I was tossed around in the back of the ambulance a few times before I thought to put my seatbelt on as we careened down the road, sirens blaring and lights flashing. My leg jittered uncontrollably as I fumbled around with boxes of gloves: latex, non-latex, small, medium, large and passed respective combinations up to the rest of my crew in the front seat. Despite my jumpy nerves, I felt a thrill. Here it was: my first real call, the experience I had trained for three months to have. We pulled on to the scene and I jumped out of the ambulance, feeling official and important at having arrived in such style and promptly tripped over the automatic step that popped out from underneath the rig. Recovering quickly, I grabbed the necessary bags, thankful that I had at least remembered to do this. As we approached the patient, apprehension took center stage once more.
The chaotic scene was overwhelming. The two EMTs I had arrived with were prepared for this. One immediately began treating the patient while the other calmed the frantic family. I could tell that it was no sprained ankle – this was a grave situation. I was asked to give breaths to the patient while an EMT did chest compressions. CPR class had been a requirement, a boring but obligatory chore, yet never had I imagined I’d be using my new skills so soon. Or ever, for that matter. Nonetheless I agreed, excitement and nervousness both vanishing as I felt the seriousness of the situation. This person’s life was in my hands. For the next twenty minutes the EMT and I counted breaths and compressions, occasionally switching posts. We continued administering CPR the whole rough ride to the hospital and I grew increasingly alarmed as the patient did not respond. The EMTs, though concerned and efficient, were more detached towards the situation – they had seen it all before. Amid the shrill beeps of the multiple monitors hooked up to the patient, the sirens pierced the night air outside. Upon arriving at the emergency room, we knew it was over. My first call, my first chance to save someone, and I had failed.
I was horrified by what had happened. A perfect stranger had died before my eyes: under my care. The doctors were full of consolation and though I felt partially responsible, I did soon realize that there was nothing we could have done to change the outcome. Our CPR had been sound but the reality was that the chance of revival from a cardiac arrest was very slim. As the initial shock wore off, a strong motivation to ride again took over. Witnessing life weave suddenly into death is not an experience easily forgotten, but it is one that breeds a thirst to try again and next time to save a life. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, the chance never turned up as the worst call I’ve gotten since that first day is a sprained ankle.