A Conversation Between A Junkie And An EMT-B Intern.
Patient is a male in his mid-twenties, he had just been given a dose of Narcan. His pulse was at 135, tachypnic, ashen skin color, with pin point pupils. He had just overdosed on heroin half an hour ago.
Patient in Semi-Fowlers position, given 15L O2 with nonrebreathable mask. IV administered.
Junkie: [taking off mask]
I will never shoot up again. Oh God, I hate this shit. I'm so fucking cold.
EMT-B Intern: [laughing, laying blanket on patient]
Junkie: Why the hell are you laughing?
EMT-B Intern: Because I'm the only one who believes you.
Junkie: What?
EMT-B Intern: I said I'm the only one who believes that you will never shoot up again.
Junkie: Yeah... Your right. I've said that so many times. I don't believe myself anymore. I can't do it. What am thinking? I'm so full of shit. Why do you think I can stop?
EMT-B Intern: Because I need hope just as much as you do. If you couldn't stop, why would I be here to help you?
Junkie: God help me. I want to be free of this.
Patient immediately guards chest and soon after becomes unconscious. Ambulance stops to activate CPR and AED. Heart goes into asystole . Continued CPR all the way to the ER. Patient is pronounced dead on arrival.
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4 comments:
Sy-
so am wandering across the blog lines, like i do every couple of weeks or so, expecting to get a chuckle or whatev, and i find myself tearing up over a few short paragraphs.
You tell a damn good story. Its short, to the point, the opposite of wordy... yet i find myself powerfuly moved, as if i was there in your place.
i found it sad, obviously, tragic... yet something strangely beautiful about it? that sounds weird though, maybe just incredibly poetic... why am i trying to analyze my feelings in your comment section?
well i guess i just wanted to say thanks for making me feel. thats all.
Right after we transported this patient to the basement, the EMTs tried to talk to me and see how I was doing because this was my first ambulance ride, and my first call. They thought I wanted to go home because they were pretty shook up. As we got back into the rig, I started smiling. I realized how merciful God is. Death was this man's helper. He stopped suffering. He will never need to worry about the want, the regret, the needle chill anymore.
As far as not mentioning his death, it's still hard to talk about it. You see, when you are there, when a person dies, the veil becomes thinner and thinner. You start to feel when a person will die and when they will still fight. You feel the command of spirits around you. The air becomes thicker and the world falls away. You see things for what they are. Masks disappear.
It took me about an hour to write this because it was hard for me to recount this episode. Not that it was hard to remember but that it is hard on my soul to write down. It was personal. God showed me more of Himself through this junkie. And I shouldn't call him a junkie, he is a person. A child of God. A precious creation. Imago Deo.
Keep sharing the story...it's amazing and beautifully written. In his desperate hour of need, he called out to God and God knew what it would take for this man to stop taking drugs. His life.
et
damn.
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