A Failure to Communicate

LA County FF Paramedic, John Gage, was crouched in the back of a moving ambulance. The young man was busy gathering a fresh set of vitals on his patient, an elderly lady complaining of severe chest pains.

Though his patient had not been seriously injured in the multi-car crash, the woman’s symptoms, vitals and latest EKG all confirmed what Gage had strongly suspected: the traumatic experience had triggered a heart attack.

The paramedic’s partner, Roy DeSoto, was still back at the scene patching up the TA’s other victims, who had also sustained only minor injuries.

Gage pulled the tips of his stethoscope from his ears and directed his attention toward the driver. "Why’d yah kill the Code R? We can’t be at Rampart already…"

"I didn’t kill it," Dennis Mueller calmly replied. "It just died. I kin smell burning wires up here. I think we may have lost some fuses. We no longer have our lights and siren." The attendant locked gazes with the now frowning fireman, in his rear view mirror. "Should I pull over and call for backup transport?"

Gage glanced down at the little notepad, upon which he’d been recording his patient’s steadily deteriorating vitals, and his frown deepened. "No. There’s no time. We need to get this patient to an ER—pronto! Just proceed—with caution!"

Several blocks later, the ambulance approached a deserted intersection. Dennis cautiously drove clean through it, completely ignoring the STOP sign.

Within just a matter of moments, a siren sounded and flashing lights appeared in the van’s side mirrors.

"Ahh-ahh…there was no other traffic around, so I blew right by the last STOP si—."

"—Squad 51," Dr. Brackett piped up, via the Bio-phone. "This is Rampart. Can you send me another stri—?"

"—OUT HERE!…NO-OW!" a menacing voice suddenly interrupted, from somewhere just outside their parked ambulance.

The two medical personnel onboard exchanged glances in the vehicle’s rear view mirror once again, this time, somewhat anxious ones.

The paramedic promptly picked up the phone. "Uh-uh, Rampart? Squad 51. We’ve just been pulled over for a traffic stop and…I think we may have a problem here. Stand-by…"

Actually, judging by the confrontational tone in the traffic cop’s voice, John was rather certain they had a problem there.

Realizing that Rampart had an LA County Fire Department radio, and wishing to save precious time explaining things, before he hopped out and attempted to defuse the officer’s hot temper, the paramedic tied a rubber IV tourniquet around his handheld radio, locking its mic’ in the ON position.

Kel Brackett impatiently ‘stood-by’, tapping the metal clipboard, containing his cardiac patient’s medical information, on a counter, in the hospital’s glassed-in Paramedic Base Station.

"What?" a strange voice suddenly taunted, over an LA County Fire Department frequency. "You think that—just because you drive an ambulance—that gives you a license to break the law?"

The doctor turned to the nurse who was standing at his side, and the pair swapped a couple of rather concerned looks, themselves.

It had actually taken the paramedic longer for him to get all the ‘refuse treatment’ forms signed, than it had for him to bandage the victims’ cuts and abrasions.

"What?" someone’s sarcastic voice suddenly came over the Squad’s dash-mounted radio. "You think that—just because you drive an ambulance—that gives you a license to break the law?"

"What seems to be the problem, officer?" he heard his partner calmly inquire.

The paramedic’s blue eyes widened in astonishment and his bushy, blond eyebrows shot up into the middle of his forehead. ‘Why would anybody—in their right mind—ever pull an emergency vehicle over for a traffic stop?’ he silently wondered. The fireman’s face suddenly filled with alarm. The cop was obviously not in his right mind.

DeSoto swallowed hard and immediately reached out to flick his emergency vehicle’s lights and siren on. His right hand then moved over to the frequency control knob on his radio. He flipped the transmitter to another channel and placed a call for a back-up squad—and an additional ambulance.

Admittedly, the call address he gave the dispatcher was pretty vague: somewhere on Brighton Blvd., between Rampart General Hospital and Pryor Avenue.

John Gage threw the ambulance’s back doors open and jumped down onto the pavement. "What seems to be the problem, officer?" he calmly inquired of the agitated cop.

"I wasn’t talkin’ to you!" the policeman impolitely pointed out, and glared out at the new arrival from behind his unbelievably dark sunglasses. "I was talkin’ to the driver!"

"Sir, my name is John Gage. I’m an LA County Fire Department paramedic—and I am in charge of this rescue vehicle."

"Okay! Fine, fireboy! You’ve said your piece! Now why don’t you just haul your scrawny ass back up into that ambulance," the cop ordered more than asked, "while I give ‘Mister I’m above the law’, here, a ticket, for failure to stop!" The portly police officer aimed his shady glare at the emergency vehicle’s driver. "I ain’t gonna allow you to drive around actin' like you own the road! No, sir! I’m not gonna put up with that shit! You understand me?"

Gage had had—and heard—more than enough. "C’mon, Denny," he urged his browbeaten associate, "we’ve got a patient to deliver. You don’t have to put up with this." The paramedic turned to the policeman. "You have no right to talk to him like that."

The officer obviously did not appreciate the paramedic’s challenge to his supreme authority. "I ain’t listening to you, buddy!" he blurted, his chubby, flushed cheeks turning a bright red—with ever intensifying anger. "You get your ass back in that ambulance, or I’m taking you in! I’m talking to the driver!"

"I’m sorry, officer," Dennis Mueller assured the upset—er, downright angry guy. "I really am. You see, we’re transporting an elderly patient with severe chest pains. There were no other vehicles visible near the intersection. I thought it wouldn’t mat—"

"—Don’t give me none a’ that ‘It’s an emergency!’ crap!" the irate cop advised. "You weren’t runnin’ hot! If you were in such an all-fired hurry to transport this precious ‘patient’ of yours, then why weren’t you usin’ your lights and siren?"

"We were," the driver adamantly declared. "Until our rig blew a fuse, or something…about three blocks back, and we los—."

"—Likely story!" the officer insincerely said. "Come along, ‘Denny’! I’m issuing you a citation!"

"Sir," John calmly began, once he’d completed counting to ten—again, "there is an elderly woman lying in the back of that ambulance right now who is in dire need of critical care. You are preventing her from receiving that care."

"Yeah? Well…You two should a’ thought about that—before you went ahead and broke the law!" the policeman smugly proclaimed.

Gage gasped in exasperation. "Look, if you want to ticket him—fine! If you want to arrest me—fine! You can follow us over to Rampart General…and, once we drop this patient off, you can ticket us…and arrest us…to your heart’s content. Just let us go, so we can get this poor woman to the hospital!"

"I sai-aid," the officer angrily repeated, as the paramedic’s plea fell on deaf ears, "come along, Denny!"

Gage gasped again. "Sir, the patient needs to get to the hospital! Why can’t you just let us go? We can deal with thi-is…mess—once we get her there."

The officer’s already red face suddenly turned even redder. "You better get back in that ambulance before you get your scrawny butt thrown in jail! NOW! You understand me?!"

"C’mon, Denny. We’re gonna finish transporting our patient. Once we take the patient to the hospital, you can take me to jail. Okay?" With that, the paramedic spun on his heels and began heading back over to their rig.

The big-bellied bully about busted his shirt buttons. "Stay right where you are, Denny!"

Gage glanced back over his shoulder and gave his stalled companion a look that caused Mueller to throw caution to the wind and ignore the cop’s shouted warning. "We’re not staying here," the paramedic firmly stated. "We have a patient to transport. Right now, the patient is our number one priority." The paramedic felt a vice-like grip on his right arm and he was pulled to a bone jarringly abrupt halt.

"Get your smart ass back here, fireboy—and turn around!" the irate officer ordered, pulling his cuffs out. "You are under arrest for obstructing a police officer in the performance of his duties!"

"Sir, you are obstructing us in the performance of our duties!" the fireman reminded the angry guy right back and would not allow himself to be handcuffed. He’d already been away from his patient for a whole lot longer than he’d originally intended to be. The elderly woman had been holding her own when he’d stepped out to have—what he had hoped would be—a brief, reasonable chat with the officer, but cardiac patients can go south—in a big hurry!

It shouldn’t have taken them this long to get underway again. ‘Any reasonable person would have heard about the elderly heart patient inside—and the rig’s blown fuses—and just let the whole thing slide.’ Hold on…What was he thinking? A reasonable, rational person would have never pulled a traffic stop on an emergency vehicle in transport—in the first place!

The still struggling fireman was finally able to pull his scrawny—but wiry—self free from the unreasonable, irrational officer’s grasp. John just rolled his eyes, as the out of control cop proceeded to add ‘resisting arrest’ to his growing list of the paramedic’s supposed ‘offenses’.

Gage climbed breathlessly up into the back of the ambulance and began securing another, newer set of vitals.

The cop crossed over to his patrol car and put in a call for ‘assistance with a traffic stop’. The police officer then hauled the hapless driver up to the front of the parked rescue rig and began berating the lawbreaker—once again.

John pulled his stethoscope from his ears and snatched up his notepad. He then picked up the bio-phone and depressed its transmit button. "Squad 51," the still somewhat out of breath paramedic began. "Rampart, did you copy any of that?"

"This is Rampart," Brackett quickly came back, his voice filled with concern. "Affirmative, 51. We copied the whole unbelievable thing—loud and clear. How is Mrs. Riser doing?"

The paramedic proceeded to give the good doctor an update on his patient’s current physical—and emotional—condition. He even managed to finally complete the requested cardio-telemetry transmission.

The ER physician studied Mrs. Riser’s vital signs—at present, and interpreted her latest EKG strip. The doctor then adjusted their cardiac patient’s definitive care, accordingly.

"Rampart? 51. The latest meds are all onboard," John Gage relievedly reported, just moments later. "The, uhh, patient seems to be resting somewhat easier, Rampart…"

"Rampart Base. That’s always good to hear, 51," Dr. Brackett replied, relief also evident in his voice. His finger was brushed aside from the call button.

Gage glanced down at himself. His bare arms were covered with bruise marks and his shirttails had become un-tucked. But, other than tha-at… "I’m okay, Dix’," he assured the concerned nurse. "I just look a little…disheveled…at the moment."

Miss McCall stared down at the counter, at the two-way radio that was resting there. She could almost hear the paramedic’s wry smile. "Disheveled, huh?" The woman aimed a raised eyebrow at Brackett. "The man’s incorrigible," she quickly determined.

"Rampart. 51. What we have here, is a failure to communicate," the fireman proceeded to inform them, borrowing an infamous line from the film 'Cool Hand Luke'. "Doc, I'm really worried about Denny," Johnny quickly continued, the humor now absent from his voice. "That cop is still out there, ranting and raving at the poor guy."

Brackett regained control of the call button. "Then you’ll be happy to hear that help is headed your way, 51," the physician announced. "Your partner should be arriving any moment now…along with a back-up squad and another ambulance. I, uh, also informed the authorities as to what was taking place out there. More levelheaded law enforcement people should be showing up—shortly…"

"I sure hope so…" the paramedic earnestly replied, in a voice that was just slightly above a whisper. "Squad 51. Appreciate that, Rampart…" There was a long, uncomfortable silence…followed—finally—by yet another barely audible ‘click’, as the two-way radio’s transmit button was once again pressed on the other end. "Say…if reinforcements don’t arrive in time…and I end up going to jail…will you two promise to come down and post my bail?" the fireman pondered, breaking radio protocol—and making a morbid stab at humor.

"You’re incorrigible!" the pair simply—and simultaneously—stated, breaking protocol, as well.

John’s amused expression vanished, as ‘Psycho cop’ suddenly stuck his head into the rig.

"Hey! Fireboy!" the man shouted into the back of the ambulance. "You do know that you most definitely will be goin’ to jail, right?"

"Sir, will you please lower your voice?" the paramedic calmly, and respectfully requested. He’d just gotten his agitated cardiac patient calmed down, for cryin’ out loud!

John winced, as the officer’s shouted question was closely followed by a rather lo-o-ong string of shouted obscenities. Following another—completely disregarded—request, to please be quiet, Gage gave his patient’s hand a comforting squeeze. He then got stiffly to his feet and stepped over to close the ambulance’s back doors.

"Trying to protect my patient," the paramedic calmly replied, "from your verbal assault...Sir."

The officer gave the elderly gal on the gurney a half-hearted glance. The old woman’s eyes were wide with terror. He couldn’t see the rest of her wrinkled face. Her nose and mouth were covered with an oxygen mask. "Don’t worry, ma-am," the cop proceeded to tell her, feigning concern. "We’re gonna get you to the hospital, directly."

John’s response to the foul-mouthed man’s phony reassurance was another eye roll. His patient would be at the hospital already, if the power-tripping police officer had just let them go! Suddenly, from somewhere off in the distance, the fireman heard a very familiar sound. He heaved an audible sigh of relief. Judging from the direction it was coming from, it had to be Squad 51 that he was hearing.

Mistaking the approaching siren as his back-up, the bully with the badge made his move. "Okay, fireboy! Get out here! NO-OW!"

But the 'fireboy' refused to budge from the ambulance. "I am not leaving my patient. Another squad is coming. Once it gets here, then you can arrest me...Officer."

Denny stepped up to the ambulance’s open back doors, looking determined to provide the paramedic with his full support…if needed.

The police officer was beside himself! "You don’t dictate terms to me, #&!%!" he screamed, his right hand coming to rest upon his holstered weapon.

John’s jaw dropped. Was this idiot really planning to use deadly force against him? He continued watching, as the unstable cop’s fingers started to unsnap the leather flap on his gun’s holster. "He-ey! Take it easy! In case you haven’t noticed, we both play for the same team! I’m on your side! Remember?"

"You can’t just shoot him!" Denny insisted. "He’s unarmed! That’d be cold-blooded murder!"

The fireman raised his slightly shaking hands—in surrender—and dropped to the ground, without a sound.

The paramedic grunted in pain, as he was body slammed—face-first—into one of the ambulance’s open back doors. "Ah-uh!" he cried aloud, as his arms were wrenched, very forcibly, behind his back, nearly dislocating his shoulders. He couldn’t allow his hands to be cuffed! If his patient needed him, he wouldn’t be able to treat her. Once again, the scrawny—but wiry—paramedic was able to pull free of the goon-with-the-gun’s grip. Gage grimaced and gasped, as the cop’s huge right hand suddenly latched onto his neck—in an unlawful choke hold!

The fireman tried to free himself, but, with both his airway and his corotid arteries blocked, his oxygen-deprived brain immediately began shutting down. ‘I guess this guy is willing to use deadly force, after all…’ was the last thought John had—and his frantic friend yelling, ‘He-ey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!’ was the last thing John heard—right before his whole world went dark.

Mueller had been trying, in vain, to pull the policeman’s white-knuckled hand from the Johnny’s throat. With DeSoto’s help, he finally succeeded in doing so.

Roy caught his collapsing partner under the arms and Johnny’s limp body was carefully lowered onto the pavement. The paramedic gave his ‘patient’ a quick, but thorough, once over. His friend was both unresponsive and barely breathing. "Denny, you wanna grab our spare respirator? It’s in the lower, left, rear compartment of the Squad…"

Roy reluctantly left Johnny’s side and jumped up into the back of the ambulance, to attend to their primary patient. He was tremendously relieved to find the elderly lady’s eyes open. "How are you doing, Mrs. Riser?" he asked, and lifted the oxygen mask a little, so he could hear her reply.

"Don’t you worry none about him," Roy urged, with a reassuring hand squeeze and a slight smile. "Johnny’s gonna be just fine. Hear all those sirens out there?"

"The other squad and another ambulance are here. So you just rest easy, all right? And they’ll have you at the hospital in practically no time at all."

Mrs. Riser somehow managed to muster up the where-with-all to flash her reassuring rescuer a grateful smile. "Go…attend…to your…friend," she urged, in a breathless whisper.

Roy gave the kind—and understanding—old lady a grateful grin of his own. Then he replaced her oxygen mask, gathered up their radios, and the rest of their gear, and disappeared out the back, passing the paramedics from 36’s in the ambulance’s open doorway.

The two new arrivals didn’t need to ask what had happened to Johnny. Thanks to their HT’s open mic’, everybody, within hearing range of a Los Angeles County Fire Department radio, already knew everything that had happened to him!

DeSoto jumped back down and immediately dropped to his knees beside his choked chum. "Thanks!" he told Denny, as he accepted the plastic case he’d asked the attendant to fetch for him. The paramedic got his patient’s O2 established and then began gathering his vital signs.

Following a few dozen or so puffs of pure oxygen, Johnny emitted a low moan. Just moments later, his eyelids fluttered open. Crazy cop was hovering over him, and his partner was kneeling beside him. Apparently, leveler heads had both arrived—and prevailed…because he was still breathing.

Roy smiled down at him. "Hi there! How yah feelin’?" The paramedic’s grin vanished, as his partner grimaced in pain and started reaching for his crushed throat.

Da-amn! Did it hurt to swallow! Gage coughed and gagged, as his first few attempts at speaking failed—miserably. "I’m…okay…I gue-ess…" he finally managed to croak, in a barely audible whisper. "I got one…Harvey-Wall-Banger…of a headache...though."

Roy gripped his hurting friend’s right wrist reassuringly. "Yeah…well…that probably comes from being choked—practically to dea-eath!"

John flashed his partner back a smile that showed he appreciated both the support…and the sarcasm.

The new arrival piled out of his patrol car and then listened, patiently, as the ‘arresting officer’ presented his version of what had transpired at the scene of his ‘traffic stop’.

John Gage was glad that he had regained consciousness, because the look the new cop gave his raving—and still raging—colleague was priceless! The paramedic wouldn’t have wanted to miss seeing that—for anything!

The back-up cop gave his fellow police officer a stare of complete and utter disbelief, and then used his dazed peepers to clearly pose the following question: ‘Are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind?’

Yup! John figured that one look just about summed the whole ‘situation’ up—in a nutshell.

The bully with the badge—and the trigger-happy fingers—was obviously experiencing a ‘psychotic episode’…of some bizarre sort.

John Gage locked gazes with his partner and cleared his sore throat again. "Guess people kin blow fuses, too, huh…"

Roy DeSoto watched as the vehemently protesting—and completely out of control—cop was escorted away from the firetrucks and ambulances and over to one of the patrol cars. "Apparently so…" he sadly surmised. The fireman then redirected his gaze back to his groggy buddy. "C’mon!" he encouraged, and extended a helping hand. "Let’s go get you checked out."

"I don’t need to be checked out," his partner protested—er, croaked, as he was pulled stiffly to his unsteady feet. "Apart from the headache, I’m perfectly okay. Besides, I ain’t exactly sure. But I think I might be under arrest. If I leave here with you, you could be accused of ‘aiding and abetting’ a criminal."

Roy rolled his eyes and began ‘aiding and abetting’ the ‘escaping prisoner’ over to their rescue truck. "Thanks for the warning, John Dillinger. But I’m willing to chance it." He pulled the passenger door open. "No-ow, get your ‘disheveled’ self into the Squad."

"You okay, Johnny?" Denny wondered, as he approached the Rescue Squad’s open passenger window.

The attendant nodded, also. "The other officer says I’ll be free to leave, just as soon as he takes my statement. He told me to tell you that he’ll catch up with you later on, at the hospital."

"Probably because he made Roy, here, promise to sit on you until he gets there."

Roy finished stowing their gear. The paramedic climbed in behind the wheel and then just sat there, completely ignoring his partner’s accusing stare.

Gage gave up and turned back to the open window. "Thanks, man!" he told the attendant and proffered his right hand.

The pair waved goodbye and DeSoto began driving off, in the direction of the hospital.

"Ro-oy," Johnny began, following a few moments of thoughtful silence, "if I am ever arrested…and thrown in jail…will you promise to come down and bail me out?"

"I'll promise to bail you out," his partner promptly replied, "if you'll promise to bail me out…"

The pair rode along in blessed silence for a few more blocks, before Johnny finally realized something. "Wait a minute. What happens if we’re both thrown in jail...at the same time?"

"No problem," DeSoto assured him. "I’ll just have Joanne bake us one of those special cakes…you know, the ones with the files hidden inside of them?"

Captain Stanley informed Gage that Vince Howard had left a message for the paramedic to call him, at his earliest possible convenience.

Hoping for some good news, John pulled a handful of change from his pants’ pocket and headed over to the coin-operated payphone in the corner of the rec’ room.

"Hi, Vince. This is John Gage. You wanted to talk to me?…Unh-huh-uh…I see-ee…" The paramedic listened for a few minutes. Then his face filled with a huge grin.

"That’s terrific news!…Yea-eah…Right…Me, too…Right…Sure thing, Vince! Thanks for lettin’ me know, first-hand…Yeah…Okay…Sure…Okay…Will do! Goodbye." Gage hung up the phone. When he turned back around, he saw that his fellow firefighters—and friends—had assembled before him. The paramedic beamed a broad grin at each and every one of them. "Daniel Martinson will no longer be wearing a badge—or carrying a loaded weapon. The DA said he would be willing to plead the kidnapping and felony assault charges down to disorderly conduct and reckless endangerment, if Mr. Martinson would agree to attend court-ordered anger management classes…and undergo a prescribed number of psycho-therapy sessions. Martinson accepted the plea bargain!"

Author’s note: This is one of those ‘ripped right from the headlines’ kind a’ stories, like you always seem to see on Law & Order.

Back on May 24th of this year, (2009) he made a traffic stop on an emergency vehicle—in transport—and then, in a fit of road rage, assaulted and placed an unlawful choke-hold on the Paramedic.

You can see video-taped footage of the entire disgraceful incident on the internet.