Huffington Post
ONTARIO, Canada — After a crazy-busy Saturday, lying in bed late at night watching Big Brother was a welcomed retreat while browsing Twitter on my iPad. A peaceful, relaxing night until suddenly, a daze fell over me almost leaving me feeling like I couldn’t breathe with sharp pains traveling through my chest, clammy skin and an immense amount of dizziness. I’d never felt like this before. After a few steps out of my bed, I found myself lying on the ground holding my chest trying to remedy the excruciating sharp pains. I couldn’t move, breathe, talk. It hurt too much. Everything hurt.
Minutes later with the unbearable pain not subsiding, I look up to see two paramedics and three firefighters running up my stairs towards me. “Patrick, can you tell me what’s wrong?” queried one paramedic. Sharp pain still ran through my chest, sweat still pouring off me like I had just run a marathon, my head pounding. Next thing I know, both paramedics had me sitting up with ECG leads placed on me from head to toe. “This is going to make you feel better,” said one paramedic as he placed an oxygen mask over my mouth.
Wrapped up in blankets in the back of the ambulance, the paramedic with me in the back chatted about The Sopranos and other random topics in an effort to keep me calm while I was connected to an array of cords and monitors. While he continued to reassure me that everything would be OK, it hit me; when the paramedics were dispatched to my call, they had no idea what they were going to deal with. They didn’t know me — I was a complete stranger to them. Yet they treated me like I was a close family member.
Full story: When Seconds Count