Discouraged
Johnny slid his feet into his boots, slipped on his bunkers, and raised the
suspenders over his shoulders, shrugging them into position. He stood and
waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light and then he crept out of the
dorm. He and Roy had come back to the station after a hard run. No,
a lousy run.
A man got up in the middle of the night to raid his refrigerator and woke his
wife with a loud crash. She'd called the fire department and he and Roy
rushed to the scene. He seemed like a nice man. Spoke a few
sentences and then went out on them. They battled for his life: starting
an IV, giving him CPR, inserting an esophageal airway, administering bicarb,
Liodcaine and Epinephrine and defibrillating him three times. When the
ambulance came he and the attendant performed CPR en route to Rampart. The
doctors tried as hard as the paramedics had to revive him. All of them had
gotten into the business to cheat death but this time the clock ran out and
they'd lost the game. As soon as they exited from the treatment room the
wife approached them. She looked so hopeful. When Dr. Brackett saw
her he was as gentle as he could be. "Mrs.?"
"Mrs. Tivers." Roy supplied, moving a little closer to the woman.
"Will he be well enough to go on our trip to Niagara Falls this coming Saturday?
It's for our fiftieth wedding anniversary; the kids gave it to us."
"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Tivers. Your husband had a massive heart
attack. We tried everything but I'm afraid he's gone."
"No!" She cried in distress, unable to comprehend the news. Dixie
stepped in then. Putting her arm around the woman's shoulder she walked
her down to the empty lounge and gave her the medicine she always had on hand,
aged coffee and a listening ear. The men in the hall felt her pain; death
took a little piece of them every time they experienced it. They were
professionals with a compassion for human life.
Johnny stumbled into the kitchen and went to the cabinet to retrieve a cup.
He pulled out a plain brown one and picked up the silver coffeepot, dismayed at
its lightness. It was empty and he just didn't have the desire to make a
fresh pot. He slumped onto the couch but his mind immediately went to
their last rescue. Rescue? Hogwash! He had to find something
to keep himself busy so he didn't think. As he exited from the kitchen he
almost ran into his partner. "Couldn't sleep either?" Roy asked with
empathy.
"No. Can't get it outta my mind."
Roy made the same discovery Johnny had. There was no coffee at the inn.
As he pulled out the coffee crystals he turned to Johnny. "Wanna talk
about it?"
"Not right now Roy. Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it." He leaned
against the doorframe and gave a soft sigh. "I became a paramedic to
save lives."
Roy added water to the coffee pot. "I know Johnny but we can't save
everyone."
"Maybe I just shoulda stayed with rescue. I don't know Roy." He
stood up straight and gazed into the apparatus bay at the engine and the squad,
wandering toward the engine and skimming the equipment on it. He stopped
and stared at the squad's compartment doors and jamming his hands in his
pockets, ambled to the latrine to splash water on his face. He looked
intently into the mirror. His eyes were lifeless. You're tired Gage.
He told himself. Tired of what? As he headed out of the room
he paused. He kept meaning to clean out his locker; maybe now would be the
perfect time.
Unlatching the large door, he eyeballed the contents. His street clothes
were ready for use when the shift was over. He moved the hanging threads
aside, groped behind them and found several pieces of paper. One was a
newspaper clipping. 'USO dancer performs at benefit for the Widows and
Children of Deceased Firefighters Fund.' Johnny wracked his brain.
Jenny Hollister? That's right. She had that mysterious virus
and they didn't discover anyone with immunity who could donate serum until after
Tim Duntley died. He and Brackett almost bought it too. Since then
Jenny was a strong supporter of the fire department and was always involved with
fund raising.
Underneath that was a front page from the newspaper, he unfolded it and saw why
he'd torn it out. Tom Wheeler stood with a stage smile holding a little
girl named Elena. It was a good human-interest story and Chet ribbed him
when Tom had shown up in the paper again. He remembered the rescue.
A little girl had fallen into a hole at a construction site. They'd spent
hours tunneling to reach her. Just when they thought they had her they
discovered she'd slipped. As the time passed her chance for survival
diminished. But he was the first one to touch her and help her to safety.
He'd saved the paper because he wanted to recall that feeling he got when she
put her arms around his neck uttering, "I want my mommy. I want my mommy."
Next he scanned a business card: Suicide Hotline available 24 hours.
Call 555-2785. Flipping it over he saw Dixie's handwriting. 'Milly
Eastman is volunteering here. Thought you'd wanna know.'
Johnny sat on the bench. Milly was that feisty retired nurse from Rampart
who decided to give up on life. Dixie introduced Roy and him to Milly when
she was recovering. It had made him feel good when she'd said, "I wish
we'd had paramedics around when I was working here. You guys are a couple
of pros."
Turning back to his locker he poked around in the back again. What he
recovered was an old, stained white sock and a spring. Since he hadn't
noticed the sock for this long he figured he could live without it and tossed it
into the trashcan. He held the spring in his palm and tossed it in
the air several times and felt its weight. Where was it from? It was
too big to be from a pen. Wait! It came off of one of Chet's
water bombs and he'd swiped it before Chet noticed. Chet had been too busy
laughing at him drying his face. He'd put it in his locker to be on the
lookout for the perfect way to get back at The Phantom. He better
hold onto this.
With a glimmer of a smile he got on his hands and knees and went for the door at
floor level that some locker manufacturer created. Yeah, he knew his
shoeshine kit was in here but what else? He set it on the floor beside him
and reached into its dark recesses to unearth long-forgotten treasures:
several envelopes and a photo. What were these? He sat on the floor
and glanced at the photo. Pictured were two proud parents
holding an infant. He tapped his finger on the mother's face. The
Mundels. The first baby he'd delivered. It had been touch and
go in the beginning but once he had the blood transfusion he was okay.
The boy must be about five or six now. Had it been that long ago?
He stacked it on top of the other papers and read the release in his hand.
'Third class of EMTs to graduate Monday night.' Blaine had scribbled a
message on the back. 'Johnny, Dr. Kingman told me when I stopped by the
hospital that the EMS program is making a big difference in Santa Rosa County.
Come by for fishing anytime!'
Picking up an envelope with his name scrawled on it, he opened it and saw the
wedding invitation. Inserted with it was a note. 'You probably don't
remember me but Daddy and I stopped by the fire station because he wasn't
feeling well. Right in front of me Daddy had a heart attack and you and
your partner saved his life. Because of you Daddy will walk me down the
aisle on my wedding day.' If Roy and I hadn't been there he would've died.
The final envelope held a typed letter. 'This is to notify you that you
passed the Los Angeles County Certification Examination for Paramedic…' He'd
brought it in to see if Roy's letter had mentioned any apology for them having
to retake the exam. His said nothing about it. But deep down he
liked having the official notification that he was still a paramedic.
A paramedic who did save lives not always but sometimes.
Roy came into the locker room and saw Johnny close his locker. "Feelin'
better?"
"Yeah, Roy." Johnny yawned and stretched before heading toward the dorm.
As he and Roy went past the squad Roy asked, "Whatcha been doing all this time?"
"Just cleaning my locker."
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September Picture 2017 Stories by Marty P.
