Lori Avocato - Dead On Arrival

“If you are talking to me, I think my system is out.” Damn. I should have used another term, but he didn’t seem suspicious as he gently set the helicopter down.

“Nice landing,” I said as I took off my helmet and got out before, Mario, who’d been riding with us and taking a nap like Nicky had, stepped out. I handed him the helmet.

“Have the system on that thing checked out, Mar,” Sky said.

Whoops. Oh well, if need be, I could say I had wax in my ears.

Back in the lounge, while several of the other staff busied themselves I poured milk into my cup of hot tea and started to plan out my evening. Evening? Geez. It seemed ages since I’d come on duty here today. This job was as demanding as most nursing positions were. Proud of my accomplishments on my two helicopter runs, I took a sip of tea and decided I needed the down time.

“Four five six, possible Eighty-four at 333 Oak Street, third floor,” came over the intercom.

Buzz flew from his seat. “Let’s go, Pauline!”

“Pauline?” I said, tea sloshing around in my mug as I set it down on the table.

“Yeah, didn’t you hear your name called? ER Dano is already in the ambulance. Let’s go!” Buzz adjusted his crisp white shirt as if that would make him look more professional to a patient suffering an Eighty-four, whatever that was.

In my relaxed mood I hadn’t, in fact, heard my name being called, but I trusted Buzz (and decided he was more a Buzz than a Jeremy since disturbing my down time) so I rushed out behind him.

ER Dano was at the wheel. “Shotgun for you this time, Sparkie. Sokol, you got the back.”

The experienced paramedics-well ER Dano anyway-called the overeager EMTs who always wanted to drive “Sparkie.”

Neither Buzz nor I argued, since a person’s life might be on the line-even though I hated riding in the back. Jagger wasn’t on this call; he must have been used on another run where a paramedic was needed.

I sat in the back while ER zoomed the ambulance out of the driveway with the lights and sirens going.

Adrenaline was a powerful hormone, I thought as it surged throughout me, waking me up so I’d be ready for anything.

But when we reached 333 Oak Street, I really wasn’t ready.

We flew out of the ambulance, Dano cursing a few times. He ordered Buzz Lightyear to get the bag-which pleased Buzz to no end. I could tell he felt very important carrying all the equipment. Almost as important as ER felt, amused that he didn’t have to carry it.

We got to the rickety front porch of the green, white and dirty brown three-story house. The door was left open so ER Dano led the way, mumbling, “The damn fat lady always lives on the third floor.”

I figured he wasn’t talking to anyone, but the poor ambulance crews really did have a physically demanding job-and hopefully, this patient would not be too heavy to carry down these stairs. They wound around corners with triangle steps at each curve and because of the narrowness of the stairway, I wondered how anyone got any furniture up there.

“Hurry up!” sounded a young voice. I couldn’t tell if it was female or male, but it was frantic.

Then we reached the top floor and I saw a girl. Really just a girl. Maybe seventeen or close to it. Dressed all in black and with bright yellow hair, she stood there waving her hands and yelling, “He needs help! He needs help! Don’t let Slick die!”

Buzz stiffened in what I think he thought was a very professional manner. “We are here, ma’am. No need to panic. We’ll do our best-”

ER Dano pushed Buzz to the side. “Get the hell out of the way. Where is he?” he asked the girl.

She pointed to the open door at the end of the hallway.

I stopped short at the bedroom where the girl, who said her name was Chloe, had pointed.

Sitting in an old, ripped Hunter green stuffed chair was Slick-whose face was a metallic shade of silver. The Tin Man came to mind, only Slick wasn’t in the best of health.

“Shit,” ER Dano said. “He been huffing?” he asked Chloe, who nodded as if to say, “Of course, what else?”

Buzz opened the bag and started to take out equipment. I helped with whatever Dano told us to do while he called into Saint Greg’s ER.

Slick’s eyes were red, with a dazed look in the darkness. He started to mumble but sounded very drunk, although I’m sure the inhaling of metallic paint was the cause, as Dano found the can next to Slick’s leg and shoved it into the ambulance bag.

Chloe stood very still to the side of Slick, and I thought I saw a tear sneak out. She tried to remain stoic, but then she started to lose it. When she broke down, Slick’s eyes flickered and his arm swung out, landing smack-dab in ER Dano’s face-and then Slick kept punching.

ER fell backward with a curse and then a smash when his head hit the leg of an end table-and he remained motionless on the torn, stained braided rug.

“No!” I shouted as Buzz tried to hold Slick back. Apparently huffers could become very violent, as evidenced by his flailing arms, cuffed fists and smacks and jabs at everyone.

Slick hit me in the back of the head when I bent to check out ER Dano. “Ouch!” I yelled, and when I turned around to say something I swear Stella Sokol’s voice came out of my mouth: “Do that again, and I’ll clock you. Stop it, NOW!” Not the exact words she’d use, but my tone was right on the money.

Despite the inhalant causing Slick to act out, he slowed, settled back and remained still-but only for a few seconds.

Suddenly he was up and swinging again. Chloe was bobbing and weaving (looking very used to having to do that) and before I knew it, Buzz had tackled Slick to the ground.

I’m not sure what shocked me more: Slick being out of control, or Buzz Lightyear’s strength! The quiet, accident-prone EMT slammed a fist into Slick’s shoulder, which made him scream out in pain. It worked, as Buzz was able to restrain him long enough for me to call the police on Dano’s radio.

Before they got there, Slick calmed down enough for Buzz’s weight to hold him still.

“Stick an IV in his arm,” I ordered Buzz while I bent down to ER Dano’s shoulder and called dispatch on his radio.

Since Slick looked more annoyed than about to kick the bucket, I turned my full attention to ER Dano, who had barely stirred. First I checked my ABCs and when I tilted his forehead back, I found his airway patent (open). Then I held my hand over his nose to feel the warm breaths, to make sure he was breathing all right, and last, I noted his color-a bit pale but not cyanotic, and he wasn’t coughing.

I grabbed the ambulance bag and took out sterile gauze, which I applied to the gash on the back of his head. Despite the numerous stains on the rug, I knew the bright red spot behind Dano’s head was from him. I reminded myself how head wounds bled a lot and sometimes looked worse than they were.

The cops arrived, and not any too soon, since Slick once again became combative as Buzz tried to start the IV. Since he had no luck, and I wasn’t surprised, I had to do it for him. When I looked at the silver face of Slick and then at Dano, I wanted to shove the needle…but I didn’t. With the IV running, I told Buzz to stay near the jerk and sat by Dano’s side.

He still didn’t open his eyes so I stuck an IV in his arm too. He’d kill me if he woke up then.

It seemed like hours before we had backup help-although it had to be only a few minutes. Every ambulance at TLC would rush to the aid of the craggy, negative ER Dano-I just knew it.

Jennifer, one of the EMTs, and Jagger, thank goodness, appeared at the door with a stretcher.

Dano had started to stir. His eyes opened and he looked at me. “What the hell did you do to me?”