Stephen A. Penn, an EMS provider since 1987, tells the story of a memorable patient call when a patient became unexpectedly violent and in the ensuing struggle took control of a police officer’s weapon. Read what happened in this excerpt from “EMT Paramedic as I saw it.”
By Stephen A. Penn
Later that year, while Tom’s mental collapse and death was still fresh in our minds, Ebb and I were sent on a call to another patient threatening suicide. It was a cold winter day. The wind was howling and unforgiving. When we arrived at the scene, we grabbed our equipment and quickly headed into the house to limit our time in the frigid wind. Being a lot younger than Ebb, I carried most of the gear. The weather was so inhospitable that once inside, we felt we were safe. Or, so we thought.
We went up three flights of stairs in the multi-family house. It seemed to me that every time we had a call at a multi-family dwelling, the patient lived on the top floor. It was never the people who lived on the first floor of triple-deckers who called for an ambulance. We went in, with high hopes of having the distraught person walk down the three flights of winding stairs.
When I saw the patient, I began praying to God that she would walk. She was a victim of obesity, shaped like a square. Immediately, I hoped she would be able to walk down the stairs to the ambulance. The stairs were narrow and winding. She would be a heavy carry. It would be a difficult extrication, or as we would say in the business, “a tough lug.”
As I approached her and introduced myself, she got up and walked towards me. She moved around me very aggressively. I didn’t try to stop her. The room was the size of a closet and she took up half of it. The room could have been a broom closet in any other house. I reasoned that Ebb, a Police sergeant, and the two patrolmen in the hall, all relatively big men could hold her without my help. But, life and plans can change very quickly.
She started fighting with the three Officers and Ebb. I saw her reach for something on the sergeant’s belt. I thought, “If she gets his steel flashlight and starts swinging, we’re going to be in trouble.”
I grabbed her arm and pulled it back with both hands just as the equipment that was hanging on the straps over my shoulders slid off my shoulders onto the fold of my elbows. I was frustrated with myself that I hadn’t put it down earlier, but I was tired from walking up the three flights of stairs and the room was so small. Suddenly, I had no time to put it down. I could only react. Once I had my hands around her forearm, I pulled it back.
Surprise, surprise, she didn’t grab the flashlight. She had the sergeant’s 38-caliber handgun. She had complete control over the weapon. I had her forearm, but she had the gun in her hand with her finger next to the trigger. Meanwhile, Ebb and the Officers continued to wrestle with her.
One Officer asked me, “What does she have?”
I responded as calmly as I could, “She has a gun.”
He too responded calmly, “Okay, don’t let go of her arm.”
I said, “Okay, I won’t,” but inside I thought, “I know not to let go. I’m not that stupid.”
My mind was racing. Now was not the time for me to take offense. I had to stay focused, our lives depended on it. I had no experience with guns. I didn’t know anything about them, but I thought about the cap gun I had as a kid. I thought if stuck my finger between the hammer and the cap, it wouldn’t fire. I tried to get my index finger into position to do just that, but this was a real gun, not a cap gun. It will probably amputate my finger, but better my finger than a life.
The weather was supposed to be the worst part of this call. Looking back, a few moments earlier, we were so happy to be out of the inhospitable weather. At this moment, I would have given anything to be back outside where it was wet, cold and windy, but definitely safer. Everything is relative.
The intensity was rising. She was fighting more. Ebb and the Officers were now really putting the squeeze on her. Ebb was wearing his rubber gloves and he had her in some kind of a bizarre, makeshift, face, nose hold. His hand was under her chin and he was forcing his fingers into her nose, pushing her nostrils back while yelling sternly, “Let go of the gun!”
My arms were getting tired with all of the equipment hanging from my elbows. I leaned forward with my remaining strength and bent her wrist backwards into an anatomically incorrect position. It must have caused her enough pain that it forced her to lose her grip on the gun.
Now, I have the gun!
This is the first time in my life I have ever held a real gun. I was very scared. I said in a deliberately clear voice that I had the gun. I told the Officers and Ebb that I was staying out of the fight and keeping the gun secure until the patient was restrained.
But, there were still two more guns in the mix. If she was crazy enough to grab the sergeant’s gun, there was nothing stopping her from grabbing the patrolmen’s guns. However, once she lost the sergeant’s gun, she lost the battle. Once the gun was out of the equation, she went down hard and fast. The police handcuffed her, walked her down the stairs, and took her to the hospital for a psychiatric evaluation.
Wordlessly, I handed the sergeant his gun. I’m sure he was embarrassed. Bewildered, he said, “Thanks a lot! I have been in the toughest bars in the City. I have had knockdown, drag out fights with people, but no one has ever tried to take my gun, let alone, actually get it from me.”
Ebb and I never mentioned what happened to any one we worked with. We didn’t want the sergeant to get in trouble. The sergeant and patrolmen were very grateful and respectful. Although they never asked us to keep it quiet, I viewed it as a professional courtesy. If I had been the sergeant, I wouldn’t want what happened being discussed all over the departments.
Later that day, our supervisor came out and began admonishing us for allowing the police to put a patient in a police wagon and take her to the hospital. He was yelling at us, saying that patients get transported to hospitals in ambulances not police wagons. Ebb told him to ask the police why they took the patient and not us.
When our supervisor was done talking to the police, he had clearly been told what had happened. He came back to us with the two officers that were on scene. Our supervisor told us not to worry about sending the patient with the police. This time it was okay. The patrolmen spoke very appreciatively, kindly, and graciously about us.
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Reprinted from EMT Paramedic As I Saw It
By Stephen A. Penn
Stephen A. Penn / CreateSpace 2015
About the author
Stephen A. Penn has been working in ambulances since 1987. He has been an Emergency Medical Technician and a Paramedic. He has worked in both the private and municipal sectors. His experience encompasses both the urban and suburban response areas.