Stressful Bliss

• Short story

								
There he was, 21:30 sitting quietly awaiting time to turn in. Staring into space, reflecting on the days runs. Suddenly a tone drops, that tone that he so vividly knows. A sound which stimulates every fiber of his being, producing an adrenaline rush that of which nothing else in the world produces. He can feel his heart contract harder, faster, he can hear it. Blood pressure spikes, respirations get deeper, faster. Sweat begins to form atop his brow and lip. His body is stressing itself. Without a thought he impulsively rushes toward the engine, shoes off rescues on. Gloves? Check. Mask? Check. Where are my driver and officer? They arrive, peace. Dispatch, cardiac arrest. What does he need? Monitor, BLS bag, ALS bag, suction. We begin to move, the adrenaline begins to slow as the melodious sounds of the siren brings him back to the here and now. The bumps in the road rock him into a blissful calm. All 3 looking for the address, that’s it! No, it wasn’t, maybe on the next street? Yes, there it is. He dismounts the apparatus, perfect. He rushes to the door, opens it. Eyes up, he sees a woman sitting across the room weeping, pointing. He looks to his right, a man on the couch, pale in color, no chest rise, “Sir”, no response. One on the arms, he is on the legs, “1, 2, 3, lift” and they lower the man to the floor. Arms pliable? Yes. Legs pliable? Yes. Jaw pliable? Yes. Skin? Slightly cooler than normal. He has a chance. First push, he feels what seems like sticks breaking under his hands and sounds like that of marbles hitting together. Ribs, broken. Keep going. Elbows locked, on his knees, hinging at the hip. The head man begins breathing for the man, he can hear the gurgles of the man choking on his own tongue, blood, and saliva. Insert iGel. A third man attaches pads to his chest, he hears a calming voice “analyzing heart rhythm. Do not touch the patient.” No rhythm, keep pushing, keep breathing. 2 minutes at a time. He looks the man in the face, yes he will remember that forever. Sweat begins dripping off of his face onto the man on the floor. He falls into a blissful rhythm of push, push, push. He hears the woman continue to weep harder, he continues. “Analyzing heart rhythm. Do not touch the patient”. Nothing. Keep pushing. Over and over. Fatigue sets in, finally a switch. He is now breathing for the man. 20 minutes pass as they switch, push, breath and repeat. Triceps are exhausted, wrists are burning in pain. Clothes soaked in sweat. He looks at his brothers, sees the same for them. *push* *push* Finally a young man’s voice from behind him “ just stop it” he complies. All efforts cease. It was too late. A calm silence covers the room. 20 seconds. It’s time, gather the gear, clean up trash. The man continues to lying there, the woman embraces the young man, both weeping. Pain. Pain. Back to the truck. He feels at ease as he goes back to the house, being lulled again by the rhythmic bumps and roar of the engine. *breaks squeak* gear off. Time to change clothes and off to bed. Clear conscience. At least they “appreciation” what he does. Until next time.
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