True Tales from the Road

 I used to drive an ambulette for about seven years in the 2000's. That is the practice of taking the disabled, mentally challenged, and elderly around town to their various appointments. I would strap their wheelchairs, or worst case scenario, gurney, into a dilapidated van and brave the pothole strewn streets of the greater Cleveland area. I had no proper medical training. But I had a driver's license! That was pretty much the prerequisite for this ghoulish occupation. I really liked alot of the poor souls I transported, and I hope I served some greater purpose in the long run. But this minimum wage job was filled with near death collisions, angry rider tirades, and visits to some of the scariest locations(nursing homes, mental institutions, and Super K).

One story that pretty much shaped the person I am today took place in 2005. I had to pick up an elderly gentleman and drop him off for some chemo/radiation treatment at Hillcrest Hospital in Mayfield Heights. I was helping him through his attached garage to the van when he collapsed into my arms. He promptly went into a lifeless spasm, we both fell to the ground and he pissed on me. I had been poorly trained in CPR and when his wife screamed for me to do something, I did the only thing that came naturally. Fake it. I wasn't about to put my lips anywhere near his, so I cupped my hands, put them over his twitching mouth and mimicked what CPR looked like on tv. She called 911. Good call, lady. They showed up and carted him away. At that point, it was assumed he would be revived. I was then instructed by my superiors to go about the rest of my route. So I did. Almost catatonic from the event, I hit the road.

A few hours later, I ended up at the hospital they had rushed him to. I ran into his wife by the ER and inquired about his status. Gone. He had died in my arms. Yay. Just what I needed to live with the rest of my life. I feigned heartache, hugged her, and went back to my van. The months following this incident were filled with guilt, alcoholism and crying fits on the kitchen floor. Ask my wife. Real fun time for her.

Anyhow, I have plenty more stories about this job, but I think this one was the apex of fucked up experiences in my life. I just thought the piss and fake CPR fit nicely into this blog.