Rescue 1 Responding: Chapter 9, a Book by Michael Morse

Rescue 1 Responding: Chapter 9, a Book by Michael Morse

I always thought that a day in the life of a Providence Firefighter assigned to the EMS division would make a great book. One day I decided to take notes. I used one of those little yellow Post it note pads and scribbled away for four days. The books Rescuing Providence and Rescue 1 Responding are the result of those early nearly indecipherable thoughts.

I’m glad I took the time to document what happens during a typical tour on an advanced life support rig in Rhode Island’s capitol city. Looking back, I can hardly believe I lived it. But I did, and now you can too. Many thanks to GoLocalProv.com for publishing the chapters of my books on a weekly basis from now until they are through. I hope that people come away from the experience with a better understanding of what their first responders do, who they are and how we do our best to hold it all together,

Enjoy the ride, and stay safe!

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Captain Michael Morse (ret.)

Providence Fire Department

The book is available at local bookstores and can be found HERE.

Note from the author

There are a remarkable number of people who reside in Providence with no income other than the disability checks that are provided by the federal government. The city housing department manages a number of low and fixed rent places, many of them hi-rises. Each has its own identity, the people who inhabit them range from elderly people, disabled people, people who think they are disabled, people who know they are not disabled but have convinced the right people they are and a number of people who managed to get “on the list” for reasons I have never understood. The elderly residents tell us of how it used to be, before the young people with histories of drug and alcohol addiction took over. Some of these places are war zones, elderly being preyed upon by the others. English is a second language at many of the hi rises, and in a few there is no English spoken at all. A few of the places are still occupied by the elderly; I look forward to responding to them, it’s like a trip back in time, where Granma waits, the smell of home cooking wafting under the doors, filling the hallways with memories.

Chapter 9 

Destiny is at the hospital in good hands. My guess is she will be back on the streets tomorrow.  What connection we had will be forgotten as soon as somebody else comes into her life.  I can only hope that what little kindness I showed her stays with her for a little while, at least.

Mike will be working at Rescue 4 and I am headed to Rescue 3.  The ride between stations gives me an opportunity to unwind.  There is no chance of getting a run now, I’ve left my radio with Tim and have some time to myself.  The ride only lasts for about fifteen minutes, but those fifteen minutes of peace are vital components of a thirty-eight hour shift.  With twenty-four hours to go survival becomes an hourly quest.  The mundane runs wear you down until a true emergency tests your resolve.  So far, I’ve been able to rise to the occasion when called upon and will leave the rescue division if I find I cannot.

The ride goes quickly, traffic on a Saturday morning light.  The garage door is open, waiting for the day shift to enter.  I pull in and turn the key off end enjoy a few moments of serenity in the basement of the Branch Avenue fire station.  I am hoping for a quiet morning.  As I reach into my back seat to get my bag, the speaker in the basement begins to bark.  I can barely hear what is being said, but I’m sure it is another rescue run.  My plan for a cup of coffee and some conversation with my friends from D group will have to wait.

0738 hrs. (7:38 a.m.)

“Rescue 3; respond to the Dexter Manor for an unknown medical problem.”

Rick, the officer of Rescue 3, C group is more than ready to head home.  He waits for me on the bottom landing of the stairs and hands me the portable as I pass.

“See you at five,” he says, and then heads out the door.  Usually talkative the night shift must have taken its toll on his spirit.  My own spirit is quickly evaporating.  I wish I hadn’t said yes to the overtime.  If it had been offered this morning, I would have said no.  They always call as soon as I get to work when I still have some fuel in the tank.  Right now I’m running on empty.

“What’s up, Big Head,” says Al, my partner for the day.

“Not much, Shrek,” I reply.  They could call us heavy rescue.  I’m 6’3” and weigh 225, and Al is a lot bigger than I am.  We shouldn’t have any trouble with combative patients today

“Do you know where we’re going?” I ask Al.

“Death Manor,” he tells me and drives toward our destination.   Dexter Manor is an enormous hi-rise located on the outskirts of the downtown area.  The Providence Housing Authority has done their best keeping the place up, but it is very old and the years have taken their toll.  Cockroaches and other crawly things can be seen running about despite the best efforts from the exterminators.  The bugs are the least bothersome pests.  Some of the people who live here don’t follow the acceptable rules of a civilized society.  The police are called to the building as often as we are.  The Housecoat Brigade, a group of elderly residents that inhabit the hi-rises in Providence, and probably everywhere else, is conspicuously absent from the halls.  I don’t think the other residents appreciate them, so I imagine they meet in secret and plan for the day that they will retake the building.

“How was your night?” I ask Al.  He worked a callback on Rescue 3 last night and is on the last ten hours of a thirty-four.

“Shitty, how about yours?”

“Sucked.”  

“I got in yesterday morning and haven’t stopped,” he says.  “This is something like my twentieth run in twenty-four hours.  I hope things slow down or it’s going to be a long day.”

“Do you miss the ladder truck?” I ask.

“Nah, but this is getting ridiculous.  I thought we were getting more rescues.  When I came over to rescue the city promised one more truck that year, then another one the next.  Two years have come and gone and nothing,” says Al.

“I know, I did the same thing three years ago.  I should have known better.  We’re just going to have to pace ourselves.”

“That and drink a lot of coffee.”

“Roger that.”

“Every time I come back to Branch Avenue I feel like I’ve entered a time warp.  Can you believe Wayne, Arthur and Kenny are still here?” I say.  The first five years of my career were spent on Engine 2 at Branch Avenue.  The crew is still the same, I am the one missing.

“They’re going to retire here.  I wouldn’t know what to do if they left, they’ve become like family.”

“That has to be the longest any group has stayed together.  You guys are pretty lucky.  The five years that I was on Engine 2 were the best years I had on the fire department.  I don’t think I’ve had a good belly laugh on the job since I left, and back then we had them every night,” I say.

“It’s not the same, but it’s still pretty good.  I’ll probably stay there for a while.”

We arrive on scene and find our patient waiting for us in the lobby, sitting on a bench and clutching his stomach.  A woman who appears to be his wife is with him.  She helps him to his feet and they both start to walk to the rescue.  He is wearing Sergio Valente jeans, sneakers and a shocking pink polo shirt.  A burgundy Members Only jacket completes the outfit.  He takes his baseball cap off of his head as he enters the truck revealing a full head of gray frizzy hair.  The woman who appears to be his wife gets in and sits next to him on the bench seat.  Her bright blue pants and yellow sweater contrast nicely with the pink polo shirt.  Easter has come early to the back of Rescue 3.

“What’s the matter with him?” I ask.

“Pain, bad.  Long time.”  She points to his abdominal area.

“Has he been throwing up?” I ask.  She looks at me with a blank stare.  I pantomime the act of vomiting, with sound effects, and she understands immediately what I’m talking about.  

“Si!”  She nods her head emphatically.  “Three times.”

 “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” says Al.

“I’ve been taking classes.”

Al gets the man’s vital signs, tells them to me so I can document them on my report then gets in front to drive to Rhode Island Hospital.  It is difficult to communicate with the two passengers in the back of my truck, so I fill out the report during the ride.  It is only a mile away so the trip is a short one.  We pull into the rescue bay and head to the triage area.  I give my report to Katey who will be our Maitre'd this morning.  

“Hi guys, how are you?” she asks.

“Better because you’re here,” I say.

 “Fabulous,” says Al.

 “What have you got?” she asks.

“Fifty-two year old male complaining of abdominal pain for a ‘long time.’  He’s been vomiting but there is a language barrier so I can’t tell you much more than that.”

“I think we can figure out what’s wrong,” Katey says and signs my report.  

I often wonder what happens to the patients when I turn them over to the hospital staff.  My contact with them is miniscule in comparison to their entire experience.  The ride to the hospital is only the beginning; from there the real treatment begins.

“Do you have anything to do?” I ask Al as we head back to the station.

“No, I’m all set, how about you?”

“I’ve got to get to Venda to pick up some manicotti, and then visit my mother in the nursing home.”

 “How is she doing?"

“About the same.  It’s hard to believe that it’s been eight years since she had the stroke.”

“Does she recognize you when you visit?”

 “Yeah, but she can’t communicate or move.  She’s been on a feeding tube since the week after Christmas.  I don’t know how she has survived.”

“My mother was in a coma for the last five years of her life,” says Al.  “I used to visit her all the time, so I know it’s hard.”

“It can be pretty depressing.”

 “Venda doesn’t open until eleven, do you want to visit your mom first?”

“Let’s go back to the station and try to get a little rest. We can do the other stuff after lunch.

 “Good plan.” 

The radio is quiet on the way back to quarters.  Maybe the rescue gods will be on our side for a change. 

Michael Morse lives in Warwick, RI with his wife, Cheryl, two Maine Coon cats, Lunabelle and Victoria Mae and Mr. Wilson, their dog. Daughters Danielle and Brittany and their families live nearby. Michael spent twenty-three years working in Providence, (RI) as a firefighter/EMT before retiring in 2013 as Captain, Rescue Co. 5. His books, Rescuing Providence, Rescue 1 Responding, Mr. Wilson Makes it Home and his latest, City Life offer a poignant glimpse into one person’s journey through life, work and hope for the future. Morse was awarded the prestigious Macoll-Johnson Fellowship from The Rhode Island Foundation.