The firehouse alarm sounds. Then another and another. Cop cars and fire trucks go screaming past my house. Tons of them. I check the 911 app on my phone and see that there’s an MVA down the road.
I can’t go—I’m about to start class for the new semester of the paramedic program at the community college—first day of patho is in 45 minutes on the other side of the river.
Then I hear the helicopter.
Okay… this is a bad one.
I throw on my jacket (haven’t worn the local volly gear in a while), and head to the scene. Past a million cops, and beyond the yellow tape, a pick up truck is mashed nose first into a tree. A medic was instructing firemen who were about to start CPR. I helped him fetch a few things while he was on his phone with medical control—already looking to “call it”.
You do this long enough and you know when they’re gone just by the look on their face. The driver had that look. His twin brother, the passenger, died in the hospital later that night.
The medic asked me to put a sheet over the driver, so I did. Then I went to school like nothing happened.