Stand By for Tones

It is 0300 and the fog of a dark sleep is interrupted by the shrill of my nemesis, the Motorola Minitor V. I love doing my job, but at 0300 no one likes doing anything (outside of stumbling home from the bar to burn eggs and bacon). The tones sound and a gruff but friendly dispatcher give me my assignment: “truck 1, medic three, medic 2… high speed MVC, head on, 2 unrestrained passengers. Reporting party states 6 year old son is not alert, barely breathing, has pulse.” The dispatcher gives directions to a rather infamous intersection on the edge of my little county.

I have blood on my arm. My fear of other people’s bodily fluids is strong. I’d rather cut my own finger off than get someone else’s blood on my… or IN me…

This time I’m not bothered though. The blood is that of a 6 year old boy. A non-breathing, bloodied and mangled 6 year old boy.

I pull myself from my daydream. I look down at my patient and know my tasks. Secure the airway, maintain breathing, collar, board, load and go. I roll through the tasks like I’ve done this thousands of times. I’m confident. Proud.

I’m scared shitless.

As I pull into the little town ER where I will meet my hellicopter crew, I give report to the little town RN and the little town DOC. I’ve done by myself what I didn’t know I could do with 5 assistants. As I roll the little boy to bed 1 he is starting to buck the tube… Bad, but good. He hadn’t shown any signs of responsiveness since I arrived by his side. We slide him off my bed and the Doc asks if I’m ok. I’m grey. My face is blank, emotionless. Neither fear nor grief shows through.

I sit at home on the couch. My wife by my side. Tears running down my face. All I can think of is what if’s. Not knowing that at this very moment that little boy is sitting up in his hospital bed, half smiling at his mother. I cry a little, mostly out of fear. I’ve got a little one on the way. But I cry.

Several days later

The phone rings. A voice I recognize, but not sure where from, says to me… “do you remember me?”

I respond… “I’m sorry, I’m not sure”

She says… “My name is Amanda. You saved Daniel’s life. We took him home today. Just wanted to say thanks.”

My throat tightens. My eyes water. I can’t find any words.

Amanda says… “do you want to talk to Daniel?”