Rescue 1 Responding: Chapter 5, a Book by Michael Morse
Monday, July 11, 2016
I always thought that a day in the life of a Providence Firefighter assigned to the EMS division would make a great book. One day I decided to take notes. I used one of those little yellow Post it note pads and scribbled away for four days. The books Rescuing Providence and Rescue 1 Responding are the result of those early nearly indecipherable thoughts.
I’m glad I took the time to document what happens during a typical tour on an advanced life support rig in Rhode Island’s capitol city. Looking back, I can hardly believe I lived it. But I did, and now you can too. Many thanks to GoLocalProv.com for publishing the chapters of my books on a weekly basis from now until they are through. I hope that people come away from the experience with a better understanding of what their first responders do, who they are and how we do our best to hold it all together,
Enjoy the ride, and stay safe!
GET THE LATEST BREAKING NEWS HERE -- SIGN UP FOR GOLOCAL FREE DAILY EBLASTCaptain Michael Morse (ret.)
Providence Fire Department
The book is available at local bookstores and can be found HERE.
Note From the Author
Much of my time on duty is spent at the area hospitals. The people who work there are every bit as important to me as my partner and the folks back at the station. It is a beautiful sight when doctors, medics, patients, custodians, police and security, nurses, respitory therapists, x-ray technicians, patient care advocates, registrars and everybody else comes together with the common bond of health care. I am truly fortunate to be part of the whole, where the color of my skin matters not to the group where I am the minority. Nobody cares that I am a big white guy from the suburbs. Nobody cares where I grew up, or how. Everybody cares about one thing; how we treat the patients who come to us for help. I learned early on that the common denominator is our humanity.
Chapter 5
It’s Friday night at midnight and all five of Providence’s rescues are busy at Rhode Island Hospital. Well over half of our runs tonight will be alcohol related. Rescue 2 has brought an intoxicated male in from Cranston Street. He was found lying in a doorway, unconscious. Rescue 3 has a drunken Providence College student with them. I prefer the seasoned drunks like Darryl and Leroy; they never puke in the back of the truck. College kids either want to kill you when they are drunk, or they throw up without warning, usually all over the equipment. We always place an emesis basin in quick reach on weekend nights. Rescue 4 has brought in an assault victim from one of the downtown clubs and Rescue 5 has a RISD student who may have overdosed.
The radio chatter continues, sending out of town rescues into the city. While the revelers continue to party, real medical emergencies occur. An East Providence rescue heads to Wickenden Street for an elderly woman with chest pains, a Johnston rescue responds to Killingly Street for a four-year-old having a seizure and Cranston Rescue 2 is on the way to Broad Street. From the sound of our dispatch, they’re going to get Darryl. Again.
The triage area is out of control. People with assorted injuries occupy twenty of the stretchers that fill the room, some on spine boards with cervical collars around their necks, others just lying on the stretchers. A few elderly people are nestled in among the drunks and injured. Some seem amused by the circus around them, others not so much. There, everybody waits until a spot in the treatment area opens up. The seriously injured are in trauma alley.
The night is young and already the hospital is overburdened. Tanya is working with Gary and they are doing their best to keep up with the steady flow of patients coming through the doors. They not only have to contend with the rescues, but are responsible for walk-ins as well.
Outside, the cool, evening air offers a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere of the ER. I join the rest of the rescue crews who have gathered around the trucks. Theresa and Tim from Rescue 5 sit on the rear bumper of their truck, Zack and Mike from Rescue 4, Isaac and Chris from Rescue 2 and Heidi and Al from Rescue 3 are all here, standing around swapping stories and having some laughs, waiting for the next call. This is our bonding time. The firefighters are back in the stations, all of the rescues are here. It is a nice diversion from a night full of stress and aggravation to get together and vent. Most of the talk is about the nitwits we have been taking to the hospital, or how many runs we’ve had. It is an important and vital part of a busy night to get together and see that we are not alone. The ten people working the rescues will do seventy-five percent of the fire department’s work tonight.
Two by two our numbers dwindle. First Heidi and Al go to an accident on Branch Avenue. Tim and Theresa are next; another assault at a downtown club. Isaac and Chris get sent to Poccasset Avenue for an asthma attack and Zack and Mike head downtown for some hot wieners at Haven Brothers. Mike and I decline their invitation and head back to quarters, hoping to get some rest before things get busy again.
I consider calling Cheryl to say goodnight but decide to let it rest. Tomorrow we’ll try again.
0136 (1:36 a.m.)
“Rescue 1; respond to 1016 Babcock Street for a domestic disturbance, stage for police.”
I put the book I was reading down and head for the truck. Domestic disturbances can be horrendous. Not only do we have to deal with injured people, but the people doing the injuring as well. Sometimes the assailants remain on the scene and cause problems for us. The police are called first to quiet things down, and then call us in if we are needed.
“What’s on the scanner?” Mike asks as we drive toward the incident.
“Let’s find out,” I say and flip the switch on the police scanner we have mounted under ours. Fire and police frequencies are different, we can’t communicate with them directly, nor they with us, but we are able to monitor their transmissions. There is no news from Babcock, just cruisers being sent throughout the city for different reasons. The police work differently than the fire department. The volume of calls they receive make it impossible for them to respond instantly to calls for help. They use a priority basis; this domestic must not be high priority. The fire department responds instantly to the calls we receive with all available resources needed for the incident. If we are not able to muster an adequate response, mutual aid will be called from surrounding communities until all resources have been depleted. That has never happened.
We keep the lights and siren off during our response, and then stage a safe distance from the house on Babcock. I hope nobody there needs immediate medical assistance. I have no intention of going into a domestic dispute unarmed. The emotions are too high and alcohol and drugs are probably a part of the problem making matters worse. It’s funny what pops in your mind while waiting.
The three little girls sat on a couch in their living room, holding hands. They were afraid. I gave them a smile as I walked through the room and into the kitchen. They didn’t smile back. A woman, possibly their mother lay on the floor, a hole in the middle of her forehead. A gun was on the floor a few feet away from her. Lt. Segee stood off to the side, shook his head when he saw me approach the patient.
“Too late,” he said.
A man in handcuffs stood off to the side, catatonic, or pretending to be. There was no need to feel for a pulse or run a strip, the woman was obviously dead. No sense contaminating the crime scene any more than it already was. One of the police officers asked me to “look at” their prisoner. He had gone to a place deep inside himself and wasn’t coming back anytime soon. We stepped around the remains of what should have been the man’s ex-wife, now a murder victim.
We walked him past the three little girls, crying now, the safe world they knew gone forever.
From the police scanner, I hear a car being dispatched to the scene. A few minutes later, one car appears in the distance with lights flashing but no siren. Another cruiser passes our position and turns down Babcock Street. Rescue 1 stays put until the police sort things out. A few minutes later the officer on scene reports there are no injuries and the rescue won’t be needed. I hope this is a happy ending for the people involved, not just a stay of execution.
The bars just closed, letting hordes of drunken fools loose into the city. I don’t think we’ll be in quarters for long.
Michael Morse lives in Warwick, RI with his wife, Cheryl, two Maine Coon cats, Lunabelle and Victoria Mae and Mr. Wilson, their dog. Daughters Danielle and Brittany and their families live nearby. Michael spent twenty-three years working in Providence, (RI) as a firefighter/EMT before retiring in 2013 as Captain, Rescue Co. 5. His books, Rescuing Providence, Rescue 1 Responding, Mr. Wilson Makes it Home and his latest, City Life offer a poignant glimpse into one person’s journey through life, work and hope for the future. Morse was awarded the prestigious Macoll-Johnson Fellowship from The Rhode Island Foundation.
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