Some days seem very routine. You know those days…the alarm clock goes off; shower is taken; coffee is consumed; news is read (but not really); errands are run. Nothing “special” happens on those days. For a First Responder, those days are pretty good. But we don’t like too many of those days…
I wasn’t the “FNG” (F@%^ing New Guy) at work anymore. I didn’t have to be the perfectly put-together, buttoned-up medic. I no longer wore an ironed uniform every day (ok…most days I did). I sported my cream colored Gap baseball cap that was fraying in all the right spots. My sweatshirt was almost always tied around my waist, and my Dr. Martens were polished. But I tried to have my makeup looking spot on. It must have been the Prom Queen in me!
Since I was no longer the FNG, I was also trusted with various student riders (It seemed like just yesterday that I was that student rider!). On this particular night, my partner and I had an EMT student and recruit from the Fire Academy riding along. We piled into the ambulance, and my partner beat me to the mic. He keyed it, “Good evening. Unit 103 is in service, and we have Firefighter “Ken Doll” as a rider tonight.” I rolled my eyes. Thus begins the machismo wars. (FYI…good thing I was looking cute that night!)
We ran some “good” medical calls (good: meaning learning experiences). I taught our student the correct way to take a blood pressure (before automated BP machines were carried on the rig). I hoped by the end of the night I had drilled it in to him that 1. if you can’t hear the blood pressure through the stethoscope, have someone else try. 2. NEVER lie about a blood pressure reading! 3. Manual blood pressures NEVER have odd numbers! If he followed those simple rules on a call, he wouldn’t have an angry paramedic.
It was time to teach our student where to eat “lunch” at 1:00 a.m. We were just going to make it to a local pizza place that sees a mad rush after the bars close. My mouth was watering just thinking about their pepperoni pizza dipped in honey. (Yes, you read that correctly…it’s a must try!)
BEEP. BEEP. “Unit 103 (Insert scream here!) respond to the apartments at 5th and Primrose. Apartment #423 on a welfare check.” Lights…check. Sirens…check. “Unit 103 enroute.” Pizza…later.
We pulled up to the apartment building, and there were several police cars and a fire truck parked at the curb. “103 is on scene.” Dispatch advised that PD needed us to bring the cardiac monitor. Uh oh. And lucky us, there was no working elevator in this old building. At least I would have a huge appetite by the time this call was over! Remember Rule #1?
Rule #1: Cardio… (You would think I would learn!)
Huff, puff. Were the bags this heavy at the truck? I was sweating like a prostitute in…you get the idea. So much for trying to look cute for our “Firefighter Calendar”-Rookie. By the time we reached the stairs between the third and fourth floors, I got a whiff of something foul. This wasn’t a good sign. Makeup wasn’t the only thing I carried in my EMS pants… I pulled out a small tub of Mentholatum from the lowest pocket of my pants. I gouged a big line through the center of the minty gelatinous substance, and swiped it under my nose. I offered it to my partner and the recruit. My partner was smart, the recruit wanted to be macho. (Insert yet another eyeroll.)
As we approached the hallway where #423 was located, there was a police officer dry heaving by an open window. A firefighter in full bunker gear with the SCBA walked out of the apartment. UGH. Another police officer that was sporting a nice shade of chartreuse, walked out of the front door and told us to go in and verify that the patient was dead. I was assuming by the smell that this was merely a formality.
The conditions inside the apartment were dismal, at best. Even though it was only October, for some reason, the heat had been cranked inside the small space. The temperature was stifling. There were roaches crawling over the mounds of dirty plates on the kitchen counters. The furniture was lopsided and filthy. Trash was strewn all over. My feet stuck to the carpet as I walked down the hall to the bedroom.
I walked into the bedroom where the patient was, and I came to a screeching halt. I was told that our victim was a 55 year old male, but that was not what was lying on that bed. The body on the bed was a purplish/yellowish/greenish mixture of colors, and bloated like a fish on the beach (after a few days in the sun). My partner and the recruit walked in right behind me. The patient’s swollen flesh, inflated like a balloon that is about to pop, jiggled with each step across the floor. There was a collective gasp.
I wasn’t sure why we were needed for confirmation that this man was dead. There was nothing about him that was compatible with life. Per our protocols, we had certain criteria that needed to be met to confirm death: 1. Injuries non-compatible with life (i.e. decapitation) 2. Rigor mortis or lividity 3. Asystole confirmed in 3 leads on the cardiac monitor. I didn’t think we were going to need the monitor for this one (sarcasm at it’s finest).
Aaaaaand… just as that thought passed through my brain pan…the recruit has somehow managed to pull out the EKG stickers, and was about to put them on the enlarged corpse in front of us. The next several moments were like a movie running in slow motion. “Nnnnnnnoooooooo!” But we were too late.
The corpse exploded like a firework on the 4th of July!
The putrefied remains splattered all over anything and everything that was in a ten foot radius. The police officer that was in the doorway ran out like he was on fire. My partner was heaving in the corner. WTF!?!? I had zero sympathy for our student as he was getting sick all over himself. Hunky Firefighter was now Chunky Firefighter.
Rule #7: If it’s not yours, DON’T Touch It!
Apparently we had successfully determined that this patient was deceased. I turned and squished out of the room. My clothes were drenched in human goo, and I smelled like my dog after she had rolled in something dead in the yard. Note to self: Burn these clothes…but save the Dr. Martens!
I slunk out to the ambulance, and put a disposable blanket over my seat. I slouched down in my seat so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact with any Fire or Police as we pulled away from the scene. My partner and I informed the numskull in the back of our rig to sit there, DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING, and keep your mouth shut! We rode in disgusting silence all the way back to Headquarters. As we jumped out of the rig, there was a round of laughter and snickers. Ha…ha. I was sure that I would laugh about this years later…many…many…many years later. But at that point, all I wanted was a hot shower, and maybe some bleach.