Screamin' Eagle

On the weekends, we don't run wheelchair vans which very often means that medivans are tasked to the ambulance crews. As I sat watching a History Channel documentary about the 101st Airborne division--the Screaming Eagles--we were paged for a return medivan trip from a local nursing home. I looked over the page, seeing that we would be taking a patient home. That's a bit of a bright spot I'm thought. We don't often get to return patient's home from a nursing facility.

We arrived to find our patient, Mr. Jefferson, in his hospital bed puffing on a neb treatment with his daughter and grandson at his side. This was going to be a BLS trip so while my Basic partner began chatting up the family, I tracked down the unit nurse for a quick report and our discharge instructions. The nurse was flustered, she knew little of the patient and our paper work hadn't even been started yet. "No problem," I smiled at her, "we're in no hurry."

We situated Mr. Jefferson on our cot, made a few jokes with his daughter, and talked to Mr. Jefferson's grandson, 10-year-old Patrick. My partner wanted to know if Patrick could ride with Grandpa home. "Sure," I replied, "why not?"

After 40 minutes, we were able to fluff Mr. Jefferson's pillow, collect his discharge paperwork, and load him into the ambulance. I set little Patrick up front in the passenger seat next to me, and then off we went. Patrick told me that last year he got to ride in a firetruck with his brother, that he got to play with the siren, and the horn.

"Patrick, did you get to talk on the radio?" I ask him.

"Nope." He had a hopeful look in his eye.

"Do you want to talk on the radio?"

"Yeah!" And his face lit up. I gave him the script and had him practice it once before I held up the mic for him. He had a huge, toothy grin as a keyed up the mic.

"Medcomm, Medic 1 transporting!"

"Copy Medic 1, transporting," replied our dispatcher.

"Look at that, Patrick! Perfect!" He beemed up at me from the passenger seat. During the trip, we talked about his school sports, favorite subjects, and all 13 of his scars. We when arrived home, I let him turn on the lights and talk on the radio again.

"Medcomm, Medic 1 ending!"

We unloaded Mr. Jefferson from the ambulance and he told my partner and I what a wonderful job we were doing. "We always appreciate hearing that Mr. Jefferson, thank you."

We carried him up his front porch, then into his house. His son was there, as well as his young grand daughter. They all welcomed Grandpa home and Mr. Jefferson couldn't have been happier to see them. "This is the most comfortable I've been all day," he told us.

We rolled Mr. Jefferson into his bedroom where he had his own private hospital bed. His wife's twin bed was next to in, seperated by a small night stand in the middle. He had a homemade quilt atop his freshly made bed, and clean, comfortable looking sheets. Gently, we lowered the cot, then transfered Mr. Jefferson to his bed. Above his bed, there was a blanket hanging on the wall, like a firefighter blanket with a picture stitched into it. "You see that there?" Mr. Jefferson asked, point towards the blanket.

I inspected it then. The blanket was of a familiar white eagle head on a black shield background with the words AIRBORNE in gold letters above it. I recognized it right away. "That was my outfit," he said, "the 101st Airborne. The Screamin' Eagles." He puffed up his chest a little, obviously very proud.

And I'm sure that my jaw dropped a little. "You were a paratrooper, sir?" I asked. Mr. Jefferson nodded. "Where were you deployed?"

"Oh, Europe and Africa," he answered, almost nonchalant.

I was standing before an actual American hero and I couldn't have been more honored. If I knew how to snap off a crisp military salute, I would have right then and there. Instead, I extended my hand to him, "Mr. Jefferson, I want you to know how honored I am to have met you today, and how much respect I have for you." The look of guinine warmth and gratitude that I saw in his face was not something I will soon forget.

My partner and I spent a few more minutes on scene. Mr. Jefferson's family showed me his scrap book, with photos of Mr. Jefferson in his paratrooper uniform and journal entries and notes that he took on scraps of paper. On the wall was displayed his purple heart. We left the home that shortly after and for one of the few times in my career, I felt privalaged to be able to do my job. It left me with this thought:

Sometimes we are able to do things that make an impression on our patient's lives, sometimes are patient's do the same for us.