Decked out in my all-navy makeshift rescue squad uniform for the evening, I set out for McIntire Road, home of the Charlottesville-Albemarle Rescue Squad. I stared at the clock and reminded myself to limit my ride-along shift to three hours; I had to get back for a meeting and at least attempt to catch up on some work. After all, I was told not to expect anything exciting while I was there -- that is just the way it usually goes for an observer -- but not for me.
I called CARS President David Starmer on my roundabout way over to tell him, ashamedly, that I would be late because I couldn't find the entrance. Embarrassing.
Just after 5:30 p.m. I made it into the squad's parking lot, which was so overcrowded I had to park in the swampy area at the edge of the lot. Starmer led me into the building to sign the "If you die, it's not our fault" form.
He introduced me to Shelly Vogan, a fourth-year Education student and CARS veteran. She was instructed to show me to the pretty trucks.
We walked around the east bay of the building to take a look at the ambulances and ensure that they were all stocked with the proper, working equipment -- a routine check done at the beginning of each shift. Pushing buttons and pulling out tools on one truck was Larry Mraz, an older CARS volunteer who would later reveal that he is a great-grandfather. Larry invited me to take a seat on the ambulance and explained to me why CARS has the best technology of any volunteer rescue squad around. He pointed me in the direction of an $18,000 cardiac monitor and defibrillator machine the size of an average-sized stereo. I was convinced.
In the west bay, Shelly pointed out the large rescue trucks -- for building, vehicle and water rescues. There was another for mass casualty accidents that can treat up to 450 patients at a time, according to Starmer.
My second tour guide was CARS volunteer Ahmad Ismail, who showed me upstairs to the lounges, classrooms and sleeping rooms. Some volunteers were watching "Seinfeld," while one poor soul tried to get some work done in the room next door.
A short time later, dinner was served in the kitchen upstairs, and about 10 of the volunteers sat down to a feast of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and macaroni salad. The "family" members teased each other, told stories and discussed plans for the evening's poker tournament. Larry announced that great-grandparents need their rest, so he would not be gambling.
As efficiently as one might expect an EMT to clean up the scene of an accident, the dinner table was cleared and dishes were put away without any fuss.
Most of the group moved into one of the upstairs lounge rooms to play a friendly game of poker. The game was interrupted by a call, and I was excited to disprove the oft-told theory of observers who act as "white clouds," the squad's term for a person whose presence generally brings quiet shifts. I ran down to the lot with Starmer and jumped in a Subaru rescue truck to follow the ambulance.
But a mile down the road the dispatcher said the patient had called back to cancel emergency service, and we headed back to the card table.
The volunteers who remained at the station teased me for thinking that it might not be a quiet night, and Starmer gathered several people for a field trip to Starbucks.
We spent some quality time outside the Lucky Seven, and I wished I didn't have to leave the shift to return to Grounds for a typical Monday's activities. Starmer promised to take me back to the station after a quick stop at the office of the area's advanced life support training coordinator.
Just as we were ready to leave the coordinator's office, a shrill beep told Starmer his services were needed. "You might get your chance," he said, explaining that a 9-year-old was having a seizure in a community nearby.
At the scene, rescue squad volunteers prepared a stretcher and transported the vomiting youngster into one of the several rescue vehicles. I rode in the ambulance with the 47-pound epileptic, listening as a report was prepared and the girl's mother was interviewed -- "How much does she weigh? When was her last seizure? When was she diagnosed?"
It was a quick visit to the pediatric ward of the hospital, where a brief report was relayed to the nurse and CARS volunteers helped to make the patient as comfortable as possible.
Next, what should have been a stroll to Starmer's truck turned into a sprint when the dispatcher announced a house fire on 5th Street SW.
This call would be a joint effort with the fire department, and when we arrived at the scene, there were several trucks competing for space. The residents had been evacuated, and the firefighters broke through the windows to ventilate the building. I was told to take as many pictures as I wanted, and I played the paparazzi as CARS volunteers cared for patients and checked the vitals of firefighters who would return to the scene.
There were no raging flames, but Starmer explained that the tin roof could have made the fire a serious disaster. Meanwhile, firefighters ripped through the walls inside the house to find the source of the blaze.
Suddenly, Starmer turned to inform me that a graver incident called for medical attention, and we rushed back to his truck for a third call. I was beginning to wonder if my status as a "white cloud" had been definitively disproved.
I could tell the Earlysville Road call would be more dramatic, as we sped over 60 mph to reach the highway and fly toward the edge of the county. The dispatcher announced that the victim of a car accident was in cardiac arrest. Nothing could have prepared me for the scene ahead.
The winding, forested road reminded me of a path back home infamous for its automobile accidents. We drove right up to the victim's still body sprawled on the pavement, and jumped out to join another team of medics attempting resuscitation.
I turned from the crowd to look at the overturned vehicle and debris scattered across the road. The objects in the area were typical articles of adolescence: New Balance shoes and half-filled pages of CDs, more clothing.
"That's it."
The 19-year-old lay lifeless in front of me, a stream of blood traveling slowly toward the other side of the road. The medics had called her death, and the white sheet was pulled over her young face.
But the end of the rescue mission was just the beginning of a two-hour process during which the police talked to witnesses, studied evidence, reconstructed the accident and filled out endless paperwork.
Unprepared for the chilly night air in my long-sleeved polo, I borrowed an extra firefighter jacket and talked to Starmer and the others about the trauma that had just unfolded. I was in such awe that I was numb to the tragedy, but I couldn't decide whether I was shaking out of shock or because I was cold. A few of us sat atop the warm hood of a police car, staring at the corpse that would remain untouched for the entire investigation.
The police decided that the speeding car had swerved across the opposite side of the road, driven up a tree and flipped, landing in the right lane of traffic. The driver was ejected, but managed to crawl to the edge of the road -- a fact that, many noted, revealed her possibility of recovery. But the accident tragically concluded, police said, when another vehicle hit the driver, who was attempting to crawl to safety, and drove away.
The EMTs said the victim's parents would not be called until after cleanup. One of them told me, "The body doesn't get to me. The blood and guts don't get to me. But the reactions of the parents and family? That gets to me. Every time."
The number of stern-faced police officers grew before all the final signatures and details were on paper. CARS volunteers invited me to observe the cleanup, and I was asked to hold the identification toe tag as they zipped up the body bag to be carried to the morgue.
I arrived home just before 2 a.m. and wasn't bothered by a missed meeting and unfinished homework.
As I climbed into bed, I thought about what I had admitted to Starmer on the ride back to the station: Despite my enthusiasm for the work, I wasn't sure I would ever be able to endure nights like that on a regular basis as I juggled classes and other activities. It made me that much more thankful for those who could.
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