Use Your Head
“I tell ya, something’s gotta be done!” Johnny Gage said with conviction as he confronted the officer.
The lawman held his ground, “Motorcyclists have the right to go without a helmet, and therefore no one will press charges.”
“But he caused the collision!” The dark-haired Los Angeles County Paramedic’s voice crescendoed.
Joe Early, an attending at Rampart General Hospital, intervened. “Tell me again what happened.”
“If they had been wearing helmets this never would’ve happened!” Johnny interrupted.
Roy ignored him, “It sounds bizarre, but a guy and his girlfriend were riding on a motorcycle. A bird,” he paused, “did his business and it landed on her head. She freaked, distracting the driver, who lost control. An auto plowed into them and the cyclist is in critical condition now. His companion broke her femur.”
“Helmets should be required,” the initiator of the conversation insisted, glaring at the policeman.
Deputy Worthington relaxed his stance, “I don’t disagree with you but I’m sworn to uphold the law.”
“What’s the issue anyway? Doesn’t it make perfect sense to wear a helmet?” Johnny’s demeanor was less hostile now.
“Opponents say they have a right to decide whether or not to do so; it shouldn’t be mandated.”
“Don’t they understand how dangerous it is not to wear one?”
“Johnny, they think they’re invincible.” Dr. Early asserted, “Until something irreversible happens to them.”
“It boils down to changing the law and educating riders on why a helmet is necessary,” the deputy informed Johnny.
“Well, it should happen now,” Johnny continued his rant on the way to the station and as he attacked lunch, “And another thing…”
“Johnny, you’re preaching to the choir.” Captain Stanley buttered his bread, “We’ve seen the effects of cyclists who decide not to use helmets.”
Before the paramedic-on-a-mission could respond, the klaxons broke in. Squad 51, man down, 1473 East 227th Street.
When they rolled up to the address, a frantic woman met them at the curb. “It’s my husband, Gary; he was cleaning our gutters and fell off the ladder!”
Gary was on the ground, moaning, “Don’t move!” Roy DeSoto ordered as Johnny sprinted to the truck for a backboard.
“Oh, it hurts!” Gary couldn’t see the compound fracture of his tibia, but the pain was obvious on his contorted face.
Roy tore open a 4 x 4 bandage and covered the wound, securing it with first aid tape. “I know it hurts but you could make yourself worse if you keep moving.”
“Can you give me something for the pain?” Gary begged, reaching for the paramedic’s hand.
Roy’s face conveyed his sympathy, “I’m sorry. It’s possible you have a head injury; the hospital won’t authorize it.” He leaned closer to the man, “How did this happen?”
“I was standing on the ladder, stretching as far as I could, and it tipped,” he grimaced. “Before I could react, I was on the ground.”
“That’s a two-story house,” Johnny noted as he positioned the backboard beside Gary. “But your ladder’s a twenty-four footer, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I was on the top rung.” Filled with remorse, he winced, “I know, it says it’s dangerous, but I was only gonna be up there for a few minutes.”
“I’ll get on the horn,” Johnny unlatched the biocom and contacted the hospital, “We have a male, thirty-five, fell twenty feet off a ladder; we have him on a backboard and have applied a C-collar. He has a broken left lower leg and contusions.”
After hearing his vitals, Dr. Brackett ordered an IV with Ringer’s lactate and transport as soon as possible. At Rampart, Johnny escorted him into Exam Room 4 and updated the doctor on his condition. He met Roy in the corridor. “I tell ya, Roy, that man shouldn’t have been doing that!”
“I agree, Johnny, but what are you going to do? Make a law? Arrest him for ignoring the warning they plaster on the equipment?”
“I don’t know, but it rubs me the wrong way.” The dark-haired beanstalk loped to the water fountain and took a long swallow. “I hired on for this job but I’d like to decrease the number of casualties.”
“I’m sure the department is open to your suggestions.” Roy shifted the drug box to his other hand and exited from the facility with Johnny.
~*~*~*~
A week passed and Johnny’s tirade over people’s inane decisions dulled. Thus far, the shift had been typical, drills and duty assignments in the morning, a paramedic refresher on inserting esophageal airways in the afternoon, and spaghetti for supper. Roy was drying a glass when the station received a call, MVA at 207 East Carson Street, cross street Dolores.
They spied several crumpled cars before parking near the incident; Johnny was out of the cab before the wheels stopped, rushing to the compartment for equipment. “I’ll take the white one.” As he got closer, he could see the driver, trapped by the steering column. He strong-armed the door open and stooped by the man. “What’s your name?”
“Ron, Ron Abbott.” The man gasped.
Johnny put a reassuring hand on his chest, “Just take it easy, we’ll have you out soon. Do you hurt anywhere?”
“My l-leg and it’s hard to breathe.” Ron reported through gritted teeth.
Johnny grasped the belt fastened around the man’s waist, “Good you were wearing this. It saved you from further injuries.”
“Whatcha got?” Marco teamed up with the paramedic, ready to assist.
Johnny rose, “We’re gonna need the Jaws of Life to remove him.” He glimpsed a toy fire truck in the back seat, “Ron? Was someone riding with you?”
“Yeah, Timmy. Isn’t he back there?” The motorist sounded surprised, and then became agitated.
Johnny stepped back to his side, “You need to calm down. Tell me about your boy. Was he belted in?”
“No, we were just coming back from the hardware store. That’s only a few miles from here.”
“Stay with him, I’ll hunt for Timmy.”
As Johnny began to search, he heard Chet shout. “Johnny! Roy! Over here!”
Trimmed bushes lined the street and the fireman’s voice was coming from the other side, near a large palm tree.
Johnny bolted toward him, “On my way, Chet!” The unrestrained youngster lay unmoving on the ground. “Get me a BP cuff and a stethoscope.” He began his assessment, noting the clear fluid coming from his ears, and then jotted down vital signs, asking Chet to impart them to Roy.
Roy’s face clouded when he read the information, “Rampart, we have an unconscious eight-year-old boy with a head injury. He was unrestrained in a traffic collision. Pupils are unequal, fluid in ears, pulse is 116 and thready, respirations are 26 and shallow and the BP is 136/88.”
After receiving instructions from the hospital, Johnny started an IV with normal saline and heaved a sigh of relief when transportation arrived. On the way, Johnny got a new set of vitals on the ride in and registered variations from his initial numbers. Nurse Dixie McCall escorted him to an exam room where Dr. Early was inside, dictating his wishes.
“Doctor? Timmy Abbot’s BP is 144/96, pulse is 124 and respirations are 22 and labored.”
“Thanks, Johnny. I think we’ve got it from here.”
A few minutes later, Dixie exited with blood samples and contacted the x-ray technician.
“Well?” An impatient Johnny queried.
Dixie concluded her call, “It’s too soon to tell.”
Johnny stayed at the base station and poured a cup of coffee. Roy strolled up, “You okay?”
“Roy, you know as well as I do that kid wouldn’t be in this shape if he had a seat belt on.” He took a draught of the strong, black brew and set down the mug.
Roy circumvented him, “Johnny, several years ago cars didn’t even have seatbelts.”
“But they don’t do any good if people don’t use them,” Johnny paced, backing out of the way when a nurse came into the area for a suture tray. “I think there should be a law.”
“Maybe there should be,” Roy conceded, “do you think that will solve everything?”
“It might be a step toward what we need.” Johnny broke off as Dr. Early came into sight.
The physician eyed the concerned paramedic, “I wish I could give you a definitive answer about Timmy. He’s on his way to surgery. If he pulls through he may spend weeks in therapy.”
“Lemme know how he’s doing, Doc.”
~*~*~*~
Roy heard the click of his companion’s seatbelt. “Roy, it’s getting harder to see people on the pavement that should never be there.”
“Look, Johnny, I’m on your side.” Roy waved for the car to his left to turn. “What’s gotten into you these days?”
“I’m not sure,” Johnny tried to analyze the situation. “Before, when I was a rescue man, we were limited in what we could do. But now, we have training to do so much more and they drill the golden hour into us. I guess I feel like we’re dealing with fool’s gold.”
“You’re waxing eloquent, Junior. Do tell.” Roy checked his speed as he neared the station.
Johnny thumped the dashboard, “In other words, people are making stupid decisions that shouldn’t require our services.”
“So, are you just gonna be angry about it, or do something?” The unit backed into the station.
The brooding medic debated, “I haven’t decided.” As he entered the dayroom The Phantom’s water bomb distracted him.
Roy took the prankster aside, “Thanks, Chet. Johnny needed cooling off.”
“Anytime, Roy. Always ready to help.” He handed the dripping firefighter a towel. “The Phantom lurks everywhere.”
“Tell him to ambush another pigeon.”
~*~*~*~
Several shifts passed and the paramedics dropped by Rampart. When they entered the emergency complex, they saw Dr. Early and Nurse McCall conversing.
“I’m sorry, Dixie. None of us wanted this outcome.”
“What’s up?” Johnny requested, feeling a knot envelope his stomach.
The head nurse put her hand on his shoulder, “We just heard. Timmy Abbott didn’t make it.”
“His dad wore a seatbelt, why didn’t he make sure his son had his on?”
“Let’s go to the lounge and get a cup of coffee.”
“Yeah, we can solve the world’s problems over a cup of coffee.” Johnny said with sarcasm.
“Johnny, you’re letting your emotions get to you,” Dixie reminded him. “You’re not going to be able to keep functioning this way.”
“What do you suggest?” the disillusioned paramedic responded.
Dr. Morton, who was getting ready to leave the lounge, contributed, “Use your head, Gage. Use your energy to teach people things they can do to avoid injuries.”
“What he said, Johnny,” Dixie McCall elaborated, “Offer to teach babysitting classes, talk at schools and old folks homes.”
“Looks like you’re gonna be busy, Pal.” Roy smiled at him.
Johnny perked up, “If it helps, I’m in. There are some people I know I’ll never assist, like you, Dixie.”
“You’re forgetting,” Dixie jogged his memory, “I got a concussion and a broken ankle from a shopping cart.”
“No, that was a mechanical malfunction,” Johnny defended her. The handie talkie blared, What’s your status, Squad 51?
“10-8.”
“I guess we better get back to quarters,” Roy scooted in his chair and the two men left.
Later that afternoon, the squad was routed to the hospital. Squad 51, person caught in vending machine. Rampart General Hospital.
“Did I hear that right?” Johnny asked as keyed the mic.
Roy confirmed, “They said person stuck in vending machine.”
“Wonder what little kid did that?”
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Roy slid the squad into a space by the door.
With the paramedic tackle box in hand, Johnny trotted next to him. Doctor Morton met them in the lobby. Johnny did a double take when he spotted the victim. “Dixie?”
“Yup, I was trying to get my change out of the machine. It shorted me.”
“Anyone try the vending company?” Roy enquired as he knelt down next to the contraption. In a short time, Roy released her.
As she flexed her fingers she heard a page. “Gotta go. Thanks.”
Johnny gathered their belongings and replaced them in the case. “I was stunned when it was Dixie. I never woulda imagined her doing that in a million years.”
“Face it, Johnny, we’re human.”
“Did you see the expression on Dixie’s face? It was priceless!” The formerly solemn paramedic chuckled.
“Better be careful, Johnny. You’ll be next in the “comedy of errors” injury category.”
“Me?”
Later that day, Johnny checked the generators to confirm they had adequate gas and oil to keep them running smoothly. As he labored, the fireman’s hands grew greasy. The job was nearly complete when the dispatcher’s voice redirected him. Squad 51, unknown type rescue, La Bonita Restaurant, 300 East Sepulveda.
Adrenaline rushing, Johnny scampered toward the squad, stepped on a plug lying near the generator and lost his footing. He grabbed for the bars on the back of the squad, but his slippery hands didn’t hold and he landed on the cement floor with a resounding thud. 51, cancel.
The noise caused the crew to burst into the bay. Roy observed him testing his jaw.
“You hurt?”
“I think I’m all right.” Johnny, with assistance, got back on his feet, rubbing a rising bruise on his left knee.
“How’d this happen anyway?” The captain grilled him.
The lifesaver explained, “I was working on the generators and I guess I got a little messy. When I thought we had a call I hustled to the squad and tripped on a plug and since my hands were slick, I couldn’t stop myself in time.”
“You sure you don’t need to be checked out?” Captain Stanley considered the man.
The center of attention shook his head, “Honest, Cap, I’m fine.”
“Make sure you are. Now, shouldn’t you have been cleaning up while you worked?” Captain Stanley admonished him.
Johnny took the unsoiled rag presented to him. “Sorry, Cap. I didn’t know this would happen.”
“Well, use your head next time, would ya?” The officer retired to his office.
After all the others trickled away, Roy spoke to his fellow paramedic, “Well, Johnny, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“Uh,” the man deliberated, “nothing.” With that he grinned and retraced his steps to the generator.
Author’s notes: In the episode Surprise Dixie McCall did break her ankle and receive a concussion from a shopping cart. In Inferno, Dixie’s hand is stuck in a coffee machine. I changed this to fit my story.
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Stories by Marty P. September Picture 2008
