It happened during one of my shifts as a paramedic. The night had been brutal. Every muscle in my body ached, and all I wanted was to find a cot somewhere and collapse. But as luck would have it, a fire broke out at a high school in the East End. At that hour, every other ambulance crew was out on a call, so the job fell to me. Meanwhile, a massive blizzard had descended on the city, turning the world into a white void.
Over the radio, we were informed that a security guard had jumped from a third-story window to escape the flames.
The firefighters, busy hauling hoses through the smoke-filled halls, hadn't found him immediately. When they finally did, they called for a medic, dragged him into the foyer, and went right back to fighting the fire.
I had been assigned a student intern for this shift—a girl named Sarah who was completely green and, to make matters worse, eight months pregnant. I had never met anyone more timid or unsure of themselves in my life.
At least I had a good driver. Jim was easygoing and patient, a man who lived up to his reputation for being steady under pressure.
As we reached the old cinema near our destination, we saw a fire truck blocking the road.
"Is there a clear path to the school?" Jim shouted to the firefighters.
"No," they yelled back. "Head toward the industrial park and try to loop around. Even then, you might have to hoof it the rest of the way."
Our Chevy van crawled forward, tires spinning and sliding.
"That's it," Jim sighed in defeat. "Flat tire. I have to change it."
It was pitch black. The streetlights were dead, likely due to downed power lines. It was an eerie, desolate sight. We had to get out while Jim dealt with the spare. As I climbed out of the cab, the wind ripped at my old work coat, cutting through the fabric as if it were made of gauze. I pulled out a flashlight to give Jim some light. He grabbed the jack and the spare tire, but the cold was seizing his hands; his movements were slow and clumsy.
His cramped fingers refused to cooperate, and his heavy gloves were too bulky for the lug nuts. After what felt like an eternity of fumbling, he finally got the wheel changed.
Frozen, soaked, and teeth chattering, we piled back into the cab. The snow that had packed into every fold of our clothes began to melt in the heater's glow. Our boots and layers turned sodden, and the dampness brought on an even deeper chill. Snowflakes slammed against the windshield with such fury it made my head spin. The wipers just smeared a gray slush across the glass. At least two hours had passed since the initial call, and we still hadn't reached the site. The victim could be dead by now, and the school burned to the ground. I cursed the weather under my breath.
Finally, flashing emergency lights flickered in the distance. A fire engine was parked across the road. There was no way through, so we had to go on foot. Gusts of wind threw needles of ice into our faces. Every step was a struggle; snow filled our boots and slid down our collars. There was no sign of a gate or a fence—everything was buried under a white shroud. We waded blindly through waist-deep drifts until we finally reached the school. At the main entrance, soot-covered firefighters were rushing back and forth, dragging heavy hoses. The air reeked of smoke, and the floor was slick with water.
"Where's the victim?"
"Over there, on the floor."
The sight was enough to turn anyone's stomach. A young man, maybe twenty-five, lay flat on his back. He was soaked to the bone, his skin a deathly gray, his teeth rattling uncontrollably. His jacket and shirt had ridden up, exposing a bare torso covered in goosebumps. His lips were blue.
"How long has he been lying here? Why hasn't he been covered or moved somewhere dry? He's in shock!"
The response I got left me stunned.
"Our job is to put out the fire, not play doctor. We aren't medics."
"What about just being human?" I snapped. "You couldn't cover him up or move him out of a puddle?"
They didn't answer. The kid had a compound fracture of the femur—the bone was literally sticking out of his torn trousers—along with several broken ribs and a severe concussion. I had to stabilize him entirely on my own. Sarah just stood there like a useless spectator, her eyes wide with fright.
Hell of a partner I've got, I thought. And she's about to pop. She should be at home on the sofa, not tagging along behind me in a blizzard.
"What happened here?" I asked the lead firefighter.
"Instead of guarding the place," he explained, "he invited his buddies over for a party. Thought the principal would never find out. They broke into the ROTC room, grabbed the rifles, and started taking potshots at targets. Then they accidentally set something ablaze. They couldn't put it out themselves, and well—here we are."
"He's punished himself enough. He's in a bad way," I muttered. "He'll have to answer for his 'artistry' later, but right now he needs a hospital. I need four men to carry the stretcher."
The storm showed no signs of letting up; if anything, the wind had grown more vicious. Under their captain's orders, the firefighters fetched the stretcher from the van, loaded the boy onto it, and trotted back through the drifts. The wind kept whipping the heavy coat I'd used to cover him right off his body.
"Thank you," I told the men. "If they'll let you leave the scene, please help us get him all the way to the ER. You can see the situation we're in."
I nodded pointedly toward Sarah, who hadn't uttered a single word the entire trip.
"We get it," they replied, "but we can't leave the site. Standing orders."
Backing out was easier than getting in, until we hit a new obstacle: the driveway to the emergency room entrance was completely drifted over. When Jim tried to push through, the van bogged down, all four wheels spinning uselessly. I opened my door and immediately sank knee-deep into the powder. I trudged to the admissions desk to borrow a shovel. Armed with two shovels—Jim had his own—we began digging just to get the van clear enough to back out.
How are we going to carry him in? I wondered, my frustration boiling over.
I finally snapped at Sarah. "Why did you even come out for your rotation in weather like this?"
She just shrugged, looking miserable.
Then I noticed a small gray sedan idling nearby behind a curtain of snow. Two men were sitting inside. They were clearly stuck too and had decided to keep the engine running and wait out the storm.
"Please," I called out to them. "I'm begging you. Help us carry this stretcher to the ER."
"Of course," one of them said, stepping out. "We'll help."
Once the patient was finally on a gurney inside the hospital, a wave of numbness washed over me. My body felt like it was made of lead. My eyelids were heavy, and my legs felt like they were dragging anchors. My wet clothes were pulling me down, and my brain felt foggy. In the warmth of the building, I became so drowsy I felt like I could drop right there on the linoleum and sleep for a week.
But there were more calls to take. I had to work until morning. I chose this life, after all. I should have listened to my mother when she told me to go to pharmacy school. I wanted "adventure." I just never imagined how much "adventure" a civilian job could actually hold.
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