firm opinion is to first remove all good Iraqi citizens from Iraq, gather up all gang-bangers and all-around low-life pieces of shit, pinko-commie liberal fascists and all members of any terrorist regime and place them in Iraq. Drop the fat-boy. Then rebuild and let the good Iraqis come home. I am tired of companies like Newsweek and stations like CNN bad-mouthing our military when they haven't done shit for this country but sit on their fat-corporate asses and brainstorm over jelly-donuts and coffee in some mahogany, 27th floor boardroom. Here's a thought, if you cant stand behind our troops then get your anti-American asses in front of them and let Jihad wage the war. These are the same people that attack every police arrest with the same gusto as the Rodney King incident and have bound our officers hands in red tape. And the same people that call me "EMS-workers" on the late night news. You dont call Firemen, Fire-workers, or cops, law-workers. WE ARE NOT EMS WORKERS! We are paramedics, for fucks sake, get it right you stupid journalists!

Until tomorrow... I have an appointment with the new EMS agency I will be working with come January. I have to have a health screening and do all of the tax forms so Uncle Sam fuck me out of my measley salary. To all a good night.