Sempor Memorium

On Friday a man with more dedication and a love of the fire/EMS service than myself and many others decided whatever personal problems he had were too much for him to bear. He spent a good portion of his 20 some odd years helping others and for whatever ironic reason was unable to find the help and solace he gave so many others.

Greg Castillo worked as an EMT Intermediate for three different New Hampshire services. He worked long, long hours often being away from his home for days at a time in order to practice his skills and no doubt tough out a living on the wages we make. He loved what he did so much that he involved himself in the Muddy Angels EMS Memorial Cycling Program and did the Boston to Roanoke Virgina ride at least once. He Traveled to Ireland in order to participate in their bike ride for rememberance.

We called him "Two Phones" because before I worked with him he sold cell phones and had his personal cell phone and his work cellphone on his belt all the time....we're not that inventive. He was a quirky strange guy but one who wouldn't hesitate to help anyone in any way he could. More than once I forgot my lunch or money and he'd unquestioningly buy me a burger. He had his little nuances that could drive you crazy but his quick sense of humor and his willingness do anything for anyone usually made you forget what little thing he did to piss you off.

He was known for consuming vast quantities of food at a sitting, littlerally measuring the first plate in servings. Putting away an entire basket of chicken fingers, french fries and a milk shake followed by a tray of the ubiquitious Sunday Night Brownies was not uncommon. Left overs on the verge of being thrown out from the fridge for sitting in there for too long never found the garbage can because of Greg.

After I left Rockingham I ran into Greg back in the winter at Concord Hospital. He was dropping of a patient for some procedure or another and as usual he had that big smile, the kind the lit up the room because you could just tell "Here is a guy who loves what he does." He shook my hand and we bull shited about peopel we knew and what the ambulance higher ups were up to, how Manch 911 was going and how he was excited for another bike ride. We talked about his Ireland trip and he how much he loved going over there.

Years ago I dealt with a patient who commited suicide. My partner at the time was a Lieutenant by the name of Mike Rosen, a big guy with a heart of gold. I can remember being totally speachless as the father of the patient just sobbed and Mike consoled him saying "Whatever pain he felt made him seek a permanent solution to a temporary problem. People often think they can't talk about whats bothering them. I have no doubt if he came to you you'd have listened and talked and helped him through it. It's not your fault."

Greg could have gone to anyone he worked with, theres not a single EMT or medic at any of the three services he worked for who would not have jumped at the chance to litterally through aside whatever they were doing and dealing with to help their brother. Unfournately whatever pain or problems Greg suffered from warped his mind into thinking that this was the only way out.

Countless co workers and friends are looking at the incident and wondering if they could have been able to help. They wonder if they could only have spoken with him or found out about his personal troubles maybe they could have gotten him help. And the answer is yes, if you knew you could have helped. If you had found out that Greg was suffering in such away as to even consider this action you would have helped. But Greg kept his personal problems personal and did not seek the help anyone would have readily given. The kind of pain that drives someone to shun his brothers and sisters is too great to even imagine, but if he had sought help I know that whoever he went to would have listened patiently and talked with him, helped him through his problems or found him someone who could.

The Fire/Rescue service is such that its members tend to be very closed off. We talk about the brotherhood and the familial atmosphere of the firehouse but lets look at the issues and the feelings we keep from our biological families. Humans are a strange creature in that we seek out companionship and relationships in order to share our feelings and our troubles yet we don't share those troubles for fear of burdening our companions. The shock wave that Greg's death sent through the emergency community is similar to that felt by a biological family, perhaps its even stronger because unlike a family his coworkers have been with him when he did what he loves, they've shared the back of the ambulance and the back step of the truck with him.

I was in the middle of a 48 hour shift when I found out Greg had passed. As is apparently the custom of our society I put up an away message on Facebook. "5-5-5-5 TP, May the wind always be at your back...." THe 5-5-5-5 signfies 4 sets of 5 tones dropped to mourn the passing of a firefighter, it means he has responded to his final alarm and he has returned to quarters for the last time. The latter of the message is the begining of an ancient Gaelic blessing which, unbeknownst to me, Greg put up on his EMS World page as his final post, his final message to the world.

Greg someday we will all meet again. Itl'' be a big firehouse dinner with enough food to sate even your appetite. At that meal the dispatch gods will be kind and we'll all get together and talk, laugh and have a grand time. The tones will be quiet and we won't roll untill all the catching up is done. And when the tones finally sound it will be for light, respectful patients and fully involved buidlings. But untill that day you watch over us, my friend, you keep us safe and you laugh when we have that annoying fat patient stuck on the toilet. Laugh when we get toned for a clearly bullshit call at 5 minutes to shift change. Enjoying knowing that everytime we get on that truck you are with us. But above all please find the peace and solace that you gave so many others through the practcing of your trade.

Parenting?

As I'm half asleep in the recliner I can hear the police band talking about a high school party in which a girl had her foot run over and now her drunk mother was running her mouth off. At the time the problem was two towns over and despite being the only medic on for three towns, I assumed it would not be a problem. A foot injury does not warrant a call out for a medic especially when I didn't get toned for a diff breather in the town next door. If they need a medic, I will be sent.
Sleep.
The tones do drop, unceromoninously for a foot injury at the Alpha level, the least severe and jokingly called "Taxi Level." Lakes Region Dispatch notifies us that the girl had previously been in the town of Allendale playing football and had her foot run over about two hours ago. We are instructed to wait for PD.
"Sonofabitch!" I cough and fumble the sleep out of my eyes as I hulk down stairs and take a piss. GD, my partner is waking up. We work together infrequently but when we do its usually a good time as he is laid back and has a good sense of humor.
I hear the bus starting up and grab my radio strap and hop in as we pull out.
"I thought this was in Allendale." He mutters.
The ride is fairly quick and when we arrive two cop cars are parked outside with a state trooper truck pulling in behind us.
Officer K. comes out and waves us over. The whole property is dark so I turn on a flashlight and grab the first in bag as we walk up into the house. Its not a bad little house, it looks to be clean aside from all the shoes and a few sweaters clogging the front entrance way. As feared the mother and her five friends are very drunk and very annoying, alternatly crying and yelling that they are going to kill "the motherfucker that ran over her foot."
"I thought this shit was in Allendale." I say to K.
"Yeah but she lives here and drove herself home, mom found out and now her foot is numb."
The patient is a 16 year old girl laying on a bed in a backroom. An enormous tiger cat is sniffing her and just for the hell of it I pick him up and pet him while I talk. He's cool with it so I conduct my interview holding him and scratching his ears like the Godfather.
"What happened?"
When the girl answers its in that overly sylabic almost spitting monotone of the trully ignorant who were raised and will remain that way.
"Well we was playin' footballs and mah friend droved up so I went to his cah and and when ah stuck my head in da winder he droved ova mah foot. And mah friends was like 'Youse on her foot, backup.' Now mah foot hurts."
"How long ago was this?"
"Bout two hours but I droved home on it."
Before I can answer more questions, mom appears in a flurry of curses and covered in sweat. "I got Medicaid, she goin to da hospital. It gonna pay so you don't gotta worry bout me payin."
The cat scoots out of my hands and I just smile.
"This is a crime. Seriosuly," mom continues. "She just dere and he runned ova her foot. And dat bitch lied to me and told me she hurt it playin' football. Mothafucka lyed at me to my face on the phone."
"She looked you in the eye, thats a shame." K remarks and its clearly over the woman's head.
We carry the girl out to the bus and somehow mom ends up in the front seat.
Her vitals are fine and I put a pillow under her foot. If mom was sober she could have taken her daughter to the hospital herself. Parenting at its finest.
Durring the transport the girl's mother is bitching at GD and he ends up putting up his hand and saying : "Listen, I don't care. All I am doing is taking your daughter to the hospital. You are no longer allowed to talk to me. Sit there quietly so I can concentrate on driving." Surprisingly it works.
My paperwork is finished when we pull into the hospital.
Alerted by my patch, a security guard hangs out at the ambulance bay and the mother instantly accosts him and tells him in vivid livid detail the whole story.
While we transfer the girl to the hospital bed I remember I still have 32 hours left in my shift.

Heres to the boys who feared no noise

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9UmtJ30Rl5o

Breakfast Delayed

He died when I was driving into work.
I can imagine the scene fairly easily, he'd been asleep in his nice warm water bed and just stopped being alive. He'd had throat cancer for years and still smoked. His wife slept in the other room and got up at around eight or so.
Back at the firehouse we were trying to decide on breakfast. Just as we settled on pancakes with fried egg in the middle--- some weird Canadian thing---- the tones go off for a cardiac arrest at the echo level.
I take a piss and we jump in the bus for the quick jog up the street.
She drags her husband off the bed, his already stiff body flops to the floor and she listens as 911 tells her how to pump his heart for him. The sweat beads on her forehead as she works to save a man who'd already been dead for a while.
We pull around a slow moving car and finally end up in front of the house. BT grabs the monitor and I take the first in bag. A guy in a trucker cap and a ratty t shirt holds the door open.
"WhereamIgoin'bud?" I ask like I always do on codes. He points me to a bedroom at the end of a cramped hallway. I hustle into see an overweight woman pressing on her emaciated husband's chest. The phone is cradled in her ear.
"Rescue's here now. Do you want to talk to them?" She asks 911. I hand her off to another firefighter who showed up and feel for a pulse.
Time of death 0835. Officially anyway, the poor guy had probably been dead for several hours as he was gray and stiff.

When I started in this line of work I used to get excited for codes, the CPR the monitor, the intubations and the drugs we push in order to try and bring the person back. Maybe I'm jaded or getting a bit burnt or maybe I'm realizing what my job trully is after nearly 7 years of doing it. Codes no longer excite me. Instead I think of the family members, the friends and the vacations untaken. The home projects unfinished. The mail unopened.
As a rule I don't like to bother the family members after I've decided not to comence efforts to resucitate their loved one. I usuaully snag a piece of mail and copy the address and such from that. Today it was an unopened letter from New Mexico.
Don't get me wrong, my job is great. I really couldn't do anything else but I think I'm getting a deeper understanding of where I fit into things and people's lives. Those people today will always remember me as the guy with his shirt untucked and a radio stuffed into his backpocket who felt their relative's neck and shook his head.
The medical examiner for our area is a frail guy so we went in service on scene and waited for him to show up. I zipped a vinyl body bag around someone's father and grunted and huffed as me and my partner tried to wrestle him out of the house. When we put him on the stretcher his lifeless head made a soft, dull thud as it touched the unpaded bed.


We abandon our plans for a Frog breakfast and settle on left over Creole chili from the shift before.

Now I sit here with Dropkick blaring.