Three O’clock in the morning and the neighborhood firehouse alarm and/or the 911 app on my phone wakes me up: Car into a tree, with injuries.
Usually after three long days of work, in a row, I would just go back to sleep. But I looked at my phone and the crash was on my street—turns out, less than 100 yards from my driveway.
Okay. So I throw pants on and respond.
Patient is out of the car—walking wounded—but since I’m the first EMS on scene and I have no ambulance in which to assess her, I have her sit on the back step of the fire truck that had arrived.
So I’m doing my assessment—what happened exactly? do you remember the crash? let me check your blood pressure…—and BAM! I get whacked in the back of the neck by a bee or a wasp or a hornet. I don’t know what it was; I only know that it fucking hurt.
I look up at the truck’s scene lights and see a bunch of pissed of bees or whatever. The rumbling truck must have woken them up.
Another EMT arrives with the ambulance and we get the patient to the ER. The whole ride in I’m feeling kind of itchy but think nothing of it.
We hand the girl to the ER and I get my signatures.
“Dude,” says my driver. “What’s up with your face—and your eyes, and your ears?”
What… ? Shut up.”
“No really,” he says. “Go look in a mirror.”
I go to the bathroom and sure enough I’m as red as a stop sign. I lift my shirt and I have hives up and down my sides. Are you seriously? Now I’m allergic to bees?
Lucky for me the call was ALS: I was able to catch the medic before he left, so I could get some off-the-record benadryl; the sun was barely up. It was way the fuck too early for incident reports.
• • •
The morals to the story: Always make sure the scene is safe. No good deed goes unpunished. And fuck you bees!