I saved a life last night.
We raced across the city with sirens blaring, cars pulling over rapidly as we roared past. Arriving at a lovely suburban house, my gorgeously sculpted partner effortlessly carried our bags in as I strode ahead. Long red curls cascaded smoothly down my back as I step into a gleaming white bathroom, smelling faintly of green apple cleaners. A well dressed man lay on the fluffy white bath mat, blue from the neck up and no longer breathing. I check quickly for a pulse and finding one, start giving him breaths with the BVM. My partner is intelligent and works fast, getting everything else done well I am occupied with airway management. Less than 10 minutes after we pulled up to the door, we sweep our patient through the wide, clean hallways on the stretcher and head off to the hospital. As his oxygen levels rise en route, he begins to wake up and is able to give me a thankful smile as we transfer him over to the resuscitation room bed and gracefully bow out of the room.
I saved a life last night.
We manoeuvred our way through traffic either too dumb or too preoccupied to get out of the way and finding the cop cars and tactical unit, pull up in front of the dilapidated apartment building. My sweet, slow and frustratingly unintelligent partner helps me drag our heavily loaded stretcher through the snow and mud, entering the narrow, foul smelling hallways of the notorious building. In the stinky apartment, officers question several sullen, uncooperative people on the couch and point us down the hallway. An inch of dirty water coats the filthy floor of the tiny bathroom where a scrawny man lays on his back, blue from the chest up. A tall tactical cop who is 95% muscle stands in the only available space and slowly begins to tell me what they found out. I interrupt and ask him (politely, I thought) to move, as I can tell from the door that the man is not breathing. He shoots me a dirty look as he moves out of the room, I guess he's not used to being told what to do. Ah well. I straddle the nasty-ass toilet, trying not to think about it, and begin to breathe for the patient. I direct my partner as she starts to check vitals, direct the firefighters to start packaging and ask the cops for more info. We lift him up and navigate carefully through the crowded apartment, getting a few more elbow bruises on our way out and hoping my widely frizzy hair doesn't escape from its clips and hit critical mass. Less than 10 minutes after we pulled up to the door, we head off to the hospital. As his oxygen levels rise en route, he begins to wake up and starts to fight, thrashing and growling as we hold him down to the stretcher. Sweaty and hot, we finally transfer him over to the resuscitation room bed and slip out to clean our trashed truck and restock our empty bags.