Good News

I had to stop in at headquarters on my way home from work this morning to fill out my time card and such. As I was leaving, actually pulling out of the parking lot, my boss flags me down and calls me into his office. This was unusual and he was looking pretty severe.

I stepped into his office and thankfully he didn't close the door behind me. He turned to me and said, "you remember that call in December, during the storm?"

"Yeah..." The Great Coastal Gale of 2007, not something I'll easily forget. I wrote about it here.

"Well, it sure made for a good story. I wrote it up and sent it into the state for a Meritorious Service award."

Great! I'm thinking, my partner and I are going to receive a Unit Citation.

"Turns out," my boss keeps going, "they thought it was worth a Medal of Valor."

That's right, my partner and I are receiving the highest honor for EMS uniformed service personnel in the state. According to Oregon's EMS awards handbook:

The Medal of Valor recognizes acts of personal valor or heroism in the delivery of emergency medical care, which results in the saving of a life under extreme conditions and in extraordinary circumstances.

Just as cool, the Pacific Power & Light utility worker that helped clear the highway for my partner and I will be receiving the same award. We'll all be going to the Oregon EMS Conference in October and receive our awards at a banquet dinner. I can't tell you how excited I am to be receiving this award.

My Storm Story, Part III

My Storm Story, Part I
My Storm Story, Part II

The entire drive home was like watching clips from CNN storm coverage. There were very few houses that were spared any kind of damage. The highway was clear but I could look down side roads and see them carpeted in green and brown. I would learn later that in some parts of the county, it would take over a week for some people just to get off of their property because of trees down in their driveways.

Turning onto my street and pulling up to the house, I was relieved to see there was no storm damage to my house or any of my neighbors. I was weary as I headed up the front steps and let myself in. Meghan's mom, who lives alone, had driven over before the worst of the storm to spend the evening with Meghan and keep her company while I was at work. They were both sound asleep in bed as I let myself into the bedroom. Lilly gave a slight woof when she saw me, then settled into sleep again. I changed quietly, putting on a fire department sweatshirt and jeans, then kissed Meghan on the forehead before driving down to the fire station. There was still plenty of work to be done.

Weather forecasts said we were only in a break and that more high winds were expected that evening. The city was doing its best to mitigate damage and help the community. The community center had set up a soup kitchen and shelter, which we checked in with throughout the day and resupplied. The Fire Marshall was handing out assignments to fireman as they trickled in that morning and when I reported, I was put on a debris crew and also put in charge of home oxygen needs. It was anticipated that power would be out for at least a week and numerous citizens on home oxygen would be in need in the coming days.

Before going to work that morning, I headed upstairs to the department's kitchen where a few of the firemen's wives had put together and soup kitchen for us. Breakfast was up and they were starting to set out sandwich fixings for lunch. During the week, these wives would cook, feed, and take care of the department's 40 volunteers.

My crew set out shortly after lunch to help a resident clear a tree that had partially fallen and was now threatening his house. The tree hadn't caused damage to the house yet, but if left, it would surely blow over that night into the gentleman's living room. It would be dangerous to fall the tree as the winds were picking up, but we were dealing with each tree on a case by case, risk assessment type system. Using the rescue truck's winch, we pulled the tree away from the house to direct its fall then set to work cutting. In a little less than an hour, the operation was done and we were recalled to the station. Upon returning, I began doing oxygen checks and visited one of our frequent patient's who had called into the station earlier about his oxygen.

The second night of the storm was nothing like to first. It was comparable to our normal winter storms and therefore tolerable. We wouldn't be getting up that night for down trees or lines--we figured the work could wait until morning.

All week was like this; fireman reporting to the station in the morning, receiving assignments and working all day. In the 3 day period of the storm, we responded to over 40 alarms, over 10 times our daily average. In the 5 day period of the storm and clean up, we responded to 65 alarms, enough to set a new monthly and yearly record.

As for myself, I went in to work after having only one day off as I picked up an extra shift. All day long we responded to calls and had to take alternate routes because of road closures, or wait for fireman to clear a driveway. Several elderly patient's called because of oxygen problems, others called because of general illness associated with having no electric heat in their homes. On a county wide level, several people died as a result of storm related injury or accident, including carbon monoxide poisonings due to using gas grills inside as heat.

I keep a mental note of the worst shifts I've ever worked and the winter storm of 2007 certainly takes top honors for me. In a strange way, it also made my partner and I local, strange celebrities. Everyone in town had heard of the ambulance crew that was stuck on 202 during the worst of the storm and wanted to hear our story. Really, there wasn't anything too exciting or heroic about it. It's just a story of a couple of EMTs doing their jobs.

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The History Channel show "Ax Men" just aired an episode that covered the Great Coastal Gale of 2007. Ax Men, Episode 11: "The Storm of the Century" has many great clips of how highway 202 looked the first morning after the storm hit. Darrel's property is out on 202 the the footage of driving back into Astoria is the devastation my partner and I faced that night on the highway. Ax Men can be downloaded on iTunes here.

My Storm Story, Part II

My Storm Story, Part I

“What?” was my immediate response. Stopping cutting operations was just not an option. “Who ordered it?”

“Chief says we get off the highway until morning. We won’t be cutting until then.” The district’s fire chief, who’d I’d seen and talked to when we picked the patient up, were ordering his men off the highway. The plan was to park us at the nearest fire station about a mile back, and wait out the worst of the storm.

The cell towers were still operational so I placed a call to my supervisor at the other end of the county and gave her a report: the fire department had stopped cutting and we were returning to their station.

My supervisor, for her part, would do her best to put together a plan for us. For me, my priority was my patient. I advised the receiving trauma hospital that we were delayed indefinitely and that they could release their trauma team until we radioed another update.

My partner turned the ambulance around and followed the fire department’s brush unit down the highway. We turned down a short gravel drive and approached the little 3-bay station. They would leave the brush unit out so we could occupy the bay. The three firemen followed us into the bay and then closed the door behind us. It was the first break we’d had from the storm since we’d pulled the patient out of the house almost an hour before.

The supervisor called shortly after and told me that a plan had come together. The paid firefighters from the west end of the highway (the other side of the downed trees) would be working with a number of Pacific Power crews to clear the road and get us home. The work would be slow as Pacific Power estimated over 50 trees down in just the few miles back into town.

So we waited. The patient was stable and resting comfortably with the morphine. The supervisor was calling every twenty minutes to give me updates, check on the patient, and try to keep our morale up.

We spent over two hours at that little station, during which time a tree came down on the brush unit that was parked outside and the battery on the ambulance died, requiring a jump. Eventually though, the bay door rolled up and there stood the Pacific Power crew and the crew sent from Astoria Fire, decked out in storm gear and helmets. While there was only one Pacific Power truck outside, I would later learn that they had diverted numerous crews from repair work to come cut us out.

My partner made the radio call to dispatch that we were continuing and I called in to the receiving hospital with another update. By this time, the storm had reached a slight lull and the trip into town, lead by Pacific Power and Astoria FD, was easy going. Power was out throughout the city and the hospital was running by generator when we pulled in. The entire trauma team had been released and we were met only by the ER physician and nurse. Uneventfully, we turned the patient over and returned to quarters.

For the rest of the shift, we listened to the wind batter the station. 911 service in the county was sketchy so we had to scan with portable radios for calls coming from our dispatch and fire dispatch. If there were other calls that night, I don’t remember them.

I was off shift on time at 0800 the next morning, relieved by a crew who had slept the whole night in their own beds. The storm had calmed, but I didn’t have to drive more than a block away from the station to see the damage.

Tree debris covered the roads, houses were missing whole sections of roof, and trees still blocked side roads. I made the usual twenty minute commute in double that time. I was concerned about my wife whom I hadn’t spoken with in 12 hours. I was worried about our house. And I was worried about the guys on my fire department and how they’d survived the night.

More to come…

My Storm Story, Part I

On December 2nd, 2007 my partner and I were working our normal 24 hour shift at Station 2 when the worst storm in 40 years hit the Oregon coast. For a few days prior to the shift, we had been hearing cautions about the impending storm, that it would be worse than the December storm of the previous year. My wife and I had survived the previous year's storm with very few problems--in fact we'd learned quite a few things to better prepare ourselves this time around. I'd stocked up on extra candles and matches, extra blankets, and extra canned and boxed food. In retrospect through, December 2nd and 3rd were the two worst storm days that I'd ever seen.

Throughout the day on the 2nd, the winds were getting stronger and rains a little heavier. The talk among all the crews was the incoming storm and calls we could expect it to generate. At the beginning of the shift, I had set out my rain gear and cold weather gloves, I like to be prepared for the elements. As the day progressed, we experienced short, small power outages in Astoria. When these would hit, we'd often be dispatched for activated medical alarms, or difficulty breathing calls as patient's switched from their oxygen generators to portable tanks.

As the day progressed, I phoned home a few times to check on my wife and see about the plans she was making for the day. I let her know that the storm may be worse than we'd originally planned and that she should be prepared for a power outage later in the evening. My partner and I had been listening to the fire frequencies all day, keeping up with the down tree and down power line reports that were keeping the crews busy. Our company had sent a few transfers to the Portland area and had updated on the road conditions over US 26 and US 30. Overall, this seemed no different than a usual December storm. As the evening progressed though, so the winds increased. We'd made a few runs throughout the city and had been stopped by down lines and trees a few times. These were promptly secured though to keep the roads open for emergency vehicles. It wasn't until the evening, wind sustained winds reached 70-80 mpg and gusts were above 100 mph, that our night turned to hell.

We were dispatched to a traumatic back injury at a private residence just off of US 202 a few miles away from our Astoria station. Taking the left turn out the drive, we headed towards the 202 junction and came upon an unbelievable mess. Just a few hours earlier, we'd passed the junction and nothing was amiss. Now, the first half dozen utility poles leading down 202 were snapped at their base, leaning awkwardly over the road. Utility lines spaghetti \ed across the road and hung precariously low overhead. Pacific Power was on scene already, amber warning lights flashing everywhere, and we were met be a flagger. Earnestly, he told us "follow that truck exactly. He'll lead you through--but I have no idea how you'll get back!"

For the next two hundred yards, we followed the utility truck. Some utility lines we drove around, others we just drove over, and there were plenty that I was afraid we wouldn't clear under. As we approached the nearest intact utility pole, the Pacific Power truck pulled to the shoulder and let us continue to the call. During this short obstacle course, we'd received a dispatch update that Walluski Loop, the road the private residence was on, was completely blocked by trees. We made sure that fire was responding to cut us a path, and my partner and I continued.

Our ambulance, top heavy as it was, was being whipped around hard by the winds. My partner slowed to 30 just to maintain control of the vehicle. The entire highway was covered in debris from the trees around us and we knew at any time, we'd come around a corner and be stopped dead by a fallen tree. But we continued. I was constantly checking for updates from fire, but there was so much activity in the county by this time, it was hard to get through. The storm's intensity was peaking, and we were taking a call in the middle of it all.

Walluski Loop makes an east-west loop onto US 202 with a nearer and further turnoff. The address we needed to find was at the furthest end of Walluski Loop, so we passed the first turn off to continue to the second. Rounding a blind corner, we came across what we feared, a downed utility pole blocking the roadway. My partner pulled the unit up close and we radioed in the delay. We surveyed the road to see if there was a way around, but it was uphill on one side and down on the other. We turned the unit around and headed back towards the west side of Walluski Loop to take the long way around.

The turn around would easily add another 15 minutes to the response, and knowing this only put my partner and I further on edge. Turning onto Walluski Loop, we followed the country road for another two miles before coming across another road block. A large tree had fallen across the road and again, there was no way around. This time, there was no alternate route to the scene. I radiod for the nearest fire unit, which was only a few minutes behind, and asked them to pick up their response. When Walluksi fire arrived in their brush unit, I hopped out of my ambulance to talk with the crew.

Only after I was standing on that dark country road did I truly understand the danger that we were all in. Last year, I was stuck on US 26 during a winter storm that shutdown the highway and kept me on it over night. For a few short hours, high winds knocked down trees and kept me from getting home, but the storm passed quickly and I drove home in just a few hours. This night though, I was scared. In the short walk from my ambulance to the fire department's brush truck, I heard over a dozen explosions in the woods around me. These explosions were trees cracking and breaking, falling from the hurricane force winds. At any moment, I was expecting another tree to fall and hit me, my ambulance, the firemen--it didn't matter, we were all in danger.

But there was a job to do, a patient to reach. I spoke with the fireman, told them "get your chainsaw and get me through this mess!" I literally had to yell to be heard above the noise of the storm. The firemen, themselves looking nervous told me we don't have it with us. How could a fire department's brush unit not have a chainsaw?

"You have an ax, don't you?" I walked to the tree now, sizing it up, determining how long it would take to remove a section large enough to drive through. Too long. Again, we radioed the delay, this time indicating "we may not be able to make it to the patient."

A few minutes passed while we discussed options, then a plan was put in motion by the fire department. We would return to the downed utility pole we'd come across earlier, meet up with a FD pickup on the other side by foot, and continue to the patient that way. It was as good a plan as any so we turned the unit around and headed back on 202. We took it slow, we were still expecting trees to fall and block out path and even in the few short minutes since we'd last traveled in this direction, the highway looked different.

Driving over a downed guide wire, we tangled our front tire and axle and had to stop. We manuevered around debris, and drove over a few smaller trees. Eventually, we came to the utility pole again and met up with the FD truck. I had no idea how far down the patient still was or what condition he was is, so we planned for the worst. I grabbed the ALS kit and narcotics pouch from our unit. We grabbed a back board and spinal equipment just in case. We made sure the fire department had a stokes basket with blankets and tarps. Piling into the pickup, we headed towards the residence and I wondered with an amount of uncertainty, if our ambulance would still be in one piece when we returned.

The highway past the utility pole was just as bad with downed trees and debris. It was still doubtful if we could reach the patient, but worth an effort. After a mile or so we turned off of 202 onto Walluski Loop and about a mile later, pulled into the drive of the residence. A number of Walluski firemen and EMTs were here, tending to the patient and keeping us up on the storm situation. We were told the patient was inside the house, conscious and in pain.

Inside, the power was out and a window had blown out from the storm. It was cold and loud as the winds rattled the house. Our patient, a local 18 year old, was in the living room attended by a fire EMT. He was conscious and after I introduced myself, he told me his story.

The patient had been stuck on the highway by downed trees himself and decided to try logging roads to make it home. After being stopped by another tree, he had gotten out to clear it by hand. A second tree fell, hitting the patient and smashing him against his truck. A second vehicle was behind the patient and saw the tree hit. The occupants scooped up the patient and drove him to a local volunteer firefighter's house, which is where we found him.

The EMTs had him collared and supine on the floor. The patient was complaining of severe back and left leg pain, but he was conscious and alert with good vitals and skin signs. I radioed in to activate the trauma system based on his story, but really I was more concerned about just getting him back into town. The firemen quickly finished immobilizing him to the long board that we'd brought in while I set up the IV and administered some morphine.

We placed the patient into the stokes, covered him with blankets and tarps and tied them down. The patient in the stokes was loaded into the open bed of a fireman's pickup and my partner and I hopped in beside him to attend him. We kept our heads down against the wind and kept the tarp over the patient as we slowly headed back towards the ambulance. All around us, we heard the explosive cracking of trees falling in the woods and again I was left wondering if our unit would be in one piece.

We approached the downed utility pole on 202 and could see the headlights of the ambulance in the distance. The firemen pull the gurney and we load the patient to the ambulance. My partner turns the ambulance around and we put ourselves in route to the hospital. Under the lights of the ambulance, I get to work on the rest of my trauma protocols. I expose the patient and determine there's no significant injury, this I update the hospital on so they can release some of their trauma staff. I place second IV and put the patient on oxygen.

The going is slow back into town. We're still dodging debris, storm and road conditions are considerably worse. The fire department's brush unit is ahead of us, escorting us out, when we come across another down tree, at least 4 feet around and completely blocking the road. We'd only traveled a mile or two when I felt the ambulance stop and I looked up front to see the tree. A fireman flings the side door open.

"We've got a big tree down!"

Thanks, I'm thinking, I can see that.

"We're gonna try to cut through it!"

I've cleared trees with my fire department before and it's tough without heavy equipment and a crew. These were three fireman with one chainsaw. I was skeptical, but my patient needed to reach the hospital. The fireman closed the side door and a few moments later I heard a chainsaw begin digging into the tree.

The sounds of the chainsaw lasted only a few minutes before it stopped and the side door opened again. The firefighter was back and he had a worried look on his face.

"We've been ordered to stop cutting and get off the highway."

more to be posted soon...

My Storm Story, Part II