Catorra and I were working together again after a 4-year hiatus, during which we each pursued
other opportunities. The company we met at again offered some distinct advantages: Duramax-powered ambulances (no more smelly Powerstrokes), a lack of micromanagement, and 911-only work.

There are certain words that get responders’ blood pumping. “Cardiac arrest,” “pediatric,” and
“choking” would all make my list. “Pregnant female” would cause conflicting emotions. This
morning, it was “cardiac arrest.” While enroute, dispatch informed us that an AED had been
attached to the unfortunate victim and CPR was in progress. We weaved in and out of traffic,
dodging inattentive, Dunkin Donuts-chugging commuters. As we neared our destination, a
church gym, we spotted an anxious and elderly female bouncing by the gym driveway, arms
flailing in the brisk March breeze. “Hmmm, looks like heavy panic showing,” drawled Catorra.
We stopped by the gym entrance and were met by more excited, anxious, and clueless gym-
goers. There was another quick moment of heavy panic in the back of the ambulance as Catorra and I realized that our cardiac monitor leads and automated blood pressure cuff were missing. We had evidently left them attached to our last patient (a seizure) when we dropped him off in the ED. Whoops! I believe that was a first in 15 years. Thankfully we could still observe heart rhythms with the defibrillation pads and take manual blood pressures. We scraped the figurative egg from our faces and wheeled the loaded stretcher towards the gym doors.

Enroute to the gym entrance we were met by our friendly local law enforcement officers,
whom I failed to recognize as they had recently grown wooly winter beards in support of No-
Shave Nov….uh, March. They assured us that the patient was responding and breathing on his
own. This news caused our own blood pressures to ease, and we mentally notched the pace
down a few. The officers filled us in as we rolled through the foyer. It seemed that “Junior,”
who was 76 years young, had been playing a game of pickleball (kinda like tennis, yeah, we
didn’t know either, been a thing since 1965) when he passed out and turfed it on his nose. His
fellow gray-haired fitness enthusiasts failed to get a response from Junior, so they applied a
handy AED and started thumping his chest. After getting buzzed by the AED and receiving
several hundred compressions, Junior popped awake.

Arriving at Junior’s side, Catorra and I gave him a quick exam, applied the cardiac pads and a C-collar, then lifted him to the stretcher with the aid of our beefy brothers in blue. The only external evidence of Junior’s escapade was a marvelous red and bloody nose. We also noted a left-sided pacemaker bump by his clavicle. As we loaded Junior into the ambulance, he had a
sudden attack of nausea and sprayed the left side of the box interior with his breakfast. This
pattern continued as we packaged him for transport.

Transport was uneventful with Junior responding to questions normally, denying a headache,
chest pain, and shortness of breath, and evidencing a normal sinus heart rhythm. Transferring
Junior to the ED bed precipitated another violent episode of retching, during which Junior would have followed the trajectory of his emesis onto the floor had his downward progress not
been halted by a nurse on one side and me on the other. During this circus, our pulse oximeter
went flying. Nope, we couldn’t find it. I have no idea how it could be lost in the ED, but it was
still incognito the last I knew. The nursing staff said they’d save it for us. Right! Catorra and I
gave our report, located our missing cardiac leads and BP cuff (my face was red, Catorra’s face
stayed black). We hosed out the back of the truck and returned to service.

Weston Cummings