Their Last Words...

It was a beautiful spring morning in April 2001, my partner and I had just finished breakfast, and we were just getting settled in for an early morning nap when the call came in for a house fire and explosion with injuries. As we raced through the morning commuter traffic I made a quick rundown in my mental notebook of what I may encounter or may need to do after I make contact with the patient, but this takes place in just seconds.

 On that particular day I was the patient guy, so Terry, being the driver had stewardship over the radio which meant he chose the music for the day... it was either oldies or –oldies, and that meant that we were singing along to some classic rock tunes while speeding to save this man’s life. It is a form of stress management and confidence enhancement, not too unlike an athlete prepping for a big game.

 My eyes scan the horizon as we get within a couple blocks from the scene.  Looking for smoke, we saw none. At that point, I hear the first arriving fire unit. The fire radio cracked, “Engine and rescue 73 arriving.” Fire Dispatch copied their radio traffic with the current time. Within seconds of arriving, the fire captain asked for our “ETA,” (Estimated Time of Arrival). Terry answered with “we are rolling up now.” We were given instructions as to where the patient was located, and in the same breath, the fire captain told fire dispatch that we needed AirMed (AirMed is an air ambulance stationed out of the University of Utah hospital where one of the nation’s best burn centers is located). My fears had been realized. This was a severe burn.

 Upon making contact with the other medical personnel and our patient. we quickly discovered the patient’s body was covered from head to toe with burns, his clothes and hair had been burned right off his body with exception to one shoe and what I thought to be a tattered painter’s apron, later determined to be his white painter's jeans. We did all we could. Initially, he was able to talk to us and able to communicate to his coworker, but his condition worsened very quickly. We worked feverishly to ease his suffering restore his breathing and get him to the helicopter that had just landed in a nearby field. We finished the call and spent quite a bit of time cleaning up the ambulance and then went back into service just like every other call.  

Several hours later, that very afternoon, my mother called to tell me that an article in the Deseret News, our local newspaper, had run a story regarding the house explosion in West Valley City. She told me, Terry and I had been pictured in the paper while we were on the call. I went to the nearest news stand and made the purchase. I scanned the pages until I found what my mother had directed me to, “Blast critically injures painter- Pilot light ignites fumes in W.V. condominium” http://www.deseretnews.com/article/836516/Blast-critically-injures-painter.html?pg=all, with the attached picture. 

Prior to this day and this photograph, I never considered really what it is that I do--really. I am in the center of the picture holding an Ambo bag, used to help this man breath.  I am literally holding this man’s life in my hands. The same hands I used to type this blog, the same hands that I use to stroke the heads of my children, and the same hands I may use to wave at a friend.  In the picture, Terry is at the foot of the stretcher in the black vest and white sleeves, as well as a police officer (whose back is to the photographer), two paramedics from the fire department wearing their fire turnout gear, and finally the flight medic from the air ambulance wearing red and black.  All but the police officer and I are looking into the helicopter as they receive instructions from the flight nurse that is inside the chopper, yelling instructions as to how best to load the patient.

My focus is intense. My actions are deliberate. I have a small gauge on the pipe, that was inserted directly into the patient’s trachea, that lets me know if the patient is getting enough oxygen. I need to be very careful not to squeeze too hard as well as to keep the pipe (tracheostomy tube) from getting pulled out. One mistake or loss of concentration for a second and this man dies. I have a very specific job--breath for this man!

Shortly after this picture was taken, this man was released to the helicopter, and flown to the University of Utah hospital where he later died from his injuries.  I remember him talking to his employee and how he was worried about getting the painting equipment loaded up and secured so no one would steal it, and fussing over the whereabouts of his truck keys. I often think about him and how he mentioned how he was cold and how he said it was getting hard to breathe. One of the very last things he said was “I can survive this.” It is always their last words that stick in my mind the most.

I  had thousands of calls before that day and thousands since that day. I often look at this picture and think about that day, and my reflection has always been about the patient and his family and friends. I had never met this man before that day. Maybe I sat behind him in traffic, or maybe in line at the bank. Maybe, I went to school with his son or daughter. We never know how we will impact someone’s life and or be impacted by another. This call helped me take notice of people and love them for their differences.

I see seven men at work in this picture. One of them will pass away before the sun sets. I see the motor home in the background and the green grass where a nasty trailer park once was,  now beautified with wild flowers and grass. I remember all the bystanders standing where the picture was taken from and traffic strolling by to "rubber-neck" the situation. It is through this picture that I see that life is precious, and life goes on. I do not remember this man's  name, but I remember him and I always will.

This picture is a reminder we never know who is watching. I did not pose for the picture nor did any of my friends and I did not even know it existed until my mother found it. I believe the photo catches the emotion of the event. I am a faithful man, and I believe that we have a role to play on this earth, and we need to learn from life’s lessons. I believe the purpose of this life is to prepare to meet God, to learn as much as we can. My hope is that one day I can stand in front of my God and say, “I did my best.”