We worked a wreck in a town that I lived in. the car got smashed in front pretty good then rolled off into a field. The dashboard intruded into the passenger compartment trapping and elderly man's right leg, he was unconscious. the fire department rolled up first and deployed the jaws of life. Running to the car with the spreaders as the hose peeled off of the 100 foot reel. The firefighter began trying to get a purchase on the bent dash from underneath to lift it. One of our medics arrived and looked, he said, "I know this guy, he works at Walmart, that's a prosthesis." He took out his shears, cut the pants leg and removed the straps. Then they slid him out onto a spine board, "Get that leg out and bring it to the hospital." Bob said. Imagine the embarrassment had he not shown up and they spent 10 - 15 minutes gently lifting the dash to free an artificial leg. Next?
thanks for the belly-buster, felipe! i sure hope you're writing a whole series of memoirs on your 'many lives' kiddo... you not only have a rich store of true tales to tell, but you do so in such an engaging way [even when in a hurry posting, so w/ goofs scattered here 'n there], i'd be sorely tempted to actually buy your books! love 'n hugs, m
Thanks Mama, the truth is often stranger than fiction and you are right, most of my posts are made while at work. Here's another weird call. The tone went out for "CPR in progress at the Pinewood Golf Course." The same medic, Bob arrived on the scene. He loaded his equipment on the stretcher and hurried to the crowd. The first thing he noticed was that the man receiving the CPR had a major erection, which as you know is impossible without a pulse. He shouted "Stop CPR!" as this was not the first time well meaning bystanders have done it on a patient who did not need it and it can be harmful. He felt for a carotid pulse and there was none, no breathing either. He told them to continue CPR as he attached the cardiac monitor. Stopping the CPR he saw a flat line, no pulse. Now very confused he ordered the continuation of CPR as he worked the call. They placed the patient on the stretcher and strapped him down. While CPR continued, the man got an even larger erection, he now had a major tent pitched in his pants. He called in to the hospital and the E.R. Team was assembled and ready. As they wheeled the patient into the room the doctor pointed and asked, "What the hell is that?" "It's what it looks like doc!" an embarrassed Bob said. "Stop CPR! That monitor is bad! Put him on our monitor! the doctor shouted. The team quickly did this and stopped again only to see a flat line. The entire room was hushed and one nurse said, "Implant?" The man indeed had a penile implant that is placed in the scrotum. A bulb is squeezed inflating the penis, then squeezed the other way to deflate it. The chest compression's forced his diaphragm down pumping the implant up. Some poor bastard had to squeeze to release it. Imagine the possibilities, "The family wants to come in..."or.. "His wife wants some time alone with him."
I have an ok story I suppose, thought i'd add it to Felipe's, it's not as amusing as that last one! It was New Years Eve a few years ago and I was spending it with a friend of mine, i'm not one for going out that night as it's all a bit forced to me, I like house parties or a gathering of friends and a large crate of lager etc. Anyway, my best mate and a very good friend of his were staying the night at his and having a few drinks, calling in a pizza etc while playing pool. You get the drift, a lads night in type of thing. Had a good night, left it until 11:30pm and decided to walk home. Takes me about 25 minutes to get home so thought i'd just about catch the fireworks on BBC1 if I made good time. (Family ritual if we're not out and about) I had gone about ten minues onwards and past the pub near his and for some reason, as I am prone to do, talked to myself. Very queitly I might add, and half of it was purely in my head (no dobt influenced by the few drinks i'd had) and speaking to some unknown force said "You know, i've had a good year, i've walked home late alot when it might not be wise to, got away with a few close run-ins, I tell you what.....I don't mind getting jumped if it means someone else doesn't tonight, and in fairness i've been pushing my luck as it is. I don't mind, but I don't want to die and I really don't want them taking my stuff. So yeah, just throwing that one out there." I used words to that effect anyway. About a minute up the road with the streets compeltely deserted, a small black car screeches to a stop next to me. Some lad jumps out of the car and shouts "Oi, you got my stuff?". I panicked immediately, but just quickened my pace. Got about fifteen before he said the same thing and I turned around to see two of them. I turned to look at the new guy and I get smacked with one hell of a punch from the first guy. A real sucker punch. It broke my nose, not that I knew it at the time, and I just remember saying "Oh, for fucks sake" out-loud. The punch had dazed me entirely, the next minute or so was a blur. Briefly recall saying "Fuck off, I haven't got anything" to them. The second lad had his hand in his hoodie front pocket so I was worried about him having a knife on him, I took another punch or two and he patted down my pockets while I tried to recover from the punches. Only took my phone out with me that night and luckily my fist was wrapped around it. So yes, seeing I hadn't got anything worthwhile they then ran off back to their car and drove off. I'd got what I asked for a didn't feel any better for it. Suffice to say, that's the last time I ask my sub-conscious for any bad karma to hit me instead of others. I should also give a mention to a family one street away who i'd knocked on the door of to borrow kitchen roll from for my face. Bearing in mind it was New Years Eve, the lad who opened the door must've been a bit shell-shocked to see a bloodied teenager standing infront of him, but they were very kind to me and helped me clean-up before I got home to the mother. She'd have locked me indoors for years had she seen me in that state. They restored my faith in humanity in a matter of minutes, hopefully the Roses tin I took them round the next day was thank you enough for their help So there you are, that's entirely true and only two of my closest friends know about it. Thought i'd share it. Enjoy. (Side-note: My nose is still broken at the bottom, I never had it seen to. Doesn't look out of shape but it's cracked at the bottom of it, I constantly push part of it back when it starts to feel noticeable. It has become one of those nervous things people do when talking for a long time or generally edgy, some people fidget, some scratch their necks etc, I tend to push my nose back into place. Much more productive, if I do say so myself )
When I was about twelve, I lived in Montreal and went to a local high school there (high school – or junior high, really – started in seventh grade, so there were lots of twelve-year-olds sharing the building with kids up to eighteen or nineteen). A friend of mine who was a couple of years older and I had come across a book somewhere that had instructions on how to make stink bombs. Well, the school had music rooms downstairs that had big vents to the outside, with fans that sucked outside air into the music rooms. So my friend and I, being rather mischievious, made stink bombs and set them off right outside the vents, so that the stinky smoke would be sucked right into the music rooms. The school had to close the music rooms for the rest of the day. Nobody ever caught me. It was the perfect crime, and I was kind of proud of myself for carrying out a covert mission like that successfully. Well, we moved from Montreal to Toronto after that school year, so I never saw that school again. Fast forward about eleven or twelve years. My older sister had just gotten a job with a small high-tech company in Toronto founded by a guy I’ll call Dan. Dan quickly became, not just my sister’s boss, but a personal friend of our family. Once, we had him over to the house for dinner and drinks, and I told him the stink-bomb story. “That was YOU????” he exclaimed. “I was the one who got in trouble for that!” It turns out, and I hadn’t known it until that moment, that Dan was a student at the same school back then, about four years ahead of me, and he was a known troublemaker to all the teachers. Whenever anything happened, and they couldn’t catch the culprit, they blamed it on Dan. Even though I had no idea he existed at the time, he had to take the blame for my prank. I wound up working for him for a while, too. I think he gained a bit of respect for me from that incident. We were now brothers-in-covert-ops, at least at the high school scale. And now, over twenty-five years later, we’re still friends.
That reminds me minstrel of another. I was in jail at 17 and we had visitors day. It was a novel thing to steal your handcuffs if others could distract the jailer upon your return. I returned from my visit and my cell mate reached through the bars as the new jailer was locking the cell for his pen. The jailer dodged and didn't lock the cell. I picked one side of the cuffs with a paper clip then leaned against the door to do the other side, it swung wide open. He didn't lock the cell. This was a very old jail and we were on the 12th floor. Two of my cell mates made their way onto the roof and looked down. On the 7th floor there was a decorative ledge. We took the elevator which had a grate door twice a week to shower, so we calculated the length needed for them to climb down. Scrounging sheets from the other cells, they tied them together and made their escape only to be caught within a week with a new charge. I failed ton realize that the fire hose stationed there would have been much more safe. Now fast forward about 12 years. I had been riding to work with two black guys for weeks. We smoked weed on the way to work and home every day, laughing and joking. I was driving and told this story when the one in the back said in a menacing voice, "Look at my face real close mother fucker.." "What?" I asked him. "I was that jailer! They fired me!" "You left the door unlocked." "No I didn't!" I never convinced him but we remained friends, I rolled up another one.
I have had the pleasure of playing with an older gentleman named Dennis a few times – he was a regular in the casino I frequented once upon a time. Usually we played different limits but not today. We were joined by some young kid who appeared to have just come from watching a WPT re-run. He was a poker superstar, or at least he thought so – I probably could have seen it in his eyes if he hadn’t been wearing those sunglasses but regardless… Now Dennis is in his 80’s and is about as pleasant and kind an old man as you’d ever want to play with. He moves a bit slow these days but he is in his 80’s after all and he never stalls – he just doesn’t have the quickness he once did. He’s a recreational player and is prone to toss over his hand on occasion before you call a bet to show you the nuts so you can save the last bet – which is not a bad opponent to have in the game. Well, the kid had a problem with Dennis moving so slow and let everyone know about it – not just every hand – but every time the action got to Dennis. It was getting on everyone’s nerves – the feel of the table had changed since this kid sat down and the gambling that was going on started to slow as players tightened up. That was his first mistake – the kid turned a good game into a tight game due to his complaining because it was moving a bit slower than he wanted in one spot. So how does that happen? A friendly, happy table is a good table, people will gamble and get caught up in the mood – if no one is having fun at a table, you can usually bet there’s no gambling going on. Clearly the equity the kid may have gotten from speeding up the game a hair was totally overshadowed by the loss of equity as he took the pleasure away from the game. Finally, I told the kid, You need to lay off. Normally, I’m not much for the dealer getting involved in these sort of things but this one time I didn’t mind. The dealer dropped the deck at the end of the next hand and asked the kid, “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to.” And the kid said, no. The dealer continued, well let me introduce you – this is the Admiral and at my table – you will show him the proper respect or I’ll deal around you. The kid got rather sarcastic at that moment and said, “you act like he’s a war hero like Patton or something..” and the dealer responded, “Just about. You have the pleasure today of playing with Admiral Dennis Wilkinson.” Now I have to admit, I had no idea who Admiral Dennis Wilkinson was before he was that 80-something year old man that I waved ‘hi’ to when I saw him at the casino but fate’s a funny thing… the kid turned stone cold white. You read about in literature or hear in conversation about someone turning white but I think I must have just took it as an expression – cause I had never seen anything like it – his face lost all color, it was bizarre. Whenever you face something you’ve never faced before – I think it’s normal to be a little nervous and so I was as the kid reached slowly under his chair and pulled out his backpack… He reached inside and pulled out a book, opened it up to the bookmarked page and I could see the chapter title quite clearly from where I sat… Admiral Dennis Wilkinson along with a 40 year old picture. I’m pleased to report that the kid did about the most abrupt about face I’ve had the pleasure to see – although he needs to work a bit on shortening his apologies in the future. And Dennis, class act that he is, autographed the kids book for him.
Awesome Yagr, really. I'm afraid all of mine are medical calls. Once the tone went out for "A woman trapped in her car, can't breathe." I responded 10-8 (in service) and asked, "Is this a 10-50?" (a major wreck?) "No, trapped in her car and can't breathe, her son is panicking, that's all that I have." I went to the station as a firefighter asked if I wanted a firetruck, I told him yes as I didn't know what we had going on. I had to wait for my partner, you can't leave without 2 medics so the firetruck pulled out and beat us to the scene. When we arrived, both front doors of the car were wide open. What in the hell? How can she be trapped? I ran to the driver's door and saw a huge woman, lying in the floorboard. The power seat was engaged and was crushing her up under the dash. Her chest wall was compromised, she couldn't take a full breath and was in serious distress. I later learned that on that particular car, the power seat buttons were on the front between your legs, not on the side. Her radio had stopped working so being a country girl, she opened the door and wiggled herself in there on her back to take a look. That's when a fat roll caught the "forward" button. The fireman had his hand crammed in there and said, "I've got the button!" and pushed it... wrong button. The seat now tilted back crushing her up under there even more. Now she was seriously compromised and could only draw a very shallow breath. Her lips turned blue almost immediately. Thinking fast, I screamed "Get a ram!" A ram is a tool that fits on the Jaws of Life motor on the hoses. It is merely a straight hydraulic cylinder that telescopes out with tremendous pressure, for lifting a dash or spreading metal apart. He ran and got it, attached it to the hoses and cranked the small gas motor, then handed it to me. It just fit between the front of the seat and the floorboard (what I could see past her as the power seat motor whined and strained.) Her eyes began to swim, then slowly close. I said a quick prayer that it wouldn't get in a bind, then kick out, breaking her neck and hit the trigger. The ram extended then POW! the seat broke loose. She took in a deep breath, looked and said.... "You broke my seat!" I was stunned, I just looked at her. "This car isn't even paid for! What am I gonna do now?" "Sit on a box or something, you were dying lady, get out of there." We stood her up and I palpated her sides, her left side hurt. I raised her blouse and looked. There was the perfect impression of the switch panel with one round and two flat switches. It would have said "Ford" had the logo been there. I explained that if she had cracked ribs, they could pinch her lung so we needed to go to the hospital. I know the doctor well, he bounced up and said, "What do we have?" I looked at her and said... "You tell him."
Another short but weird call. My wife and I were the only paramedics in this small town of 1,300 people. It was a very redneck area so it was not at all unusual for the dispatcher to say what she did... "Sour Lake EMS.. Sour Lake EMS.. we have a person having seizures in the black baptist church." My wife and I called in service and sped to the station. We just got the unit cranked when the dispatcher came back on... "Sour Lake EMS, you can 10-22 (disregard) she had the holy ghost."
