The struggle with the alarm clock begins promptly at 6 a.m. It would scream, and I would slap it.
Ten minutes later, it howls again, and I mash it until finally, I capitulate and rise from the comfort of my bed. Shave, coffee, and I throw on some clothes for the ride to the station, this was my routine every third day.
The Drive In
I am a people watcher by nature and I can’t help it. People just fascinate me. Even under normal circumstances, I always find humor in the way people act, especially in public.
I was one block from the firehouse, and the light changed from yellow to red, forcing me to make a more abrupt stop than I wanted to. I took a glance over at the red sedan to my left and gave the older gentleman a nod.
His hands were adorned with a now-familiar sight, latex gloves. Everyone was wearing them. This virus really had people freaked and rightfully so. His N95 mask hung low around his neck, which made perfect sense. He was alone in the car, so the chances of anyone sneezing directly into his face were nil.
He returned the nod and began rifling for something in his passenger’s seat. When his gloved hand returned to my view, he had pulled out a McSandwich of some sort. As he slowly unwrapped his breakfast completely, he forces a larger than average bite into his mouth.
Our society is doomed, I think to myself. Think about it, latex glove, unwrapped sandwich right to his face, for the love of God, man. It’s excellent that people were using Personal Protection Equipment, but damnit learn how to use the stuff correctly.
The light turned green, and I make one last mental note of the guy’s face. I’ll be seeing him in a few days with a fever, cough, and difficulty breathing.
At The Station
After I parked my Jeep, I slowly meander toward the station bay. The large garage door was already open, and I could see the 104-foot aerial ladder truck I was responsible for during my 24-hour tour of duty. First things first before I even go in, I put on a set of gloves of my own and grab the Sani wipes off the table next to the truck. I decon everything! The other shifts were required to do it after every call, but quite frankly, I didn’t trust them.
As the driver engineer, decon was my responsibility anyway, so I didn’t mind doing it. Every door handle clean, every button inside the cab clean, steering wheel clean, seat belt clean, microphone and headsets clean. The entire apparatus sanitized for the first of many times today or until we ran out a Sani wipes, and that was only a matter of time.
I threw all my gear onto the truck and relieved the drivers on the previous shift. Finally, I could go inside the station and shoot the crap with the off-going guys. That was my favorite part of the job as a firefighter. There is nothing better than getting 10 Type-A personalities together and busting chops. They cracked on B shift, and we cracked on them. It was a morning ritual.
Before I could even make it into the day room, the tones drop. I listened to dispatch come over the loudspeakers trying to get the specifics about the call. I recognized the address immediately. It was one of our “frequent flyers”, a term for a person who calls 911 a lot. She falls on occasion, and we usually just help her back into her recliner.
Unintended Consequences
After speeding across town with lights and sirens blaring, we finally arrive at the double-wide trailer. As we pull all of our medical gear out of the truck, we were greeted by the elderly lady’s niece.
“She’s is in bad shape! Hurry up,” she said, frantically waving us into the living room.
My lieutenant and another firefighter rushed ahead of me, each wearing gloves, N95 masks, and goggles. I needed to get some more information before I made patient contact.
“When was the last time you saw her acting normally, ma’am?” I asked.
“About three days ago, I checked on her. We usually come by every day, but since this whole virus thing, we kept our distance. You know we didn’t want to get her sick,” the niece was now crying.
Our patient Ms. V was in terrible shape; she was lying on the ground in her living room. From the look of her, she had been there for a very long while. We stabilized her to the best of our ability then got her on the move to the closest emergency room.
Ms. V certainly didn’t have the virus, but she was definitely a casualty of the COVID hysteria, one of the many that never go reported. That never gets factored into the final tally.
Before we even made it back to the station, our radio came to life again. It was another one of our frequent flyers. Mrs. S is an elderly patient who suffers from COPD. We see her whenever we get sudden changes in the weather, or the pollen count gets too high, exacerbating her symptoms.
Never Trust Dispatch
Same drill except we put on a new set of gloves and reuse the N95 mask we had on for the last patient. We were only issued one. On the previous shift when I asked for an extra mask, I was chastised for not understanding the dire shortages we were experiencing on PPE by my administration. So to hell with it, I hope Lysol kills the virus.
Dispatch gave us the particulars on the call, “You are responding to a 95-year-old female with a complaint of shortness of breath. No fever. No Cough, and no respiratory problems.”
“Well, that made sense,” my L.T. laughed.
“Never trust dispatch,” I told her, then joined her in laughing.
Mrs. S was waiting for us on her porch. This was part of a new practice for us, the dispatcher asks the patient to leave the house and meet the responders outside if they were able. She was clearly working on breathing. So much so that she needed immediate intervention. We started our treatment, and I could tell she was feeling slightly better. Her speech was no longer fragmented, and her oxygen saturation showed a marked improvement.
“Do I have the Virus?” she asked. She was crying and nearly inconsolable.
“I don’t think so ma’am, but it may be a good idea for you to go to the hospital and get checked out. The hospitals are not very busy right now, and you should be seen quickly,” I wasn’t lying. Our emergency rooms were empty. As a matter of fact, our largest hospital just furloughed 300 people. The media hype about crowded emergency rooms and bodies being loaded into refrigerated trailers had even small town America freaked out.
“I am not going to go. If I don’t have the virus now. I will surely get it from the hospital,” she replied.
She could not be persuaded to seek further medical care. In the past, we transported her for stubbed toes and mild stomach aches. This is yet another unreported statistic on the effects of COVID on our industry, I thought.
This was just a snippet of the first hour of my last shift. I could go on and on about how the media and the politicians are spinning this virus. They have no idea of the overall impact their reporting, and their legislative activities are having on the general public.
I must share a small disclaimer. Names and addresses were omitted for obvious reasons. However, this is not a work of fiction. This was my town and only two of my daily runs. You can replace my experience with any small town across the United States. As a society, we are not ready for a catastrophic event of any proportion. So please take care of yourself.
Leave a Reply