Paramedic - how accident saves lives
- Hello! Listen! - the voice of the dispatcher in the mobile phone was friendly asking. - You are right at home almost where the call just came. Write down? And then immediately dine. Hippocrates I swear!
- Come on. Well you will not get rid of you, - the paramedic recorded the address. - Is there a reason?
- Reported simply - "bad." Neither age nor room porch. What kind of sick went? You see for yourself there. If that - resuscitation brigades at the substation.
- 49 dial, - paramedic intercepted the box. A partner pressed the doorphone buttons. For a minute, the intercom squealed plaintively, not letting the brigade into the entrance.
“Well, it means you need it so fast that no one is in a hurry,” the partner checked the apartment number with the map.
- Yeah. Or no longer needed ...
- Who's there? - a relatively cheerful male voice finally came from the speaker.
- First, who else. Open, once needed.
The door of the entrance finally opened. After rising to the third floor, the brigade entered the open apartment. A sober man of about fifty stood in the hallway for Krivobok.His left lower leg was unnaturally shifted to the side. Even a person far from medicine would immediately make a peasant diagnosis: a fracture. Yes, I would add: with offset. And I would be right.
In addition to the pain, a strange surprise was reflected on the man’s face. He looked at the paramedics as if they were aliens. While one of them was running after the bus, the second one, having asked about the allergy and received a negative answer, had already collected an anesthetic in the syringe, which he promptly injected the man into the vein.
The work went on when a mobile phone rang in the brigade’s pocket.
- Guys, where are you? - the dispatcher obviously asked too much.
- In ... on the call, where else can we be !? Do not you see something on GLONASS?
- Yes, I see that you are standing correctly. But my aunt calls back, asks where the doctors are.
- What kind of aunt? - now the older one was surprised. - Do you have an aunt in the apartment? - He turned to the peasant. He shook his head.
- And who is calling the control room now? BUT? Who called?
- Yes, I did not call an ambulance! - the man in his eyes went nuts more and more. - I was going home. At the entrance fell. Woodpecker some brick at the doorstep threw. I shied through it. Something in the apartment rose.I just thought that I should call an ambulance - a doorbell. I ask: "Who?", - and you answered me that the ambulance. I myself was stunned. After all, just thought - and on you. Already here.
- Hello! - The paramedic returned to the conversation with the dispatcher - check her address. Maybe the street is not the same? Or is the house wrong?
- Yes, all that. I have already asked four times. And the street, and the house, and the city, and apartment 49. And she sees your car under the windows.
- Let him go down and go to our car. We will now endure this, with a fracture, at the same time and with an aunt we shall understand.
The "gazelle" stood agitated woman.
- Where are you wearing? - she immediately went on the attack. “My son is dying there!”
- Yes, where dies something? - The paramedics gently flopped the lame peasant on a stretcher standing near the car. - Where? What apartment?
- What are you so stupid such? I am tired of the address already repeated. Here is the house. Right? Apartment 49. What, I do not know where my son lives?
“Excuse me,” said the man on the stretcher. - I live in apartment 49.
- Enough balagan. Sit here, - the senior addressed to the muzhik. - You can smoke for now. Come on, - he turned to his aunt. - Show me where your son lives.
The paramedics, grabbing the boxes, quickly followed the woman.
The apartment number, located in a completely different entrance, really seemed forty-nine at a glance. Two iron numerals — four and nine — proudly stuck to the wooden front door. The unit, which was supposed to show off the very first, disappeared somewhere after many years - only an ugly shadow remained from it.
On the floor in the room lay a pale man with all the signs of non-weak gastrointestinal bleeding. Remembering everything about the ability of people, and especially women, to think and see, the paramedics unanimously set about rescuing the poor fellow, simultaneously invoking another brigade to help.
- Your paramedics through the "112" itself is still called the brigade. There seems to be two casualties. Send someone. What is the address? The address is the same, why specify? - the dispatcher of the call center hung up and sighed with relief, shaking off another call to the service "103".
A sad, lame man, sitting on a stretcher, was smoking a fourth cigarette. The conversation with the ambulance driver was not stuck, the medical assistants, who had so unexpectedly appeared, who had helped and disappeared in the next doorway, had not returned yet. My leg started to hurt again, which did not improve my mood either.
Another ambulance emerged from the darkness of the alley with flashing blue beacons and stopped next to the first one. A heavy doctor got out of the cab. Following him, a medical assistant fluttered out of the cabin, simultaneously pulling out a medical box and a cardiograph.
- 49th apartment in what porch? - the doctor took the box from the girl and turned to the driver of the medical assistant brigade.
“49th in the third doorway,” the sad, lame man beat the driver’s answer. - Only in her now no one. Everyone who lived there is now sitting here. On a stretcher. And yours went there - the man pointed to the extreme entrance. But there apartments with 141st begin and on 160th.
- How did it end? - The paramedic caught up with the intensive care brigade in the corridor of the substation.
- Yes, saved, saved. Surrendered alive. In time had time. We, while driving, have already expressed everything to my mother. And for the apartment number, and for everything else.
“I myself am always amazed,” the paramedic went along. - The figure on the apartment to stick - in the scrap. Apartment number to remember - too. Intercom - pick yourself. And they demand it, demand it. In the private sector you will come in - not a single house number on the gates. In the city, by the way, too. Entrance number - where do they go from work,on the other side, they think ... But if we hadn’t forced Maman to go down to the car, so would her son have died ...
“Is your lame man all right?” - The doctor gently interrupted the interlocutor. - Not tired of waiting? And then you can catch a complaint.
- Not like a bayonet. We, after your car was carried, immediately to his. Ukolchik still on the track did, so as not to hurt. And in the emergency room.
- Well, that's odd, - the doctor handed the assistant a cigarette. “So all the guardian angels have done a great job today.” And with us. And they.