I was a rookie’s rookie. If steel toe boots could squeak, mine would be squawking. My profession at the time: paramedic in training. My second week on the job, working one of the fast trucks was part of a rookie’s training.
Fast does not mean the mph’s the unit responded to the call. Fast referred to the number of calls a crew would go to on a shift.
In certain areas, like Medic 2 covers, calls come in at a fevered pace. Medic 2 might respond to as many as 18 calls in 24 hours. As one of the rookies who worked the 24-hour shifts on Medic 2, I support the 12 hour shift for the fast trucks.
We responded, lights and sirens, to the scene. Just as is the case with many of our weekend calls, the police were on site when we arrived.My partner and crew chief, Animal, a nickname, obviously, told me to grab the oxygen bottle and the medical box.
I liked working with Animal. I felt comfortable asking him questions about our medical standing orders as well as He also appreciated my map reading abilities. He considered it a positive I preferred to be the co-pilot, and loved to ride with patients.
On a call like this, Animal was protective, knowing I had zero street sense. We entered the house, found our patient sitting up, talking to a police officer. One of the officers leans over and tells Animal that the guy had swallowed a eight ball.
Perplexed, I turned to Animal and unbashedly “How in the hell did he swallow that big black ball?” To say conversation stopped would be stretching it.
All eyes were on Animal: where in the hell did you find this blonde? I did not notice any of this as I had scurried over to do a primary exam on the patient, immediately taking his vital signs.
Suddenly, a gurney appeared, officers lifted the patient on it, and Animal and I were on the way to the hospital code 7 with a fireman driving us.
Our patient had swallowed an eight ball of cocaine.
Who knew an eight ball was street slang for an amount of cocaine?
Obviously, I didn’t.
A woman is afforded certain luxuries when she reaches 
