By Jonathan Helf
FF/EMT-B, Vanderwagen, N.M.
‘A Proud Partner in Your Community’ |
It’s an icy spring morning. As I drive, the countryside passes by; I daydream. All of a sudden I see a white truck swerve into my lane, then spin the other way, then BAM! I see white, then all fades away.
Many minutes later I see a face in mine, asking if I am OK. I don’t know, I answer. Where were you going, who was with you, why are you in Colorado? My mind screams, I DON’T KNOW! The next image is sitting in the back of an ambulance with people asking me more questions. Still don’t know any answers. Time passes; I next remember getting an X-ray, a cat-scan, then talking to the ER doctor. Hey, I remember what happened. Man my head is scrambled.
My involvement with EMS/firefighting stretches back to 1989; my experience being a patient, instead of a caregiver, began with the above described car wreck. It is very easy to pull up on a scene, render care, return to the station and write the report and go home. But what happens to the people on the other side of the coin, the patient?
For me, it was, and still is, a life-changing moment. My trip thru Colorado was to pick up an adult child needing to move back home; I never made it to his apartment. My wife was expecting a phone call telling her where I was; instead it was saying, ‘Honey, I am in the ER in Cortez, Colorado. I was in a head-on collision and am hurt badly. Please come get me, I need you.’
After the initial diagnosis with the ER doctor, it was determined I needed surgery to fix a badly broken arm. The X-rays showed multiple breaks on my left ulna, and a stainless steel plate was needed to help the healing. Many hours later of waiting for the operating suite to become available, I was wheeled in and prepped for surgery. The procedure was completed without incident, and when I woke up, my family was at my side; my wife looking very worried, my children looking around the hospital with rapt attention. (They both want to be FF/EMTs, so this was cool, Dad).
After what seemed like reams of paperwork, directions to my wife to “take good care of him, he’s pretty messed up” and a trip to the pharmacy, we landed in a local motel for the night. We had to wait till morning to get our personal belongings out of the totaled vehicle, and I was in no condition to travel anyway.
The next day was spent taking pictures of the very smashed vehicle, thanking God for sparing my life and the life of the other driver, and slowly driving home. It was scary to drive, and every time we got near another vehicle I had to shut my eyes for fear of another crash.
The surgeon who fixed my arm told me NO LIFTING with my left arm for eight weeks. Tough prescription for a guy who lives to work outside, lifting firewood, cutting with a chainsaw, building things and, oh yea, answering medical and fire calls. That wasn’t the biggest problem; the air bag hitting my head as I twisted really scrambled my brain.
Things are clearing up now, six weeks later, but it’s going to be a long haul till all is normal with both my head and arm.
And don’t forget all the paperwork, phone calls, insurance company dealings, etc. So much to do, so much time to sit and just heal. So much to do around the property that I cannot do.
Trying to be patient with my inability to do even the simplest things; getting dressed, tying my shoes, combing my hair. In time all will be healed, hopefully, and life will go on as before. But for the spring and summer of 2009, not all is normal.
The next time you go out and do your duty to help your community, remember that for the first responder, the calls go pretty quickly; but for the patient it takes a long time for all to pass.