Paramedic Fiction

How A Dog Named 205 Save My Hardened Heart

Chapter 4: The unexpected light in the darkness of a paramedic’s night

We knew he was dead before we saw him. The dispatcher had told us as much when she assigned us to the call.

“Eighty-nine-year-old male subject. Found at the bottom of the stairs unresponsive. Did not appear to be breathing. Wife refusing to start compressions.”

I looked at Mark as he flipped on the lights and sirens, bringing the old diesel engine of the ambulance into a higher gear. Dark bags hung under his eyes. His mouth, now a thin line covering his clenched teeth. In the past week, my partner had aged ten years. Looking back now, I guess in a way we both had.

• Three nights.
• Three twelve-hour shifts.
• Three cardiac calls just like the one we were on now.
• Three patients surrounded by their loved ones.
• Zero saves.

Mark and I had been partners for almost a year now. We spent four nights a week dragging our old beat-up ambulance from one side of the Las Vegas Valley to the other. We had seen our fair share of bad shifts. Those nights where you could never catch a break. Those were the nights that kept you up late into the day, fearing what you would see when you closed your eyes.

But none of those dark spells had lasted as long as this one. Never had I lost so many patients in such a short time. I have not even been able to save a single one. Every day, we got the same call. The same tragedy.

And they all started the same.

“Male Patient. Not Breathing. Family too scared to do CPR.”

I would walk in the door and the family would be standing, crying and screaming for me to save their loved ones. I would check pulses and breathing and of course, there would be none. I would start compressions while Mark set up the leads to the monitor. We would switch and I would place a tube down his throat. Eventually, the fire department would arrive and I would let them take over with the breathing while I pushed my meds.

We would do this for as long as we could manage. We would push ourselves until we were all tired and ragged, switching out as we beat the man’s heart to pump his blood and squeezing the bag to fill his lungs. And then as we sat, sweaty and breathless, I would give the nod to the fire captain on the scene and he would make the call.

The firefighters would leave and I would have to tell the family, “Sorry but grandpa or dad or brother is dead. There was nothing we could do.”

The police would show up and they would hold the scene until the coroner arrived. The family would cry and mourn, while I and Mark would move on to the next call in the queue. We would respond to the next call of foot pain or headaches and go about our business as if nothing had happened. Our patients would never know where we just were or what we just saw.

And yet we would never forget. You never forget the lives you couldn’t save.

As we pulled into the front of the townhouse where our patient had lived, I hoped this call would be different. I hoped for some small miracle. Maybe he was a diabetic and needed his insulin. Maybe his wife had just forgotten her glasses and the man would actually be breathing, asking for her to help, but his pleas falling on the deaf ears of her long-forgotten hearing aids. Weirder things had happened.

But I didn’t find it likely.

This time, however, as I knocked on the metal security door, my medic bag slung over my shoulder, I did see something different.

Something that I had not seen before. Bouncing at me happily through the metal screen of the door where a man likely lay dying, I saw something I had not expected.

Ears.

Giant bat-like ears angled inward to form a small shovel on the top of her head. An old woman followed slowly behind the bouncing bundle of fur, her face unreadable through the metal mesh.

As the door opened, I was assaulted by a deluge of wet dog kisses and wagging fur. I did the best I could to wrestle the small German Shepard back inside, doing my best to appear professional as the dog sniffed curiously at my Med bag and my crotch and the heavy monitor Mark carried.

“Ignore her.” The old woman said, her tone flat and emotionless, “He is over here.”

I gave the dog’s ear one good scratch before I forced myself away and toward my grim task. I followed the woman through the kitchen and towards the den. A small staircase stood in the corner leading to the upstairs. It was at the base of those stairs that I saw him.

The man lay on his back naked from the waist down. It seemed like so many of the patients I ran were pantless. I don't know why.

Maybe a part of a heart attack is a weird urge to expose yourself before you go.

I don’t know, I never died.

His body was straight and stiff with rigor. Vomit touched the corners of his mouth, his arms pulled tight across his body as if holding himself for warmth. I knew there was nothing that could be done. I didn’t know how long he had been gone, but I knew by the onset of rigor mortis that he had died hours before she had called. Hours before she had even come home.

“Ma’am I am sorry. He is gone.”

My voice sounded robotic as I repeated the words I had repeated three times already in the last week.

The woman took a seat on the couch and looked at the body of her husband with the same blank stare she had when she entered. It was the look of shock and acceptance. The look of a wife knowing that her husband was ill and had accepted the fact that he would die long before we were ever called. I had seen that look plenty of times before.

“I know.” She said, her voice distant and soft, “I knew when I called.”

I looked toward Mark in the doorway and gave him a stiff nod. Mark would talk to her as I disregarded fire and requested the coroner. I had been doing this job for five years now and had learned that it was better to leave the consoling to others better suited for the job.

Mark got down on one knee and held the old woman’s hand as he told her what would happen next. He was sweet like that.

It was a trait I knew I lacked.

There was too much military still left in me. A bit of grit that most people found unpleasant at the best of times and downright unbearable in times like these.

I stepped out of the kitchen and into the hallway. As I reached to free the radio from my belt, a wet tongue lashed across my palm. I looked down to see the small dog’s face grinning up at me.

“Well, at least someone is enjoying themselves.”

The dog rolled onto her back and allowed me to scratch her belly with the toe of my boot while I made the call. Whenever I stopped giving the mangey mutt rubs, she would whine and bite until I started again.

It was a hard balance to maintain, entertaining a two-month-old German Shepherd while simultaneously coordinating the disposal of her owner’s body.

After the calls were finally made, I made my way back to the den. The dog bounced playfully at my heels as I made my way back to the small room where her owner lay dead and his wife now sad, drying her eyes with a tissue.

The puppy pranced over, delightfully oblivious to the tragedy occurring around her, and licked at Mark’s hand. He smiled slightly and ruffled the dog’s ridiculous ears in response.

I told her that the coroner was on his way and that the police would be here shortly to wait with her until then. And then I asked the question I always asked, not knowing then that the answer would change my life in ways I would never expect.

“Is there anything else I could do for you, Ma’am?” She looked at me and then at the rambunctious puppy now using my partner’s hand as a chew toy.

“Yes, dear.” She said, drying her eyes with a tissue from the table. “Could you call animal control?”

“What? Why?” I said, the words coming out shorter and more clipped than I intended. The woman blinked at me with wet eyes and cocked her head.

“My husband just died. That’s why.” She said her voice on edge from my blunt tone. “I am too old and too tired to take care of a dog, let alone a puppy.”

“I know, ma’am, and again I am sorry for your loss,” Mark said, doing his best to smooth over the situation as best he could. “I think what my partner is saying is do you have any family that might take the dog? Or maybe a friend?”

“I do not.” She said her tone short and above all else tired, “Now, please can you just make the call?”

The room seemed to tilt off-kilter as I looked from the old woman to the young dog and back to the corpse in the corner. Mark looked at the dog and I saw that same bitter look on his face I had seen on the ride over. The tired eyes and lips pulled tight over teeth clenched so hard that they might just break.

I had seen the look before — on old partners and friends who had simply seen too much. The face of a young man who chose a job to help people and was yet somehow feeling helpless himself. It was our fourth day on shift and in as many days we had lost as many patients. And it was then I decided we weren’t going to lose anyone else.

“Of course, ma’am,” I said. “I am sorry for upsetting you. We will take the dog at once.”

“Aren’t you going to call animal control?” She asked.

“No,” I said, “I will take her to the pound personally.”

As I carried the wriggling mass of fur from the house, Mark shouldering my med bag as he hefted the monitor back to the truck, I felt the dark cloud that had been following us all week dissipate from around us.

Mark rode back to the station and I saw again the light had returned to his eyes as the dog bounced from his lap to mine and back again. I am not sure how many policies and rules I broke by taking that dog home, but in truth, it didn’t matter.

We become first responders to save people. And that dog needed to be saved, almost as much as we did ourselves.

Our boss chewed us out when we came back with the dog. She threatened to suspend us both and dock our pays. And then when it was all said and done, she told us we did the right thing. She even gave the dog her name.

2–0–5. Our ambulance number. And that was how I ended up with a dog named 205.

More exciting reads —

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Merlin Troy writes fiction inspired based on his time as a police officer, paramedic, and veteran. He is working on his first novel which will be available for readers when published on Kindle. Expected release: July 2021 Subscribe to receive his stories and updates.