Lortab and Listerine

I really miss my time in Bethel some days. We had such great friends and the community was great. BFD was my first paid position as a firefighter and what a great experience it turned out to be.

Another aspect of village life that I miss is the nut jobs. We had people possessed with demons, suffering from complete exhaustion after attempting to exterminate the bugs coming out of their carpet (for 4 days), and even a man who thought that if the battery in his phone died, his heart would stop beating.

Also in abundance were the plain old drunk and stupid. Today brought me back to that time when we went to assist a gentleman who had taken more than his prescribed amount of Lortab. Not a sin in its own right, who am I to judge his pain. It was the Listerine chaser that put over that proverbial edge.

For those of you who may not know, Bethel is a damp village. This means you can consume alcohol, but you can't buy or sell alcoholic beverages in town. This lead to people looking for alternate means to get their booze. Listerine for instance. Also on the list are Lysol (gently filtered through a pristine piece of white bread), extracts like vanilla and root beer, and lastly perfume, which knocks you out AND gets all the guys-not always a good combination.

That's why this call brought back that flood of memories. It's been such a long, long time since I've been able to smell the minty fresh breath of an alcoholic looking for that certain something. That certain something left this guy unable to walk. He was awake and relatively alert, but could get up off the road where he apparently was dropped off by his girlfriend.

He didn't want any help other than to get to his bed to sleep it off, so we obliged and propped him up against the wall of his apartment.

Sure miss those good ol' days of Bethel.

Fire Department Softball

Nothing beats a good game of softball with the guys. Last week was a highlight in our season. Based on some bad attitudes needing adjusted, we sent Probie Dick off to steal second. Stealing the base was only part of it. Benson also succeeded in breaking the leg of the second baseman. Attitude adjusted.

Now you would think that a bunch of fireman would be able to help this poor guy, but all we really wanted to do was keep playing. Sure we called the ambulance, but only after standing over him in a taunting fashion say, "Yup, looks broke..."

The umpires wouldn't let us drag him off the field to keep playing so the game was rescheduled for the end of the season which, unfortunatley, is quickly approaching.

Oooops!!

Sometimes there are days when you should just stay in bed. Sometimes those days are nights, kinda like last night. Unlike the picture, I wasn't totally without clothing.

I suppose the time was about 2:30 in the very a.m. Tones went off for something, I wasn't sure what at the time. We both staggered out into the bays and into the truck.

"Dude." The hoarse voice of my partner.

"What?" Still not sure what I'm doing up at such an ungodly hour.

"Dude!!" Looking at me very oddly.

It was then that I realized that I had pulled on my boots and walked out to the truck in my T-Shirt, underwear and boots...

So there I sit, no pants, ready to spring into action and save lives, or whatever it was that we were being called for.

That sort of thing tends to wake you up rather quickly. I piled out of the truck and ran back to my bunk, again in my undies and black combat boots. Not a pleasant image I'm sure. I returned again and went to work.

Over Haul

The understatement for the day is that our vehicle maintenance program is lacking. It's always a crap shoot when you mention something that is wrong with a vehicle. You are either ignored, told it's supposed to be that way, or your vehicle disappears for a while. Some of you may say that that's how it works. I'll add also that your vehicle comes back with no mention of what has been done, if anything. A good portion of the time the problem will persist. We have actually ruined motors and blown transmissions in the middle of a transport because things weren't repaired properly. This time is no different.

The exhaust on the ambulance I've been working on was installed poorly and the custom work done by our "mechanic" made it worse. Every time we pull up to a curb, the exhaust is bent back so that it rubs on the rear tires. Don't pull so close was the mechanics "fix" for this problem. Kick the crap out of it so it doesn't sit on the tire was our fix.

On the day in question, we were turning around in a parking lot. A curb lay in front of us. This obstacle to our progress later measured out to be a mere 2" tall. It may as well have been a foot.

We stopped short of the curb and had a brief conversation that went something like:

"You think we can get over that?"

"I would hope so."

"Yeah...It really is just a baby curb."

"Guess we'll find out."

We proceeded with the understanding that if a four year old could ride her bike over this thing (a girl on a bike skirted around us as we pondered), a $250,000 piece of fire equipment would have no problem. It wasn't a firm faith that we were operating under, but more like a defiant "It had better make it."

Just before we began to roll the phone rang. Some of the superstitious types may call this an omen, a sign, a harbinger, a prophecy. I just answered the phone, my driver kept driving. I was busy explaining to my Captain why lunch would be late when the truck lurched to a stop.

The words "Please hold," or "Hang on a second," never crossed my mind. The captain got a distorted version of "Uhhhhh..."

We looked at each other with that "Did that really just happen?" look and almost simultaneously piled out of our respective doors.

The exhaust, which had previous protruded from in front of the rear tire appeared absent. Further inspection showed, however, that it had been forced back by our "baby curb" until the rear tires had forced it under them and sucked it rearward. It was now wedged between the two tires. We were stuck. Driving forward would rip the piping out from under the truck. Backing up would ram the system back into the belly of the beast, also a bad option.

The captain actually remained on the line for our entire assessment, and patiently at that.

"We need your help," was all that I could muster. I told him we'd need the Sawz-All and a pry bar. Both are standard issue on the trucks, but things weren't really processing at the moment.

After being chewed out for not providing their meal on time, they said they were on their way. We sat in the parking lot, blocking several cars' escapes as we waited.

We cut the pipe off, tossed it up on the gurney like some mangled, petrified snake, and drove towards the shop. The disgrace was not, however, over. A shower of sparks poured out from the underside of our misfortuned conveyance. All the while drawing the attention of well meaning citizens waving and signaling at our dislodged muffler.

"Just smile and wave boys." The only sentiment that came to mind.

The wife will be upset for my not getting my chores done before playing, but I remembered a great story that just had to be shared.

We get called to a clinic to assist in lifting someone off the floor. This isn't an unusual call for us. We frequent a lot of nursing homes to help the elderly back into beds or their wheelchairs. We didn't have any reason to think this was any different. That was until we opened the door.

On the floor of the men's room was 625 lbs. of back injury waiting to happen. This gentleman had found his way between the toilet and the wall. For reasons unknown to me, this is a common place for people to get lodged. His pants (tent) were around his ankles. Again, the usual place for people in his situation. The concept of emergency medicine goes right out the window when something like this presents itself. We are no longer firefighters and paramedics, but rather all turn into a collective mind of contortionists, engineers, plumbers, and magicians passing ideas around the group like mashed potatoes around the dinner table.

We break from our huddle and take our respective positions. Strategically placing one on the toilet, two at the feet and a floater to make sure we don't break and arm (the patients--we aren't afforded such courtesy) or pull a chuck of flesh off.

With a good coordinated attack and a little KY, our patient is pulled free. A job well done, right? Wrong. Somehow our task morphs into us following the patient home and helping him up the stairs and onto a couch.

Across town we engineer a new battle plan. Two above pulling and two below pushing get the job done. Home we go to choke down a few Motrin and a Pepsi.

You all thought that was the story. Guess again!! That was just the intro. Here we go.

Last day of the set. Always a good feeling to know that in less than 24 hours you can disappear for 4 days and no one need know where you are or when you'll return, except the wife of course.

We are called to a patient with difficulty breathing a few blocks away. Ambulance goes, engine stays.

The smell is something that very few will ever experience and describing it does it no justice. Infection, urine and filth all rolled into a foul and potent stogie.

As we come up the stairs, we see the kids running back and forth in the living room. It isn't until we reach the top of the stairs that we realize what or who it is that they are jumping/sliding on. It's our patient from earlier in the week lying face down on the floor, unable to move.

We ask him if he's injured and how he got where he is. The story is that he slid off the couch the day we put him there and hasn't moved since. This is where I asked myself, "What the ****!!?" He tells us he slid down and was sitting reclining for about a day. His leg fell asleep so he tried to reposition and rolled onto his face, where he remained for 3 more days.

Don't worry though, he wasn't alone. He spent these 3 days face down on the floor of his BROTHER'S HOUSE!!!!! His trash brother had brought him food and a mug to drink water out of while he lay unable to move on his floor. It wasn't until his own crushing weight made it difficult for him to breath that he asked his brother to bring him a phone and he called 911 himself.

We were able to roll him over to ease his breathing, but that's when things got real tough. He couldn't hold himself up, so we put a sheet under his armpits and held him in a sitting position. The source of the stench became morbidly apparent after we rolled him over and watched the maggots crawl over his gangrenous leg. You see, his weight had led to the lack of circulation in his leg and that along with his own excrement had sped the process of decay.

There was no way we'd get him out as just the two of us, so we called the engine. Once they arrived, we rolled him onto a tarp and dragged him out like an elk that had fallen into a tight spot. We eased him down the stairs, infection and urine pooling on the tarp in front of our faces. The entire time we were working, the captain, having exercised his right as most senior and highest ranking individual, waited outside.

To wrap things up, we got him to the hospital where he lost his leg and nearly 100 lbs of adipose tissue that had rotted. We also informed child protective services of the conditions those children were living in.

Story time!

We were called to the trailer of a family that we know very well. The family consists of a mother and two daughters, all of whom are over 500 lbs.

Generally, our calls are related to a difficulty breathing and this time was no different. We arrived at the address and went inside. Mom and "Daughter A" were sitting in their customary recliners, pizza boxes are scattered about and Jerry Springer is blaring on the TV. It seemed all was right with this morbid part of the world.

"She's in the back." Bellowed one of the pair. So towards the back we go.

A home health nurse of some type is standing in a doorway. As we turn the corner into a tiny bathroom, a whole lot of woman is taking up the back half. "She couldn't get up off the toilet and now she's having a hard time breathing." Manages the nurse.

As I work my way into the cramped quarters, I see a toilet brush in the sink, covered with feces. Catching my attention I hear from behind me a muffled "What's that for?" I am ripped back to reality by a gruff "For wiping my a**!!" Whoa...Didn't see that one coming!

We get our patient up off the pot and into the hall before she says "I still have to go to the bathroom." Before any of us could ever hope to imagine we were hearing things, the nurse says "Just go ahead and go sweetie. We'll take care of it later." My only thought was that I'm certain I didn't just hear those words escape from her mouth. A few shuffles down the hall later the nurse unbuttons her trap and lets its poison pour out again. "Just go ahead and go." Then "Daughter B" says three words that may disturb me for the rest of my career. "I already did."

Here's where you all say "Eeewwwwww!" And this is where I say "You have no idea!"

Our sadist nurse acts as voice for the crowd when she says "Well, where is it?"

Now, I've heard that victims of violent crime as well as those whose house may be burning to the ground feel time slow down to the point where they are able to reflect and actually tell themselves "This isn't happening." I suppose this was a sort of violence, because what happened next will, without doubt, leave a scar.

All I heard was, "I don't know. DIG IT OUT!!" I'm sure I suffered a stroke or something because I don't remeber anything else.

I had a pretty wild night at the hospital last night. I am currently doing my clinical rotations at the hospital for my Paramedic studies and I was working with the ECG techs for the night.

During the shift, a "Code Blue" was called to the ICU, so up we went. A patient had gone into cardiac arrest and they were calling all hands to come and work on him. We arrived just after the doctors, which put us after the nurses, respiratory therapists, lab techs and pharmacy techs (doctors are always the last to arrive).

The patient had had a lung removed earlier and apparently had been bleeding into his chest the whole time. Now he was so low on blood that his heart just stopped beating. Because the blood was all trapped in his chest, he also had a lot of pressure on his heart and other lung.

The docs pulled out his staples and cracked his chest open again. This, I would have to say was the coolest part of the whole procedure. They just opened him up wide and went to work removing the blood and clots. The whole time this doc is up to his elbows inside this poor fellows chest cavity he is asking for some sterile gloves. They never made it.

The doc was literally shoveling blood out of the patient and the whole time, this one lonely fly is buzzing around the place. Finally the doc had to stop and look around. As calm as could be, as if he was welcoming the family to Thanksgiving dinner, he said "Could some one get this fly out of here?" Then he carried on.

They got a pulse back on this particular patient and wheeled him down to the OR. He was still alive when I left.

If there's one thing that all firemen love, regardless of whether they are professional or volunteer, that would be to hear and tell stories. I'm not talking about the "my department is cooler than your department" stuff, but just the good, the bad and the ugly of the fire service. Although, if you want a good story about who's tougher, Google the fight between the Boise firefighter and the BLM firefighter. Bet you can guess who wins!! I'll try and keep some of everything in here. Monica tells me that I don't talk enough about my job and I think it's because I find some things are so mundane. I'll try and get some of everything. You can look in the labels for Tall Tales and that's where all the stories will be.

I met a man today who I would not wish to be, nor would I wish what happened to him upon any but the most vile of criminals and liberals.

Today we were called to help a man with a traumatic injury. Upon our arrival we found a man who had gotten his coveralls caught in the belt of a spud conveyor. He miraculously spun out of his coveralls only to be pulled in by his jeans. While being dragged into the machinery, his junk got caught in the belt, tearing open his scrotum and nearly severing his penis.

Like I said, something only a select few should have to experience.

The guy was quite lucid and, as long as he wasn't being moved,
relatively pain free (so he said). A crowd of his co-workers had gathered around and were sharing words of support at the same time we exposed his injuries. Beethoven himself could not have composed a more harmonious symphony of groans and gasps. The moans of his brothers (if by anatomy alone) were sympathetic and truly heart felt.

We drugged the poor fellow up and hauled him to the hospital. To my knowledge, he kept all of his bits and pieces.