Night Shift

A stiff September breeze was blowing from the north, carrying a hint of rain. Quiet night weather, Stephanie thought, neither fair enough to invite rowdy behavior, nor foul enough to increase the risk of accidents.

She was starting the shift behind the wheel. She had made sure of that, climbing into the drivers seat while Joel was still grabassing around the station with his buddies. She actually preferred to be the attending, and letting her partners drive, but she took a bit of wicked delight in pulling rank on him. She only had a few months seniority on him, but it still counted. He was new to the crew as well, having transferred over from the Riverside station. All the more reason to resent his cocky attitude.

While she waited, she pulled down the visor and checked herself in the mirror. She was debating whether or not to get a haircut. Generally, she kept it short, but with autumn arriving, she thought she might continue to let it grow.

Looking at herself, she pondered if, at thirty two, she looked any different than she had at twenty two. It didn't seem so. One thing about the job, it kept you in good shape. She'd always been slender, but over the years, she had actually gotten pretty buff.

Finally, Joel came out of the clubhouse. As he crossed the parking bays Stephanie thought, too bad he's such a jerk, he's pretty good looking himself. She'd seen him washing down the vehicles wearing only a pair of bike shorts. If appearance was all that mattered, he was definitely someone she would consider hooking up with.

He shot her a sour look when he saw her waiting for him in the drivers seat, but he couldn't argue with her about that now, their first call had come in. They needed to roll.

"Granny down?" he asked, as Stephanie pulled out of the station.

"Yeah, over at the Garden Square Apartments. I'm not sure, but if it's the one I think it is, she's a frequent flyer."

"Hypochondriac?"

Stephanie shrugged. "She's eighty something years old. I don't doubt that any of her complaints are real."

"But not serious enough to call in?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

The sun was low in the west. It would be gone in an hour. For now, it cast an amber autumn glow over the city.

It was a short run; they were there in a few minutes. A slight woman in a hairnet and pink housedress stood just inside the front door, wringing her hands.

"It's Mrs. Dunlap, in 4A," she said as the paramedics entered the foyer. Stephanie knew that, but thanked her anyway. Joel led the way to the apartment. The door was slightly ajar. He rapped once, than stepped inside.

The room smelled of bacon grease and dirty laundry. Mrs. Dunlap lay on the sofa, turned on her right side. She was wearing a threadbare nightgown and one fuzzy pink slipper. The other slipper was half hidden beneath the sofa.

Joel dropped to one knee beside her. "Can you tell me your name, dearie?" he asked.

"Her name is Mrs. Dunlap," the woman from the foyer said, peering in around the doorframe, "I told you that."

"We need her to tell us if she can," Stephanie said gently.

The woman on the sofa confirmed that she was, in fact, Margaret Dunlap.

"How old are you, Martha?" Joel asked.

"Eighty five."

Joel opened his bag and got out his equipment. He checked her vital signs. "Are you in any pain?"

"My hip hurts like the dickens," she groaned.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I was putting my dinner plate in the kitchen sink," she said between heavy breaths, "When I stepped back I slipped and fell right on my rear end. Maybe the floor was wet. I don't know."

"Alright," he said, "If you don't mind, I'm going to take a look."

He reached for the hem of her nightgown, but she pushed his hand away. "No, don't... please," she begged.

Stephanie moved closer. "Why don't you go out to the ambulance and call this in" she said, "I'll take over here."

"I got it," Joel said.

Stephanie pressed her toes into the side of his leg. "Joel, I'll take it from here."

Joel shot her an annoyed look, but rose and left the room. She took his place beside the sofa.

"Mrs. Dunlap, I need to look at the hip and see how badly it's hurt before we can move you."

"You don't have to. My daughter is coming. She's going to take me to the urgent care place. I can't afford no ambulance to the hospital."

"Okay, that's your right. But I'd still like to take a look at your hip and let her know how badly you're hurt."

Mrs. Dunlap sniffled and nodded. Stephanie gently slipped her night dress up to her waist. A deep purple bruise showed above and below the edges of her underpants. Stephanie slipped her fingers under the waistband and took a quick look beneath them.

"I'm going to touch the sore places," she said, almost whispering, "I'll be as careful as I can. You'll let me know if it hurts too much, okay?"

"Okay."

Stephanie laid her hand tenderly on the purple flesh. Moving slowly and carefully, she felt the entire bruised area. Mrs. Dunlap grunted a time or two, but did not object.

"Mom?" a loud voice called from the hallway. A moment later, a young woman rushed into the room. "Mom, are you okay?"

"She's badly bruised, but nothing seems to be broken," Stephanie said.

"Come on, Mom," the woman said, holding out her hand, "I'll take you to the clinic." She helped her mother to a sitting position, causing her to cry out in pain.

"I'm not sure how well she can walk," Stephanie said, "She might be better off if we put her on a gurney..."

"Uh uh," the woman barked, "You'll probably charge her a thousand dollars for the ride. You people are vultures."

Stephanie, still on her knees, picked up the stray slipper from the floor and slid it on to Mrs. Dunlap's foot. She stood and watched helplessly as the old woman draped an arm over her daughter's shoulder and they limped together from the room.

"You're welcome," she muttered under her breath.

She followed them into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind her. Once outside, she stood by while Mrs. Dunlap struggled into the front seat of her daughter's car.

Joel was leaning against the side of the ambulance waiting for her. "So, she's going to Doc In A Box?"

Stephanie shrugged. "Yeah."

"So why'd you kick me out of there? That wasn't cool."

"She wasn't going to let a man lift her gown and look at her hip," Stephanie said, "And don't call elderly women 'dearie.' It's condescending."

"It's being nice."

"You can be nice and behave in a professional manner at the same time," she said, walking around to the driver's door.

"Hey, why don't you let me drive? We can take turns on each run."

Stephanie ignored him and climbed into the drivers seat. She called into Dispatch and told them they were cleared for another run. When told they were on stand-by, Joel suggested they take the opportunity to make a pit stop.

"We just got started," Stephanie said.

"Yeah, but I was in a rush and didn't get a chance to eat."

So get to work on time, Stephanie thought. "What's near by?" she asked.

"Quick Stop Market, over on Monroe."

"Good coffee?"

"Yeah."

"Clean bathroom?"

"Clean as you can expect, I suppose."

Stephanie nodded, then followed Joel's directions to the market. She pulled into the empty parking lot, called in their location, then cut the engine.

A short, swarthy man looked at them from behind the counter as they entered.

"Bathroom?" Stephanie asked.

"Customer only," the man barked.

Stephanie saw the rest room sign over a door on the back wall. She ignored him and went to it.

When she came out, Joel was at the counter, paying for his purchases. She crossed to the coffee dispenser and prepared herself a cup.

"Christ," Joel asked when she had finished, "How many sugars did you put in there?"

Stephanie shrugged. "It's not like they let us take speed."

Joel held a brown paper bag in one hand and a slice of pepperoni pizza on a paper plate in the other. "The coffee is on me," he said. He pushed the door open with his hip and stepped outside.

Stephanie followed him. He dropped the paper plate in a trash can and folded the pizza over. By the time they reached the ambulance, he had devoured it.

"Thanks for the coffee," she said as she climbed into the cab.

"You're welcome," he said, setting the bag down between his feet. He pulled out a can of Red Bull and popped the tab. After taking a long drink, he said, "See, I'm a damn prince. I don't know why you don't like to ride with me."

Stephanie hesitated before she replied. "I just don't think we work together well," she said.

"You nitpick at me. Like kicking me out on that call. I mean, okay, you're right about I should have been more sensitive, but you didn't have to embarrass me like that."

"Alright, fair enough."

"But I'm still calling old ladies 'dearie'. Shit, you're older than me, I might start calling you that."

"I might start calling you douchebag."

"Join the club," he said. He laughed and Stephanie couldn't help laughing with him.

The radio blared.

Unit Seventeen. Possible drug overdose. Wentworth Apartments, 5044 MLK Boulevard. Apartment 2-C. Please respond.

Joel replied. "We're on it, Dispatch."

The Wentworth may have been a grand place when it was built a century earlier, but it had seen decades of neglect and abuse.

"Welcome to the Hotel California," Joel said as Stephanie parked at the curb. He jumped out of the door before she had come to a complete stop.

A group of teenagers were hanging around the front door.

"Yo, it's the meat wagon," one of them shouted.

"The horizontal taxi," another chimed in.

They scattered as Joel rushed past them. Stephanie was a few steps behind. He was nearly to the top of the stairs, taking them two at a time, by the time she came through the door.

Stephanie followed more cautiously. Some of the steps were rotted and felt like they might give way.

She entered the apartment. A man lay on his side between a tattered sofa and a coffee table cluttered with empty bottles and fast food containers. He was unconscious, but his right arm was twitching rapidly. Joel was already pulling the table away, sending most of its contents tumbling to the floor.

An emaciated woman wearing nothing but a raggedy nightshirt and a big burly man in sweatpants and a tank top stood in an archway between the living room and kitchen. She was sobbing; he was sputtering a string of curse words. When he saw the table's content scatter around the room, he shouted as if in pain, stepped into the living room and dropped to his knees.

Joel was trying to roll the patient on to his back, but the big guy knelt behind him, searching for something on the floor. His works, Stephanie assumed.

"What did he take?" Stephanie asked the woman. All she got in return was an empty stare.

Joel looked over his shoulder. "Sir, I need some room here."

The man ignored him, continuing his search and his cursing.

Stephanie stood over him, and poked him hard in the shoulder with her index finger.

"Move it, buster!" she snapped when he looked up at her.

He glowered at her, but did not move.

She jabbed him again, harder. "I'm talking to you, buster."

He stood, towering over her by at least six inches.

Stephanie stared into his eyes and said, "We are trying to save your friend's life. You can look for your shit later. Get out of our way."

He stared down at her for a moment, then stalked back to the kitchen doorway.

Joel had the patient on his back. "Not waiting," he told Stephanie, "Giving him Narcan."

She nodded. If he was overdosing on an opioid, they might save his life. If it was coke or meth, naloxone would do no harm.

Joel uncapped the dispenser and sprayed the Narcan into the patient's nostril.

After a few anxious seconds, the man sucked in a deep, shuddery breath. He tried to sit up, but Stephanie put her hand on his shoulder.

"Don't try to sit," she told him, "We are going to turn you back on your side in case you throw up."

"Okay," he said in a croaking whisper.

"I'm Stephanie. What's your name?"

"Geezer."

"What's your real name?"

"John Petrillo."

"Okay, I just want you to relax right now, as best as you can. Do you want to tell me what you took?"

"Don't say shit, Geez," the big man roared. Geezer winced, but didn't say anything.

Joel finished checking Geezer's vital signs. "He's arrhythmic," he said, "We need to take him in."

"We can't get a gurney up those stairs," Stephanie said, "We're going to have to get him on his feet."

The big man had moved closer. "He don't need to go nowhere," he growled. "I'll go to 7-11 and get him some orange juice. He'll be fine."

The paramedics ignored him and, as gently as they could, lifted Geezer from the floor. He could stand, but wobbled. Stephanie put her arm around his waist and turned him toward the door.

The big man moved to block their path. "I told you, he don't need to go nowhere."

Joel stepped forward.

"Listen, man," he said sharply, "It's city policy that all EMS calls for suspected drug overdoses be accompanied by a police backup. They'll be here any minute. We don't care what you were looking for on the floor over there, but they might. So why don't you let us get by, so they don't have to come in here?"

The man's brow furrowed for a second. He stepped away from the door.

Joel got in front of Geezer and went down the stairs backwards, guiding him. Stephanie was behind him, her hands on his shoulders, ready to grab him if he tottered.

Halfway down, she heard a loud crack from beneath her feet, but the stair did not break. She let out a sigh of relief when they reached the ground floor.

The sun had set while they were inside. One of the teenagers was trying to jimmy the back doors of the ambulance with a screwdriver. He and his onlooking friends scattered when they saw the paramedics returning.

Geezer had an easier time getting down the porch steps.

"Do I really have to go to the hospital?" he asked Stephanie. His voice had gotten stronger.

"Look, we can't make you go," she replied, "But I've seen a lot of people in your condition, so you need to believe me that you want to get checked out."

"But I can't pay no hospital bill."

"So don't," she said, fully aware that he was just casting for an excuse. "What are they going to do if you don't?"

Geezer snickered, "They could sue me for everything I've got."

Joel unlocked and opened the ambulance doors and pulled down the gurney. It sprang open and Stephanie guided Geezer on to it.

"Can't I just sit in a seat?" he asked.

"No," she told him, "You need to be lying down. You've got an irregular heartbeat. What if I have to treat you?"

"Really, I think I'm okay."

"I think you probably are, too. But I'd like to know for sure. Wouldn't you?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because I have this crazy idea that every single person has value, and we all need to take care of each other."

"Is that why you do this job?"

She nodded and gently coaxed him to a lying position. Once he was secured, she pushed on the foot of the gurney, and it collapsed back into the ambulance. Only then did she realize that Joel had taken the opportunity to slip into the drivers seat.

Shaking her head and chuckling, she climbed into the back and shut the doors.

"You know you're a dick, right?" she asked Joel as she settled into the attendant's seat.

"Yep, so I've been told," he said over his shoulder. "Take him to Presbo?"

"Yeah, that's closest."

Joel reported to Dispatch, then flipped on the light bar, even though it wasn't necessary.

As they raced to Presbyterian Hospital, much too fast in her opinion, Stephanie thought about Geezer's question.

She's been asked why she became a paramedic any number of times. She'd come up with answers that satisfied the questioners, but never one that seemed to be the whole truth.

Yes, as she had told Geezer, she cared about people, and she didn't know a better feeling than resting her head on her pillow after each shift able to tell herself that she had helped people, even that she had saved lives. But she could have become a nurse or a social worker and felt the same.

There was another side to it, one she was hesitant to admit. It was often exciting. Some parts of it were even fun. 'The cowboy stuff,' some of her co-workers called it. She didn't think her friends or family could understand that. Joel certainly would, she thought, chuckling to herself.

They pulled in at Presbyterian Hospital, unloaded Geezer and wheeled him into the ER. After signing him over at the desk, Stephanie went back into the ward, and found him sitting up in a bed while a nurse attached monitor wires to his chest.

"Good luck, John," she said, as she retrieved the gurney.

He started to grin, but then looked away, like a bashful child. "Thanks," he muttered, "See ya."

She tilted her head and grinned tenderly at him. "I really hope you don't."

His face drooped, and he slowly nodded to her as she waved goodbye.

Joel was sitting in the backdoor of the ambulance, dangling his feet. He was eating a Slim Jim.

"You want one of these?" he asked Stephanie as she approached.

"Sure," she said. He took another sausage stick from his pocket and handed it to her.

She thanked him, unwrapped it and took a bite.

"Geezer all tucked in?" he asked.

"Yeah, he looked like he was doing alright."

Joel let out a snorting laugh. "You called that big asshole 'buster.' What is this, 1935?"

Stephanie grinned. "That was some pretty good bullshit you gave him about the cops backing us up on every call."

"Well, they should."

"They are supposed to, but they don't."

"We didn't need them. See, Im telling you, we are a good team."

She rolled her eyes at him, ate the last of the Slim Jim, then crumbled the plastic wrapper and stuffed it in his shirt pocket.

"Thanks," she said. "I'd better call into the shop."

They returned to the cab. Joel did not complain when Stephanie got in the drivers seat. She thumbed the radio and reported to Dispatch.

"Seventeen clear," she said.

A few seconds later, Dispatch responded.

Seventeen, remain on site. We may have a return run for you.

"Roger," Stephanie said. She broke the connection.

"I swear," Joel groaned, "Half this job is just waiting around."

Stephanie leaned her head back on her seat and closed her eyes. She was fine with down time. Her dad had been a Marine and she remembered listening to him recite what he called the Jarhead Code; Never run when you can walk, never walk when you can stand, never stand when you can sit, never sit when you can lay down, never lay down when you can sleep.

She had just started to drift off when Joel asked, "So, are we going to switch off driving now?"

"Sure," she said, without opening her eyes.

She drifted in and out of sleep. Joel was playing a game on his phone. He kept the volume low, but she could still hear a constant chorus of beeps and bings.

Don't say anything, she kept repeating to herself. You've got to get along with him.

She must have fallen into a deeper slumber, because Joel had to poke her in the arm to let her know they had another call.

"Just a milk run," he told her, "Pickup at Midtown."

Stephanie drove to Midtown Hospital. The patient was a frail, elderly lady. There was a bandage around her head and her arm was in a sling.

"I fell down the stairs," she told Joel as he helped her on to the gurney.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Ma'am." He looked at Stephanie and grinned. He continued as he put her in the ambulance and climbed into the attendant's seat. "There you go, Ma'am." "We'll get you home soon, Ma'am."

When they arrived at her house, he helped her inside. "Watch your step, Ma'am." "Good night, Ma'am."

"How was that?" he asked Stephanie as they got back in the ambulance. "Respectful enough?"