Siren Song: Part II

The room that Ivan leads me into is big, but cozy, and has a dilapidated, "lived-in" feel--brown berber carpeting, mismatched furniture, and a musty, stale odor. The room reminds me of my grandma's basement--the one I was often told to go play in when I was younger, the one where grandma kept her old dresses and wigs in a scary, dusty trunk. In other words, the room is comforting...in a sinister sort of way.

I, of course, feel ridiculously out of place (not to mention HUGELY FAT, given the horrible, disgusting uniform I've been forced to wear). I take a seat on the edge of one of the three reclining chairs that are lined up in a row, all facing a decrepit TV, which is held in a shoddy-looking entertainment unit. The TV is on, tuned to the local news. I sit there for awhile, before realizing that no one cares what I do, and so I finally get up and look around, taking in the details of Base Station 1. Off of the main living area (which, along with the three reclining chairs and entertainment unit, holds a large "leather" couch and a dining table and full kitchen), there are two "bedrooms"--just bare-bones rooms with single beds and night tables, in which on-duty EMTs are allowed to sleep until they are called to duty.

Aside from the main living space and the bedrooms, there are two bathrooms and a large supply room, which holds back-ups of everything an ambulance crew might need (aside from drugs and IV fluids, which must be obtained at the hospital)--extra nonrebreather masks and nasal cannulas, extra sheet sets, pillows, lancets, suction catheters and tubing, needles, boxes of latex gloves, etc. One wall of the supply room holds the time clock (where all the regular employees punch in and out), the charging stations for each EMT and medic's handheld radio, and a large map that shows the geographical area that this particular ambulance company covers.

Also, there is a little den, which holds a small couch and a desk with a computer (with Internet access!), a telephone, and various official-looking papers, forms, and envelopes.

And of course, there is a huge garage attached to the Base, which holds anywhere from one to three ambulances at a time. There's not much else kept in the garage, except for the Oxygen tanks, which a crew can grab when they've used theirs up (all ambulances are required to have 2 portable oxygen tanks on board--one that is actively "in use" (it has to have a certain amount of O2 in it. Once it dips below the required level, it must be replaced) and a backup O2 tank).

Exploring the whole Base station takes all of 10 minutes, and so I walk shamefully back to the main living area and take a seat in one of the reclining chairs. Wendy looks at me. She is a thick, solid-looking woman, with bottle-blond hair and a tired-of-it-all air about her.

"Ivan's gonna wanna go get somethin' to eat," she says, like she needs my permission or something.

"Ok," I say meekly, hating the sound of my own voice.

"After we do rig check," she says. Fear strikes my heart. Well, more fear than was already there, that is. This is the first real opportunity for me to fail at being a "good" EMT student.

Ivan enters the room, and he's clutching a leather briefcase-style laptop-carrier. I know what this means. Rig check. Ivan is the medic on the rig I'm riding on, which means he keeps the computer on which he writes all his run-reports with him at all times. During rig check, he'll need to enter information onto the lap-top, such as the serial number on our "drug box" and the expiration date, etc. Wendy labors up off of the reclining chair she was sitting in and follows him, and I do the same.

We walk out the door, and I am delighted to see that it is light out now. Morning has broken, birds are singing, cars are whizzing by on the busy street next to the Base, and people are awake! I think I even hear a lawnmower! This all means that I am that much closer to being home, in my own bed, and I am flooded with premature relief.

But then I see the ambulance. And I know I'm supposed to get on it, and poke around, and say things about what supplies are missing and whether or not the O2 tank is filled up enough...except I don't know anything! And, to make matters worse, a new crew has just pulled up to Base, for seemingly no other reason than to make my embarrassment that much more poignant.

I stand awkwardly next to the ambulance, while Wendy and Ivan lumber aboard. I guess I'm thinking that not doing anything at all is better than pretending to know what I'm doing. Deep down, I know that I should be asking Ivan or Wendy what to do. But Wendy seems perturbed already and Ivan is gruff. So I just stand there. That's when one of the "new" EMTs who just arrived at Base, walks over to me. He's a slim, nice-looking 30-something man, who grins broadly at me and shakes my hand, telling me his name is Adam**. He is wearing bad-ass combat boots that come mid-way up his calves and his pants are tucked into them, soldier-style. I like him immediately, simply because he smiled and acknowledged my existence.

Adam lights a cigarette and whispers to me, "If you go check the outside compartments and tell Ivan how much O2 is in the main, he'll be impressed." If only I knew what those words meant! Adam inhales deeply and chuckles. "Here, follow me," he says. He takes me around the outside of the ambulance, opening all the outer compartments (storage areas and drawers, built into the outside of the ambulance). One compartment holds all the long backboards and the C-collars (neck braces). One compartment holds the stair chair (used to carry a stable patient up and down stairs). One compartment holds road flares and special orange vests we're supposed to wear on the scene of a car accident. And one compartment holds "the main"--the big oxygen tank that the ambulance draws it's main O2 from. Adam instructs me to look at how much O2 is in the main and go report it to Ivan. He's even kind enough to tell me exactly how to say it. He says, "Go tell Ivan 'We've got 1600 in the main.'"

I am, at this moment, more grateful to Adam than I have ever been to anyone in my entire life. I run and tell Ivan exactly what Adam told me to tell him, and he looks at me, puzzled, like he's surprised I would know to say such a thing (he should be surprised!), and says, "Uh..ok..thanks." Then I go on, telling him we're good on long boards and C-collars and we've got a stair chair and road flares.

Before I know it, rig check is done, and I haven't been screamed at yet. Ivan and Wendy climb out of the ambulance, light up cigarettes of their own, and stand around bullshitting with Adam and his partner Darcy**. I am too pleased with myself to feel resentful at not being included in their cliquey chat-fest.

But there is still a dull panic coursing through my veins. Because the first call of the day has yet to come.