Birthday Boy

The shift had been relentless:

Two unsuccessful resuscitation attempts, including one young person. 

One serious motorbike accident, unlikely to survive. 

One serious stroke, unlikely to survive.

Two asthma attacks. 

And a twenty year old with tonsillitis somewhere in the middle of the mess.  

There was still an hour left of the shift, and we hadn't stopped once in the previous eleven. I was working with Gary, 50-something in body, still a teenager in spirit. He'd joined a little before I did, his previous job having lost its sparkle, as he looked for a new adventure whilst headed towards the end of his forties. In the short few months we'd worked together, we'd found a rhythm. We each preferred different types of calls, we could tell when the other was off-colour, but would both kick into gear when it was really necessary. Sometimes there was no need for words. Whatever needed doing was just done. 

This time, it was his turn to drive and mine to attend, yet as with most regular crews, it was more a case of who was in charge of the writing, and who of the driving. The actual caring for the patients was done by both of us irrespective of what was on the actual ticket. 

"You OK?" Gary asked, as I rested my head back on the attendant's seat, closing my eyes for a second. 

"Think so," I sighed, "just a bit tired. It's been one of those again, hasn't it?" 

"Well, they can't throw anything else at us now, can they? There can't possibly be anyone really sick left!"

With that, we pushed the green button to let the Brain know we were ready to go. Just one more call, and then it'd be home time. Within seconds, the computer rang, and another call appeared out of the ether. 

Toddler-aged, fallen, bleeding from the ear, unconscious. Address? Two hundred metres from the next hospital down from where we were.

I stared in disbelief at the screen, my head and insides screaming for some sort of respite. This doesn't sound like the sort of call that is going to be an easy, end-of-crazy-shift, non-thinking, walk 'em on, walk 'em off the other end type. 

Gary drove as quickly as the rush-hour traffic would allow, the flashing lights and blaring siren apparently  completely invisible and inaudible to the people rushing home to their families after a long day at the office. The frustrations were building, the anxiety of the unknown trauma caused to the child beginning to play havoc with my already shattered brain and body. Adrenaline was building up and coursing its way through my bloodstream, and was only increased when what seemed like half the street were stood outside and waving frantically to show us the right house. 

As we pulled up outside, I jumped out the door, grabbed the bags from the ambulance, and ran up the stairs following the man who said he was the baby's uncle. 

"What's happened?" I ask the uncle. He either doesn't hear the question, or doesn't understand it. 

"Just come quickly, look, see!" Gary's a step behind me, and equally as anxious. 

We step into a lounge, balloons and streamers are everywhere, and a banner that reads "Happy 2nd Birthday" hangs above a shelf that is covered in cards. There are at least thirty people in the room, some eating cake, some drinking tea or coffee, all chatting amongst themselves. The birthday boy sits in the middle of the floor, surrounded by presents and wrapping paper torn to shreds, beaming from ear to ear. Cake crumbs are strewn all around him, and blue and red icing covers his face, leaving him with an almost clown-like appearance. 

The adrenaline build-up had no practical escape, and I lost it. 

"I thought he fell?" It was more a demand than a question. "I thought he was unconscious? And I thought he was bleeding from his ear?"

"He IS bleeding!" It was a new voice, another male, who identified himself as the father. "Come and look!"

He picked up the toddler, who cried at being dragged away from his new toys, turned him sharply round, and made me gaze at his left ear. There, at the top of his ear, was a pin prick of dried blood. "He scratched it with this toy, and we want you take him to the doctor. I knew if I said he was unconscious, that you'd come quicker. He needs to be back for the rest of his party!"

Through gritted teeth, I started to answer him back. I got two words into my sentence, when there was a hand on my collar, pulling me back. 

"Go out to the ambulance, and get the bandages ready." Softly spoken as ever, Gary prised me away from the situation, and gently threw me out the house. "We'll be down in a minute." 

The parents demanded that their little boy be seen at hospital, and we obliged, but this time Gary stayed in the back, and I drove. I couldn't guarantee that I'd bite my tongue long enough to get us through the two minute journey. Gary took them into the department, and as they walked past the front of the ambulance, I wound down the window and called out to the patient.

"Happy Birthday," I yelled, as I sat and pondered just how close I had come to losing everything I had worked for, if Gary hadn't have stepped in when he did.

The little boy grinned back, and shyly hid his head in his father's shoulder.

"That was some day," Gary sighed as he stepped back into the cab.

"Could've been worse!" I answered, not entirely convinced myself. "Here," I said, handing him the keys to the ambulance. "Drive us home."

It was a silent ten minutes back to station, as we both mulled over the day's events. Back at the station, we gathered our belongings, tidied up the ambulance ready for the next crew, and set about going our separate ways. As Gary was stepping out the back door of the station, I called after him.

"Thanks for today, especially that last one. You probably saved my job!"

"See you tomorrow, we'll do it all again."

"Isn't it your birthday tomorrow?"

"Yup. But I'm not planning on cutting my ear, so I reckon I'm safe."

He laughed, and I threw an empty plastic bottle at him, which dropped a couple of feet short, but made him trip over his own feet as he tried to beat a hasty retreat. It was my turn to laugh.

"See you tomorrow Birthday Boy."