"The Golden Hour"
The ticking of a clock marks time. One hour. Sixty minutes. Thirty-six hundred seconds. When time is measured in increments of minutes and seconds, it seems to stretch forever. Or does it? In a rescue situation, when a life may be at stake, that hour becomes golden.
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
The sound reverberated, gaining ground like a rock that gains pebbles as it rolls downhill. An incessant sound, poking and tugging at the consciousness that was within, the crackling and popping sounds fire makes as it consumes the air. Slowly, the consciousness responded, sluggishly trying to involve the body.
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
The body responded slowly; the heartbeat increased slightly, the breathing shallow and harsh became deeper. The mind struggled to became more aware taking census of the attached parts, noting the trauma when it was found. The trauma identified, the pain sensors jumped into play, adding their own contribution to the body as a whole.
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
Slowly, awareness came to him, much the way a furnace warms up before blowing hot air. Part by part, his body let him know where he hurt. As if checking off a grocery list, he noted each spot. Head….arm….ribs…legs okay, feet…attached.
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
Awareness brought the realization that he was laying on a hard surface. Where he couldn’t remember. Why eluded him, too. He searched in his fuzzy mind for the missing pieces. Not receiving any answers, he focused on the sounds around him. At first it was quiet. Then, he noticed the creaking of boards, like a house settling around him.
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
Straining his ears to hear more, he tried to open his eyes, to seek more information. Struggling, he managed to force one eye open and waited for it to focus. Wavering shapes came and went, in and out, like viewing a child’s kaleidoscope. Lazily, he let his eye work on focusing, strangely not worrying about the misshapen shapes around him. He closed his eye, thinking he would try again later.
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
Again he searched his memory for what happened, this time having more success. In a panic, forcing the eye open, the man willed it to focus, to look for his partner. For a minute, shapes wavered and then vision cleared. Only to become unfocused as his mind tried to interpret what messages the eye was sending.
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
Not seeing the partner, he slowly let the eye close. Struggling to make sense of what was going on was fighting an uphill battle against the pain. Leaving the eye shut, and attempting to explore the environment by touch, the right arm moved. Stretching equated pushing against a steel wall, but weakly the arm managed to move. Scratching with fingers, the mind tried identifying what the fingers were feeling. The small effort to explore his surroundings exhausted him and forcing the arm to slump to the floor. The adrenaline rush of panic eased out of him.
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
Succumbing to the pain, his whole body sagged and his world began to dissolve around him. Blackness, held at bay, began to overtake him. Cold. Seeping into his senses like the breeze through the window, he began to shiver. Coherency was lost as he eased into unconsciousness.
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
Chet was aggressively manning the hose to beat the fire back to where they could search for the missing man. He saw him go through the floor, watched as the fire surround the area where the man had been. But, there was nothing they could do, until the fire was away from the area.
“Come on Marco, let’s get in closer” Chet’s shout was muffled through the air mask he wore, but his intention was clear as he tried to edge forward.
Behind him, Marco assisted, reaching behind him to pull more hose. The spray of the water seemed to do little good to the raging monster ahead of them, but the firemen were slowly beating back the blaze.
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
With his BA on, mask dangling loose, he was ready to go. He just needed the word. He felt helpless, restless. Standing there doing nothing was wearing on him. Pacing did little to alleviate the tension coursing through him.
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
Finally, the signal was sent through the lines. The fire was under control and away from the area where the man fell. Adrenaline rushed through the veins of the crew of “A” shift as they surged forward to find their missing comrade. Shouts were heard as the men tried to communicate over the noise of the trucks and the fire.
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
Then, the noise coalesced into one comprehendible sentence.
“Come on, we’re through. I can see him!”
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
Sensing a change in orientation he realized he was lying on his back. Multiple hands were pulling and tugging, and weakly he tried pushing them away. The pain filled, foggy brain understood the timbre of one voice, if not the words, settling the frantic body. Like a puppet on a string, he let them manipulate his limbs.
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
Again, orientation changed, this time the man felt himself being raised in the air. Jerky movements indicated the stokes was being carried. Loud voices seemed to penetrate, but not make sense as conversation flew over him. Feeling like a fish out of water, gasping for air, the cool oxygen felt good to battered lungs. Cool air caressed skin as the turnouts were cut off, revealing injuries.
The partner quickly assessed his patient, running experienced hands over him, feeling for trauma. With assistance from his crewmates, vitals were taken and injuries cataloged. Rampart was raised on the biophone and information was efficiently relayed.
Tic....Tic.... Tic....
Arranging the equipment, the paramedic felt the movement of the ambulance as it got underway. Grabbing the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, preparing to take another set of vitals, a soft moan got his attention.
“You with me?” Pumping up the blood pressure cuff, the man noted the reading and quickly listened to the patient’s lungs. Concern etched in the face as he rechecked the oxygen mask and then moved to the head wound to see if the bleeding had stopped. Flashing the penlight into his patients’ eyes the man waited for pupil reaction while simultaneously reaching for the biophone to update Rampart.
Toc…
Frowning in concentration, Dr. Brackett finished suturing the chest tube in place, grabbing his stethoscope, he listened to his patients lungs. Finding good breath sounds on each side he was relieved the tube seemed to be working. Picking up the chart, reading the latest entries, he made some notations Satisfied, his facial features relaxed somewhat; convinced the patient was becoming stabilized. So intent on what he had been doing, he hadn’t even realized the other paramedic was still in the room. He spoke to the man standing alone, leaning against the wall of the treatment room.
“It appears he’ll be all right. We’re getting him stabilized.” Although his report was short and succinct, the concern for the man on the gurney was evident on his face and in his actions.
In the hall, Captain Stanley, Chet, Marco and Mike were waiting for information. All in quiet contemplation, they watched as the treatment door opened and their man joined them in the hall. In unison, a silent breath of relief was released when they were informed the paramedic was going to be alright.
Captain Stanley shook his head as he began to walk down the hall. “Fifty-five minutes, John, fifty-five minutes.”
