Report from Mississippi

Two calls. A woman with back spasms, who couldn't get out of bed. We asked her how much she weighed. She said 190. Are you sure? I asked. Well, the last time I weighed myself. More like 260. We called medical control and got permission to give her 10 of morphine. It helped enough that she was able to get out of bed and walk very slowly down stairs to our stretcher.

Second call was a man with Irritable bowel syndrome who was dizzy and throwing up.

My preceptee who already has been cut loose in the neighboring state is already good to go. I just have to talk to the EMS coordinator. He has done 8 calls. They may make him do 15, but he could be cut loose today.

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I recieved an email from a friend who went to Mississippi in the group following mine. Here are excerpts from her report (printed here with her permission):

There isn't a single person who doesn't fear the unknown, and yet everyone around me seemed so pumped up about the unknown of what their new responsibilities would be for the next 12 days. Would I be accepted? Would there be a few more minorities? Would I meet some redneck who'd rather die than let me treat them? What the hell did I get myself into by agreeing to come?

I slept from 2030 to 0100 that night, when 3 screaming persons woke me up to help move folks from outside to inside because the tents outside collapsed from Rita winds. Now I'm awake and not sure what to do with myself. I tried to close my eyes again but now the songs of the snorers, and the mumbo jumbo in my head is moving at mock 70. I eventually fell asleep again, but at 8am I don't think anyone there had any true mercy for the night shift because awake we all were and no one slept after that.

It wasn't until September 24th at 1830 Mississippi time and 1930 our time when I began checking out my assigned home for the next 12 hours that I was able to put some of the emotions into a true perspective. I worked with (), and within the first 5 minutes she gave me the run down of the radios, and this monstrosity of a thing called the NOMAD. She laughed at me for whipping down the door handles, the dash board, and then she asked what I expected of her. I laughed because I wanted to know her expectations of me, after 10 minutes, we laugh at each other and we go available. I had no idea what the heck she said on the radio, but she was the SMS version of my regular partnet, and I knew I would be okay. I couldn't believe how proper everyone was and how technical the sounds of the radio everyone talks in code here! Then 31 miles later we are at our post. There is nothing, absolutely nothing in site in the dark! We sit in front of a gas tank that says Neil Gas off of 53! I ask where we were, she said Kiln. This is the home of some famous athlete and the people here are those who Larry the Cable Guy and Jeff Foxworthy talk about. I then realize that if there were one place in the world I would be terrified of working it would be South Mississippi. We did 3 calls and moved around a lot! 180 miles were put on our ambulance that night! I said damn. She told me that they average 250 miles a day even with highway 90 when it was there! I couldn't see much of the destruction at night, but we had lots of issues finding our 3 calls for a lack of street signs, hit a few areas that hadn't been cleared so my map reading abilities were put to the test. We got off about 1 and 1/2 hours early and it was breakfast.

I was so happy to be on nights I couldn't imagine having to work in the heat and the sun! Of course my next 11 shifts were evenings with a 430pm start, the up side to those hours is that everything looks different in the light. I finally understood what the heck everyone was referring to in the stories of destruction and having nothing and having no where to go, I wish I had my video camera, but in the same breath as I took my first picture, I decided that I really couldn't take any more, and by day number 6 the debris started to wear on me. It almost felt selfish because I knew that my home was a few days away, and our streets weren't like theirs. The one thing I said to all was that I truly couldn't complain out loud because regardless of what was inside I was there to work and do whatever, I was pleased, because I really couldn't complain. In some ways it was a vacation because folks were respectful and we got out of work early every night, little things like please and thank you got you things like praise from dispatch who could make or break you in any EMS system! But people were generally appreciative of my presence and were excited to hear about the place I called home. It helped them believe in life after Katrina! That's not work that's fun! Getting picked on for being a Yankee and speaking plan, it brought smiles to watch me struggle to understand the locals and it really made work fun! I couldn't feel that at home people are mean in New England.

The calls were the same crap, the same intensity as being at home, when the shit hit the fan, but in SMS my work ethic was good and consistent, which excited the folks around me. I probably did 12 routine ALS calls and 2 routine trauma calls (MVA's good mechanism type) The rest was truly bullshit stuff. How funny when everyone is tripping out because the 27 year old looks like shit complaining of chest pain s/p open heart surgery? Well, let's see, the open heart surgery was secondary to a stab wound and GSW, and well he's had pain all over his body for a week, went to two different ER's and now he's in too much pain to talk. Rest assured all the marijuana wouldn't stop the coughing, and gee hospital number 3 probably ain't gonna fix his problem either. The cops and FD on scene, my partner, they all had to be introduced to the "con-artist gone sick!" How funny! It was good.

I averaged 3 to 5 calls a shift. With the exception of that first night, each of my partners were new EMT's! one had been an EMT for two weeks prior to Katrina, but old military and as he called himself a true redneck born and raised in the most southern old traditional part of Mississippi, the next was in his 4th week 19 years old and before Katrina never even stepped foot in an ambulance, and the last was a 27 EMT veteran of 9 months already in medic school. He was what everyone from SMS referred to as a "flamer." He is the one who put my mind at ease when it came to the anxiety of being accepted. He told me of black rednecks and white rednecks and gee as he put it if most folks were cool with him they'd be happier with me, and the only thing I should be worried about was our safety as a pair! Then he laughed and so did I. All had exceptional energy rip roaring and ready to do work. Each had their stories of the day after the storm. Most of their stories were amazing and made me wish I had the self discipline to have kept a journal or had the ability to write to help them share their stories because we are an extreme group and most of the general public will never know.

I was so ready to go home by day number 9, I got into my ambulance and took our first call we got to transport to "K-Mart" general. It was wickedly impressive. 4 calls later I was done and we were down to 3 shifts, it had been going well, I still couldn't tell the difference between post 23 and post 9, expect that Diamondhead had the open DairyQueen! I was exhausted physically because sleeping was a joke and for 4 days in a row, they served pork, so there wasn't much to eat for me that didn't come out of the MRE bag and that was getting old.

On day 10, we sat for 7 hours and didn't do a single call, it was the first time that ever happened. We sat across from K-Mart general for most then with two hours left we did our one call that turned into the call from hell. The long in the short, it was an emergency transfer from the E-Med tent for XXX hospital to XXXX hospital with a 52 year old male having a probable MI. The covering MD decided from the moment we stepped out the ambulance we weren't moving fast enough, and really didn't like the fact that after he yelled at my partner for trying to untangle their ECG wires to replace them with ours, that he wouldn't be the person giving direct care. He was upset because he snapped his fingers in my face and demanded that I immediately give the patient morphine, because he said so, wasn't actually how things were going to get done. He referred to me a gal, said that he didn't care where I came from that while in my ambulance I was to do whatever he said and that was it, he attempted to mentally and physically push me around he got so close in my face, when I smelled the ETOH, I smiled and asked him to slide down into the corner and give me space to do my job. He continued to bark, my patient who was uncomfortable was irritated, I tried everything to keep my composure, to stay patient focused, it was the longest 30 minute ride, we got there my partner then took the flap when the doctor wondered if my partner took the scenic route, since everywhere has become the scenic route. He was really mean in front of a patient! He made racial slurs, in front of a patient, who let me do what I needed to do for him because he himself wanted to believe that I would do right by him get him to the cath lab, so he would be saved from his second heart attack. But how could this be happening?

My partner started the clean up, I began to write, a nurse looked at me because I could no longer fight the tears, she said they are glad that I was here to help, and next time give that MD a bag of peppermints tell him to shut up and suck on them to shut his mouth. The MD at XXXX hospital, praised our efforts and even said that the patient is pain free on his way to the cath lab, while another nurse made a point of saying that the doctor on board didn't save the patient's heart, the medics did! The conversation I dreaded most was with my partner, because I was not sure what his interpretation of the way things went were going to be in support of me, he was born and raised in the South he called himself a true redneck a true American old traditional southern man! Hear he was standing in front of me said that the bus was back together, I asked him for a few minutes to finish the paper work and to clean myself up. He started to walk away and the burn in my stomach grew bigger. Then he stopped turned around came up behind me smacked the back of my head and asked why I put up with the shit from that doctor, why didn't I make him stop the ambulance, to escort the MD out of the back of the ambulance, he was waiting for the chance to kick him out of the bus but wouldn't until he got the word from me. He hugged me and said that even on a regular day no one deserved that kind of treatment. I was tired it was an hour pass crew change and I wanted to go home to my bed, my blankets, my dogs, that one call almost ruined what had truly been a pleasant experience, then I lost my stethoscope, your flashlight and the whole trip was ruined. I cried myself to sleep, and it was sunrise.

I slept for three hours to wake up to folks screaming that we had to move all the cots out and build military style bunkbeds to make room for the 56 people coming later. Depressed and tired. I have to get over yesterday, because well I only have two shifts left and home is the light at the end of the tunnel.

In just 14 hours the things that angered me the night before seemed unimportant. My misery turned to peace. My scope was returned to me, I got back the flashlight I borrowed from you and all was well. I had a chance to "pay it forward." I found a journal that someone had been keeping and after a few hours managed to return it to them, I then was able to come to a conclusion as to why I wanted to come and experience the Gulf Coast. To pay it forward! My last night sucked, it left just 6 hours to get all packed and be ready to leave, but even that didn't matter. If I could learn anything it should be my mission to somehow share whatever I learned. If someone has helped me in some way in a day, my mission for the next day is to help someone else, return the favor someone has done for me. I want to smile everyday, not cry or pout when things feel like they suck. I got uncomfortable by all the "thank yous" because I didn't do anything different from the way we do things at home, except to be a stranger, a Yankee, a New England princess, in the South. I made new friends, and I now know where Gulf Port, Mississippi is on a map.

Tonight and Thursday night I will work my own shifts and listen to all the union issues and Gulf Port will be a memory. I am thankful for that chance to see and participate in the challenges there. I am more thankful to all the people for making me see how important my profession is. I am even more thankful for the patience the dispatchers, and partners for giving me a chance. I have a greater respect for my EMT partners, and I am happy to be home.