Chapter 3 Smiling Cheeseburger

Chapter 3 Smiling Cheeseburger

Chapter 3 -Cheeseburger

Every time I tell the “cut toe guy” story, I can see the guys who have heard it before roll their eyes. I feel compelled to tell the new guys the story. Complacency can kill you or the person you are trying to help.

The "cut toe guy" starts with an early morning dispatch to "male with a cut toe at the residence”. When the dispatch came, I had just served up a big spoon of scrambled eggs and had a piece of toast in my mouth. I put a huge forkful of egg in my mouth because I know this steaming plate of eggs I am leaving will be barely edible when I get back. You can never reheat eggs and have them taste good. .

There is general grumbling because breakfast will be cold by the time we get back. You wonder why a guy with a cut toe would not wrap it up and go the Emergency Room himself.

Engine 3 enroute status 4

We are less than 2 miles away and arrive within minutes.

"Tom, you and Chris have patient care, take everything in, O2, and med kit" I tell them.

Engine 3 arrival 14th street command
When we pull up, nothing looks like a cut toe. Sitting on the steps is visibly shaken delivery driver with his head in his hands. He looks up when we arrive and points to the open door.
Just on the inside of the open door of the house, we find a middle aged man with a cut toe who is also not breathing and has no pulse. Based on what we are observing he has been down for an extended period of time.

That is the "Cut Toe Guy" story.

The real danger in firefighting is the routine, what we do is never routine. Routine calls and responses kill firefighters. When it feels like the dispatch is sending us on another cut toe guy call, I take the opportunity to retell the story or remind them of the cut toe guy. Nothing is routine, until proven otherwise.

Today we being dispatched to an unknown medical at McDonald's. I remind everyone about the cut toe guy and get groans in response. 

 
When our engine arrives, the restaurant is packed with summer holiday travelers. Red faced kids, glad to be out of the car and a lot of tired looking parents.

People are nudging each other and looking around to find out why we are there. There is a tight circle of people who are standing around a man in his 50's, who on is laying on his back by the soft drink dispenser.

The 20 year old manager has his arms folded across his chest and has a worried look on his face. I walk over to him to ask him what has happened but as soon as he sees the crew, he walks around the counter quickly, looking relieved to no longer be in charge.

I look down and find a semi conscious heavy set man in his mid 50’s. Dressed in a pair of loose fitting khaki shorts and a open polyester shirt with a t-shirt underneath. He is sweaty, pale, and disoriented. I smile and start talking to him in even measured tones. I notice that most everyone has stopped eating and in the space that we are in, the silence feels loud. Chris is getting oxygen on him and Tom is doing an initial set of vital signs. Everyone is watching the crew work and is waiting expectantly for some drama to unfold. 

An earnest women in her mid 20's is kneeling beside him. She is telling me she is was an EMT a couple of years ago and she can help. I thank her, tell her we have it and politely move her away.

My goal here is no unfolding drama. I am talking to him in a calm, confident tones and trying to put him (and everyone else who is listening) at ease.

The worried middle aged lady sitting awkwardly on the floor holding his hand is his wife. She is trying to maintain her composure for both of them. I introduce myself and I am getting a medical history from her when the paramedics arrive.

I can tell from her expression and the look in her eyes how uncomfortable and scared she is right now. In the practiced voice of a mother and a wife, she is telling her husband in a calm and reassuring voice that everything will be OK. In another minute she will have to make a couple of quick decisions on how to handle the logistics of getting to the hospital in a strange town and taking care of the car.

In another 5 minutes she will be making more decisions on how to manage pulling everything together for both of them for the next couple of days. He will wake up in a couple of hours or days in the hospital and the first thing he will see is her tired, happy face. 

This is the quiet kind of courage that I always find remarkable. You will not find this picture on a poster and this is the very definition of courage itself. Courage is simply the refusal to give up for the sake of someone else. She is the bravest person in the room now and she just does not know it. I wish I could tell her that she is doing something exceptional, that it makes all the difference in the world, but we need to take care of the business at hand - her husband.

As I am kneeling next to him on the floor and thinking about the courage of his wife, I look over and see a stunning woman in her mid 30’s sitting on top of a laughing cheeseburger stools with her son. She is facing me with a half wrapped hamburger in her hand, arm hanging by her side, Her other hand is on the neck of a 5 year old who is unwrapping the toy in his happy meal.

She smiles at me and she follows my gaze to her knee’s where she is sitting in a very casual way. We both realize at the same moment that she is not wearing panties. An uncomfortable moment passes while both of us figure out what to do. The Hallmark moment of the brave wife has passed and it is now painful not to break out in a broad smile.

I am a big fan of the sudden gust of wind, the dress that gets stuck on the chair or door, the reach that shows more intended but not too much. This is the way the universe says “have a nice day”. Kneeling on the hard tile and feeling my uniform pants stick to the floor with a semi conscious 55 year old is not the time I expected the Universe to tell me to have a nice day. 

As stunning as she is, seeing her without panties on a smiling cheeseburger is not the best look for her. All of the cheeseburgers that people are sitting on are smiling and happy, but the one she is on looks happier than the rest of them. Even in the controlled chaos of the moment it is hard not to break into a smile thinking about how much happier her cheeseburger is than the others.

I nod to her and smile in the most generic way possible and as I am turning back to the patient she looks at me apologetically, mouths the words “I’m sorry” and swings those great legs back under the table.

Sorry? I would love to tell her that she should not be sorry. For every firefighter there are calls that will accompany you for an indeterminate amount of time. This is one of those calls that follows me to this day.

Every cheeseburger I meet will forever smile at me.