Flesh and Bone

Ryan had no more locked the drug box away in their rig and put her pack behind the front passenger seat when the high pitched tone came over their radios. Mitch and Ryan both paused, waiting for the dispatch information.
“Station 5, engine 3, be en route to 534 Wright Mill Way in reference to a 62 year old female complaining of vomiting.” The dispatcher’s monotone voice relayed the information.
“Tag, you’re it!” Mitch said as he slapped Ryan on her shoulder as he passed by her.
Sighing, Ryan simply said, “Fuck me.”
“Welcome back”, Mitch said with a grimace.
“Is that us?” Tom asked them both.
“Yep, it is”, Ryan said dejectedly. “You prefer front or back? If you get car sick, you may want to be up front”, she threw over her shoulder.
“No, not usually”, Tom said as he opened the side door and climbed in. Sitting in the seat at the head of the stretcher, he turned to face the crew in the cab in front of him. Ryan and Mitch seemed to latch their seatbelts simultaneously, as Ryan reached for the radio mic. The smaller rescue engine lumbered out of the station ahead of them and a digital beep sounded over the mounted radio.
“Log M25 en route”, Ryan spoke into the mic.
“10-4, 1913 hours”, crackled back at them.
Riding in the back of an ambulance was louder than he expected. Tom found himself almost shouting to the two up front. “So, what are we going to?”
Ryan half turned in her seat, as much as the seatbelt would allow, and relayed the information.
“This lady is a frequent purveyor of our services. She’s a diabetic and has some other health problems. None of which she is compliant with consistently. So, when her blood sugar gets too high, she gets sick and calls us.” Ryan said, no trying to even hide the disdain in her voice.
Tom merely nodded and turned his attention back to the scenery around him. Various medical tools that he had no idea what they were used for. Cabinets stuffed with supplies from bandages to IV’s and everything in between. Before he knew the truck had stopped and Ryan’s voice crackled over the radio, telling dispatch they had arrived at their patient.
Before he could move, the side door swung open and Ryan reached in to retrieve the jump bag. Pointing up above the door with her index finger she flatly told Tom to grab a pair of gloves. Scanning the row of boxes in the bracket above the door, he spotted the box with an “L” on it, which he hoped meant large. Donning a pair of Smurf blue gloves, he made his way down the steps and followed his teachers to the front door of a shabby looking home.
Being last through the door, he rounded a corner of a smoke filled room to find Mitch leaned over a chair speaking with who Tom presumed was their patient. The air was thick with the smell of cigarettes and old cooking grease. The floor was dingy; tables were covered in various medication bottles, food wrappers and drink cans. The unpleasantness of it all made Tom gnash his teeth together to keep from retching. Ryan and Mitch seemed unfazed.
“What’s your blood sugar Martha?” Mitch boomed to the rotund woman sitting in the chair. “Have you taken your insulin today?”
Tom watched as Ryan took a small bag from the larger bag she had brought in and began putting together what almost looked like a rig to shoot up drugs. Quickly he figured out it was some type of machine and after observing Ryan pull out a small lancet he knew it was to check this lady’s blood sugar. Making a small beep when the machine registered the sample, Ryan rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. Looking at Mitch, she just said, “high” and began putting everything away.
“Well Martha, would you like to go on down to Methodist?” Mitch asked their patient. The lady must have assented, as Ryan picked up the jump bag and began walking in the direction of the door.
As she passed Tom, Ryan raised her free hand in a “come along” motion and he followed her outside. Breathing deeply of the fresh air, trying to clear his nasal passages of the offending odor of the house, he met up with Ryan at the back of their rig. Opening one back door and then the other, she threw the bag up on the bench seat and released the mechanism that held in the cot. Pulling it out and dropping the wheels to the ground, she unhooked the latch from the hook on the floor. “Push or pull?” Ryan asked with an eyebrow cocked.
“I’m sorry?” Tom replied, confused.
“We’ve got to get the stretcher up to the door. Would you like to push or pull?” she remarked.
“Oh! So sorry, I wasn’t following. Uh, I guess I’ll push since I don’t really know what the hell I’m doing.” He smiled.
“Alright, follow me.” Ryan said as she pulled on the handle at the end of the stretcher.
Getting it up over the curb and to the front door, Mitch was waiting on them with their patient. Tom finally got a good look at her. A sad looking lady, “Martha” had deep lines etched into her face. Her graying hair was stringy and appeared in need of a good washing and maybe delousing. Her pink shirt had various stains on it and her fingernails were yellowed from nicotine. With Mitch holding her arm, she huffed down the one step and flopped down onto their stretcher. Once buckled in, Mitch locked her door and gave her back her keys. Up the stretcher went and they made their way back to their rig at the curb. A much more trying task than bringing it up. Tom felt way out of his element as he observed Ryan and Mitch put the loaded stretcher into the truck and climb in after. Standing at the opened back doors, Tom didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He watched as Mitch hooked their patient up to what Tom assumed to be a blood pressure monitor/heart monitor, as within minutes it emanated a steady “beep, beep”. Ryan had a tourniquet around the lady’s other arm and poking various places with the tip of her finger. It wasn’t until Ryan uncapped an IV needle that Tom figured out what she was doing.
Mesmerized, Tom stood watch as Ryan deftly placed the IV line. Mitch stepped out onto the bumper next to him. “Hop on in man; we’re about to take off.” He told Tom curtly. Ducking into the back as not to slam his head into the frame, he no sooner stepped fully in when the doors shut behind him.
Ryan looked up and almost burst out laughing. Tom was absolutely pale and had a look of sheer panic on his face. Reigning in her amusement, she cocked her head to the seat he rode to the call in. “Have a seat before you fall out.” She murmured.
Retrieving a bag of IV fluids, Ryan set up the line and hooked it into the port in their patient’s arm. Just as Ryan finished taping down the excess line, their patient spoke up.
“Oh! Oh! I’m gonna throw up! I’m gonna throw up!” Martha spat out between heaves.
Ryan snatched a small, plastic bag from a compartment behind the head of the stretcher and got it under Martha’s chin just in time. Between the retching sounds and the odor of vomit, Tom began to break out in a cold sweat. He tried to turn away and look up toward the cab and the back of Mitch’s head. Putting his head down in his lap, he rapidly swallowed hard, trying to stave off the feeling of nausea and his own desire to retch. He could hear Ryan talking but, at the moment he didn’t know who she was speaking to or what she was saying. He faintly heard some rustling around in the cabinets around him over the pulse thumping in his ears. After what seemed an eternity, he felt something cool on the back of his neck and pressure being applied to both of his temples. Glancing up he saw Ryan peering down at him with concern and sympathy in her eyes. She had placed a cold pack on his neck and had two fingers of each hand applying pressure to his head.
“You alright?” she said softly.
Nodding his head slowly in the affirmative, he did note he was beginning to feel better. Whatever she was doing had stopped the nausea and the heaving feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“We’re almost there, just hold on a bit longer.” She stated flatly.
Within a few minutes they were stopped and the back doors opened to a smiling Mitch. He and Ryan removed their patient and Tom stood shakily to follow them in. Once inside the emergency room and had their patient in a small exam room, Ryan directed Mitch to take Tom to the lounge to wash his face. Thirty minutes later when Ryan emerged from the ER, she spotted Tom sitting on the back bumper of their rig, leaned over with his arms on his knees. Mitch was standing next to him with one foot up on the bumper. They were talking quietly and seemed startled when Ryan walked up on them.
“Don’t feel too bad, man. All of us have that one thing we can’t stomach. For me, it’s snot. And for her”, he said jerking his thumb at Ryan, “is open bone fractures”. Mitch winked at Ryan.
“Thanks just spill all my secrets.” Ryan said as she took a seat on the bumper next to Tom. “You alright now?” she asked him.
“Yes, thank you. I didn’t quite expect that reaction.” He said, peering at Ryan next to him.
Feeling his embarrassment, Ryan didn’t push it. “It happens. No worries”.
“Is it coffee-o’clock yet?” Mitch asked jovially while looking down at his watch.
“Sure, why not”, said Ryan. “You up for coffee?” she asked Tom.
He nodded and slowly rose to standing, pulling his long fingers down his face.
“Off we go then” Mitch said, tossing the keys to Ryan. “You drive kid.”