Back in the early 80s’, when I was just a kid, I would rush home after school, grab some Chips Ahoy cookies, a glass of milk, and turn on Channel 38 from Boston to watch reruns of Emergency! After the crew from Station 51 wrapped up the day’s adventures, my friends and I would hit the streets to play paramedics in the neighborhood. Our bikes were shiny, red, two wheeled versions of Squad 51, my dad’s old fishing tackle box  the med kit. I always played Johnny and my partner in crime, Mike Petroski, took the role of the more stoic Roy. Mike’s younger brother Joey was invariably pressed into service as the patient. Our favorite “rescue” involved Joey, feigning unconsciousness, on the roof of the the Petroski’s garage. Perched on that roof in a raincoat and plastic fire helmet, in my mind I was far above the ground on an oil drilling rig, getting ready to rescue a roughneck that had a bad day. As Mike was busy strapping Joey to a chaise lounge lawn chair, our version of the stokes, I would yammer about “Sinus Rhythm” and “Ringer’s Lactate” into an old telephone handset that we carried in a lunchbox that my dad had spray painted orange.

One of the best parts of Emergency! was that all of the medical problems were quickly solved with an IV of D5W or a defib shock. “Rampart, we shocked the victim, he’s in sinus rhythm.” The guys showed up, worked as partners doing some paramedic stuff and BAM! The patient was better. These guys were super medics. Plus, they had a bitchin’ refinery fire or chemical plant explosion in every episode! But I digress.

Who knew that yesterday, almost 30 years later, I would have my own, real Johnny and Roy moment.

My partner and I were watching an amazing TV show about amazing wedding cakes on A&E when the tones dropped for an “unconscious and unresponsive” patient. We arrived at a nice house in an upper middle class neighborhood to find a 72 year old female who had suddenly become unconscious during a canasta game with her husband and another couple.

When I walked in, a couple of fire fighters were attempting to obtain a BP on a very gray, diaphoretic woman who was half slumped in a kitchen chair. Holy shit. This lady looked sick. Her husband, standing behind her, holding her up in the chair, looked scared to death. The woman could be aroused only with painful stimuli and would only answer yes or no questions with a mumbled “yuhhh” or “nuhhh”. “OK,” I said, “Let’s get her lying down.”

A couple of firefighters quickly got her on my cot, took a pressure, which was 50 over nothing, and hooked up the monitor. Sinus brady at 42. My partner got a line established and I pushed half a milligram of Atropine. I started a fluid bolus and about 4 or 5 minutes later she was pink, dry and alert, wondering why there were so many people in her kitchen and wondering why we were making such a fuss.

Yeah, that was the stuff. That was my Johnny and Roy moment. It was smooth and pretty. Like an Emergency! episode. Everyone worked as a team. The treatment was fast and appropriate, the patient improved, the family saw some efficient EMS, and we did it all in about 7 minutes before we were on the road for the hospital.

Thanks again to my partner. Unfortunately, you’ll never read this, but you are the reason I was able to be a good medic yesterday. I’m new and still learning and almost unconsciously, you worked as my right hand, doing the things I needed before I could ask you to do it. You helped me more than you’ll know.

I’m not Johnny. He’s not Roy. We’re not super medics by any stretch, but, we work pretty damn well as a team and we do good stuff. It’s not a man trapped in a well or a 5 alarm refinery fire, but I’ll take it.

I’ll take it.