Sam took us lights and sirens through a winding road, between trees, and past several unfinished homes. While sitting in the back, I was impressed she didn’t throw me around. Many new hires, especially the young ones, were notorious for flooring the gas and shooting around turns without regard for what it felt like in the back.

I’d had to tell Harley several times that a new EMT’s driving was way too rough. And if I thought it was unpleasant, the patient would be terrified. Imagine for a second that you are strapped to a gurney facing backward and swinging from side to side with every corner. Sure, we knew the patient was secured and wasn’t going anywhere, but that wasn’t the point. Fear created panic, and panic made a problem for me.

But Sam was a natural. And I wasn’t worried about the patient’s experience in the back of our truck.

“Dispatch just said she fell from the second floor,” Harley called back to me.

I raised my eyebrows. “A jumper?” I asked. “Or drunk?” There’d been a rash of suicide attempts recently, and I wondered if we would need police on the scene.

Suicidal patients were usually easy to transport. They were sad, anxious, and full of regret for their decision. But most importantly, they wanted our help, and they wanted to live. This became dangerous, however, when a patient didn’t regret their choice and was desperate to complete their mission.

Harley shrugged, “Didn’t say.”

I opened my tablet and started my chart. A 10-12 foot drop would have some severe injuries, and I probably wouldn’t have time to document everything en route to the hospital, so I thought to get started sooner rather than later.

“This is going to be all you,” Harley said to Sam up front. “I’ll be there if you have any questions but every call is for an EMT until you need a medic. You’re the one getting your hands dirty first.”

I liked the way Harley was teaching the new EMTs to be hands-on and productive. Some medics preferred their EMT counterparts to stand by the gurney and wait for them to follow orders. Harley and I weren’t that kind of team, though. He could read my mind with a simple look. He was training the new EMTs as if he was preparing them to run a shift as my partner one day. He was preparing them to take care of me and whatever I may need.

Sam came to a stop in front of an unfinished two-story house between tall pines. I’d already loaded all of our equipment onto the gurney and jumped out with both of them to bring everything to the patient. Harley was approached by a man and they exchanged a few words before Harley ran back to the truck.

I saw in the open garage a cluster of people who were blocking my view of the scene. Sam and I hustled the gurney up the steep driveway at the same time the firefighters were hoofing it up as well.

“She fell through some particle board, not realizing it wasn’t stable. She’s awake,” Harley relayed to us.

The man who’d approached Harley stood over my shoulder as we entered the scene. A woman in her mid-60s was lying between slats of 2x4s on the concrete. Above her was the open floor of the second story.

Sam jumped right in the middle of the crowd of people forming around the woman and began her assessment.

“Hi, I’m Sam, an EMT with the ambulance. What’s your name?” She continued her assessment, carefully telling our patient, who we now knew as Cheryl, everything she was doing. “Do you have any head pain?”

The man behind me pushed aside and leaned over Sam’s shoulder. I’m not sure if Sam was aware of his presence because she was focused on the patient.

Ahem. “Sir, can you step back, please? What’s Cheryl’s last name?” I asked, trying to redirect him to give Sam, Harley, and the firefighters room to work. He stood up and glanced at me. I gestured him over to where I was standing while I tried to keep the other man and woman back.

“I’m her husband. She needs me,” he said pleadingly. I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Hey Harley, have Sam ask about ETOH,” I said without raising my voice. I knew Harley would hear me. Even when no one else listened to me, Harley still heard me somehow.

I turned back to the husband. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Jim,” he told me and then spelled out his last name. “Same as Cherry’s,” he said before walking past me to Sam and Harley.

I noticed the other couple in the garage followed his lead and began making their way toward Cheryl while my crew was trying to figure out a way to get her out of the cramped space she’d fallen into.

“Cheryl, it’s gonna be okay,” the woman cried.

“Cheryl, I’m here honey,” the husband said moving just behind Sam and Harley.

Now, I don’t consider myself an unsympathetic person, but if someone calls 911 and then gets in my way, I start to get irritated. I asked everyone to step back, but my request went ignored.

I cleared my throat and attempted to use my big girl voice. “Everyone who is not a medical provider needs to take 10 steps away from my crew, now.” In my head it sounded more authoritative then it probably did to everyone else, but they took a few steps back nonetheless.

Jim tried to plead with me. “I understand, but I can’t lose her,” he said with tears in his eyes.

I cocked my head and put a hand on his arm. “Sir, that’s not something I anticipate at this time. Cheryl is awake and talking to us. She’s doing ok right now , but we need to get her to a trauma doctor.”