My Patience is a Bell Curve

I never had the patience to be a model firefighter. Nor did I get along very well with the 'paid' firefighters from town, who seemed to view us rural volunteers as inept, inebriated and insane. I'll give'em two out of three, but still...

My pager beeped at 10pm on a m'f'n Saturday night. My wife always hated my volunteer firefighting, especially as it seemed I got a call every time we sat down to watch a movie. (and one time while we sat down to do, er, naughty things. i am ashamed to admit that on that occasion i chose the call over the naughty things. it never happened again...)

The pager indicated a basic call, abdominal pain, off a very rural dirt road. I raced to the station, jumped in the ambulance and pulled out into the parking lot, waiting to see if any of the other volunteers would show. On this occasion, only one did, a new guy whose name I always forget.

To this day i still call him, 'New Guy,' as in, "hey 'New Guy,' remember that abdominal pain we went on last year?"

"You mean the 'Abominable Abdominal'?"

The Abominal Abdominal

A Tragic Tale of Ineptitude, Inebriation and Insanity

So, anyways, we arrived at what was supposed to be a basic abdominal pain. But before we even opened the doors of the ambulance we could hear the screaming. The screaming of a man trying to deliver a child through his penis. G*dd@mn kidney stones.

An older, effeminate gentleman opened the door for us, and over the screaming, he pointed to a back bedroom. "He's in there," the man said nonchalantly, and obviously unaffected by the scene. He promptly closed the door behind us, and sat back down in his easy chair to watch a television show with the closed captioning activated.

"Thanks, @sshole," i muttered.

He waved the back of his hand towards me dismissively. Perhaps he heard me. My patience is a bell curve. High in the beginning, nonexistent in the middle, and soaring when i'm recounting the tale.

Me and the 'New Guy' walked to the bedroom door where apparently an exorcism was transpiring. We beheld a behemoth of a man, at least 6'4", at least 240 pounds, completely naked, writhing in agony and speaking in tongues. Me and the 'New Guy' looked at each other and rolled our eyes.

As the EMT, I had to do the patient assessment. All the 'New Guy' had to do was help me get the raging Sasquatch to lie somewhat still while I gathered the vitals. I said, "All right, 'New Guy', you take a hold of his legs, and I'll grab his arms."

The 'New Guy' took one look at those kicking legs and flailing arms, looked back at me and shook his head in ashamed silence.

"OH, COME ON! DON'T PUSS OUT ON ME NOW, 'NEW GUY'!"

The 'New Guy' frowned, but reluctantly agreed. We took a step inside the door and only then understood the full disaster that was about to be delivered upon us.

The odor of urine overwhelmed us. I looked on the dresser and saw a whole list of medications. The first one i picked up was a prescription for Zoloft.

"Oh, good lord, 'New Guy'! This guy's crazy even without the kidney stones!"

I looked back out into the living room and yelled at the older gentleman, still watching his show.

"Has your boyfriend been taking his meds?" I screamed.

The older gentleman simply shrugged his shoulders.

"Thanks, @ssh0le."

The older gentleman waved the back of his hand towards me dismissively.

I went back into the bedroom. The 'New Guy' was grimacing, and dangerously close to covering his ears and escaping to his happy place. I feared that before the night was over I would have to slap the 'New Guy'. My patience had bottomed out.

We charged the monster. The 'New Guy' went for the right leg, but the creature belted the 'New Guy' in the groin with his left. I took a hold of his left arm, and the animal grasped at my hair with his right. He shook like the Tacoma Narrows bridge in a winter storm. And winter storm it was. After the naked beast threw us to the floor a second time, we looked down and saw ourselves both to be covered in urine.

The raging brute bellowed victoriously from his bed, mocking us. I looked at the 'New Guy' and said, "You pry the headboard off the bed and I'll bludgeon him with it." The 'New Guy' smiled, but it was one of those half-crazy smiles that produced a tiny tear, very similar to the one shed by the Native American in those old forestry commercials.

The 'paid' staff arrives.

And it was Don Roberts. My rival from fire training school. Younger, better looking, stronger and better looking than myself. I hated Don. I still hate Don, and his youthful good looks.

"You in charge, here, Rogers?" he asked disdainfully.

"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I'M IN FUCKING CHARGE HERE, ROBERTS?!?"

"Okay take it easy. Just get him on a backboard and we'll take over."

Deep in the pit of my hatred, probably my bowels, I wanted to tell Don to do it himself. But I'd seen Don with other patients, and he was awful. He got off on hurting people. The two of us had actually come to blows in recruit school, because he was so goddamned sadistic, and I can't stand sadists. Especially when they're younger and better looking than me.

So deep in my heart, I knew our big patient was in pain. He needed help. I was miserable, drenched in urine, but my patience was starting to return. The 'New Guy' and I got back to our feet and did our best to restrain the man. We finally strapped him to a backboard, covered him in a blanket and I took his vitals. His pressure was super high, but he had calmed a little. He looked at me and didn't smile, but he seemed thankful. I washed his face with a towel and told him that he'd be fine.

We cleaned up our mess, got him into Roberts' ambulance and went back into the house to retrieve our gear. Upon leaving, the effeminate older gentleman, still sitting in his recliner, reminded us to lock the door upon our exit.

"Thanks, @ssh0le."

My patience, as I said, is a bell curve.