Photo by Benjamin Voros on Unsplash

It was the last call of the day.  I was the senior EMT in a crew of 3: Me, a guy who had been on the job about 2 months, and Jessica, a new hire on her very first day.  I already knew Jessica from guest-teaching her EMT-B class a couple of months before.

We heard the call go out, first on the fire band radio, then oun our own dispatch radio.  An ALS unit was sent "for the man down, not responsive and barely breathing."  A moment later we were sent to back them up.

The address was an apartment, one in a squat brick building of 8, exactly like many other buildings of 8 along a long strip of Kedzie Avenue.  It was easy to find:  Fire trucks, police, and the other ambulance had all got there before us and were filling the parking lot.  A cop in a tan uniform waved us in the open door.  "Second floor to the left!"  Neighbors gawked from open doorways. Everyone was wearing identical yellow surgical masks.

Into the drab, dim apartment; down the narrow hallway I could see him.  A tallish black man, with a belly so bloated he looked pregnant. He was lying mostly in a tiny kitchen with brown appliances, his head sticking out into the hall.  One paramedic was attempting to perform compressions and use the bag valve mask, while crouch-stooping in a very awkward position.  The other was preparing to start the IV.

I dropped to my knees by the patient's head. I took the bag valve mask and fitted it over the patient's mouth and nose. At the same time, Jessica took her place beside the patient and began doing compressions. I counted softly for myself and for her, "One, two, three, ...28, 29, 30. Hold up let me breathe." I squeeze the bag mask twice, watching for the chest rise. Okay, go. One, two, three ... We continue this way until her compressions start to get sloppy and my hand holding the mask cramps up. "We got to change, " I tell her. "After the next round of compressions, we'll switch." We scramble around each other until I'm at the chest and she's holding the BVM.  As I'm doing compressions I'm also watching how she holds the mask. "Dig your fingers into his jaw," I tell her. "Really pull his jaw up into the mask."

The activity continues around us. Someone starts an IV, someone places a king tube in his throat. In the background, someone is praying. Jessica and I are in our own bubble. Compressions, breaths, counting, switch. All the while, I am talking to her. Down the stairs, out the door, into the ambulance, on the road. Compressions, breaths, counting, switch. For one moment, a tiny second, I step outside myself. Half a thought pops into my head, and the  thought is about Wally, the paramedic who trained me, working alongside his own students. And then, another half of thought, well hell, loot at me, I'm still teaching. The process was so natural and effortless, I hadn't even realized I'd been doing it.

The hospital staff took over when we arrived.  We watched through the glass door while they continued to work him, then finally gave up and called the time of death.

 I went outside and paced up and down the sidewalk for a while, breathing and thinking. I thought of medics I had worked with, who talked calmly through an emergency, sharing their practical wisdom even as their hands were flying through the motions of saving a life. I would reply those moments in my head after the call, trying to remember everything I had heard. I always admired those paramedics. I admired both the ability to teach on the fly that way, and their willingness to share  their knowledge with me.

I had become that which I admire.