Ambulance Paramedic Quotes

Despite both my car and my arm being broken, I am driving myself to the emergency room. I resolved not to involve an ambulance because I do not like to be a spectacle. I would rather be run over by another van than be surrounded by paramedics touching me inside such a conspicuous vehicle.

I was arguing with the paramedics after they got me into the ambulance, begging for something to eat because I was so damn hungry. Maybe that’s why I didn’t walk into the stupid white light. Maybe I knew they wouldn’t have anything to eat down that way.

By listening to the “unspoken voice” of my body and allowing it to do what it needed to do; by not stopping the shaking, by “tracking” my inner sensations, while also allowing the completion of the defensive and orienting responses; and by feeling the “survival emotions” of rage and terror without becoming overwhelmed, I came through mercifully unscathed, both physically and emotionally. I was not only thankful; I was humbled and grateful to find that I could use my method for my own salvation. While some people are able to recover from such trauma on their own, many individuals do not. Tens of thousands of soldiers are experiencing the extreme stress and horror of war. Then too, there are the devastating occurrences of rape, sexual abuse and assault. Many of us, however, have been overwhelmed by much more “ordinary” events such as surgeries or invasive medical procedures. Orthopedic patients in a recent study, for example, showed a 52% occurrence of being diagnosed with full-on PTSD following surgery. Other traumas include falls, serious illnesses, abandonment, receiving shocking or tragic news, witnessing violence and getting into an auto accident; all can lead to PTSD. These and many other fairly common experiences are all potentially traumatizing. The inability to rebound from such events, or to be helped adequately to recover by professionals, can subject us to PTSD—along with a myriad of physical and emotional symptoms.

Now her mom was looking at her with the vigilance of a retired paramedic who had never really made it off the ambulance.

Patrick O'Brian is an incredible Naval Author. During WWII he drove ambulance during the Blitz. As a Paramedic myself, it is good to know an "ambulance driver" can become an exceptional naval author.

Meanwhile, Amazon’s treatment of warehouse workers had been making headlines since 2011. That’s when an investigation by the Allentown Morning Call newspaper revealed what were—quite literally—sweatshop conditions. When summer temperatures exceeded 100 degrees inside the company’s Breinigsville, Pennsylvania, warehouse, managers wouldn’t open the loading bay doors for fear of theft. Instead, they hired paramedics to wait outside in ambulances, ready to extract heat-stricken employees on stretchers and in wheelchairs, the investigation found. Workers also said they were pressured to meet ever

The doctor who had examined Amy's baby appeared, pronounced the boy healthy and handed the little guy to Keith. Keith stared at the doctor. "Wait. Why are you giving him to me?" "Ms. Baker regained consciousness for a moment is the ambulance and made the paramedic pull out his phone and record her request of giving you custody until she could talk to you." "Me?" The man nodded. "And since you're the law around here..." The doctor shrugged and walked away.

West Baltimore. You sit on your stoop, you drink Colt 45 from a brown paper bag and you watch the radio car roll slowly around the corner. You see the gunman, you hear the shots, you gather on the far corner to watch the paramedics load what remains of a police officer into the rear of an ambulance. Then you go back to your rowhouse, open another can, and settle in front of the television to watch the replay on the eleven o’clock news. Then you go back to the stoop.

The ambulance arrived when the police cars did. They were accompanied by a man in a black suit who had the look of a federal agent. It didn’t surprise Cecily that he went right up to Tate and drew him to one side. While Cecily was being checked over by a paramedic, Gabrini, who’d already been loaded onto a gurney, was being watched by two police officers. Tate came back to Cecily while the federal agent paused by the police officers. “You can take him to the hospital to have his ribs strapped,” the man told the ambulance attendant. “But we’ll have transport for him to New Jersey with two federal marshals.” “Marshals!” Gabrini exclaimed, holding his side, because the outburst had hurt. “Marshals,” the federal agent replied. There was something menacing about the smile that accompanied the words. “It seems that you’re wanted in Jersey for much more serious crimes than breaking an entering and assault with a deadly weapon, Mr. Gabrini.” “Not in Jersey,” Gabrini began. “No, those other charges, they’re in D.C.” “You’ll get to D.C. eventually,” the federal agent murmured, then the dark man smiled. And Gabrini knew at once that he wasn’t connected in any way at all to the government. Gabrini was suddenly yelling his head off, begging for federal protection, but nobody paid him much attention. He was carried off in the ambulance with the sedan following close behind.

Ms. O’Toole?” My Nextel push-to-talk vibrated at my hip. “Are you coming?” I grabbed the device and pushed the direct-connect button to shout. “What?” I pressed the thing to my ear as I tried to hear. “Ma’am, this is Sergio at the front desk. The doctor’s with our naked guy. He’s fine—apparently sleeping off a bender. But we got another problem—some guy in Security by the name of Dane is insisting we call the paramedics just to be on the safe side.” I stared at Lyda Sue’s picture on the television, my mind unable to process what I saw. The video switched to the police and a body covered with a white cloth, one delicate hand dangling from the stretcher as they loaded it into the back of an ambulance. Nobody was in a hurry. “Ma’am,

Each time, I could see myself sleeping on the gurney. Present me did not want to wake her up and tell her what happened. I could see myself lifting up my loosely bandaged hands, blinking and looking around. I wished to approach her and say, good morning, go back to sleep. I'd quietly roll the gurney back into the ambulance, we'd speed in reverse. I'd be asleep again in the bumpy vehicle, delivered by paramedics back onto the ground. Brock's hand would slide out of me, my underwear shimmying back up my legs, the pine needles swimming back into the ground. I'd walk backward into the party, standing alone, my sister returning to find me. Outside the Swedes would bike past to wherever they were going. The world would continue, another Saturday evening.

What would it be like to fall all that way? Would you scream? Would you have time to shut your eyes before you hit the ground? And when you landed, you would look like a crumpled thing – not real, kind of like a rag doll in clothes – and one of your shoes would have fallen off and you wouldn’t move at all. There wouldn't be much blood, only a thin trickle from the corner of your mouth. People would rush over to you, bend over you, and someone would pull out a mobile phone and call an ambulance. By the time the ambulance arrived, a small gaggle of bystanders would have formed and one of the would be looking up, pointing at the third-floor balcony. When the ambulance arrived, the green paramedics would put a fat white collar around your neck, press your chest and blow in your mouth. But after a while they would stop, look at their watches, write something down, lift you onto a stretcher, replace your missing shoe, smooth down your skirt, then cover you with a white sheet and lift you into the ambulance. And you would never see her again.

heal.” Paramedics rushed in to take him from the officers. So wrapped up was she in the moment that Rachel hadn’t even heard the ambulance approaching. “You have to let these people do their job,” the same officer said gently. “Stand back please.” Rachel turned her eyes towards the young man. “This is my fiancé,” she whispered. “He’s been missing for more than three days, and I thought he might be dead. Please, don’t send me away.” The female paramedic nodded at the officer, and he let her step close. She reached out and touched the arm that didn’t seem to be injured. “I’ve been praying and praying for you,” she whispered near his ear. “And Gott sent a host of angels to help me find you.” “You found me?” he asked, his eyes drinking her in. “How?” Before she could answer, the paramedic intervened. “We’re going to take him to the hospital. You can ride along in the back. Sir, if you’ll just lie down on the stretcher?” Isaac cooperated, but never let his eyes leave her face. “You look so different,” he managed to say through his split lip. “Yah,” she agreed, touching the hair that he’d never really seen except when wisps escaped her kapp. “You too.” Now he did laugh, but it was clear that it pained him. “Sorry! I wasn’t thinking.” “Nee, it’s okay. If I don’t laugh, I might cry, and what woman wants to see her beau cry?” “I don’t care,” she returned passionately, striding alongside the stretcher as he was wheeled toward the waiting ambulance. “I only care that you’re in one piece.” Just as they were getting into the vehicle, the same young officer approached her. “I’ll meet you at the hospital to take a statement, Miss…?” “Uh, Swartz, Rachel Swartz. But I don’t really know anything.” “Still, I’ll see you there.” The doors closed and Rachel looked up to see her three champions standing side by side at the top of the hill, waving at her. She prayed a blessing on them and hoped to see them soon. At the hospital, Isaac was taken into the emergency ward and Rachel was forced to wait outside. On the way over, Isaac had tried to tell her what he knew, but it didn’t make much sense. The

Just as the ambulance slowed to a stop and one of the paramedics moved to open the doors, I started trembling uncontrollably. My teeth chattered and my spine went rigid in Archer's grip, and then... it all went black again.

When I recall the morning that the paramedics wheeled Ray out of the house on that sterile-looking gurney, my stomach churns, wanting to vomit. This was possibly the most traumatic day of my life. I was terribly frightened by my intelligent best friend-husband’s uttering inconceivable utterings, making no sense, which told me that he was having a massive stroke. I followed the screaming ambulance to the hospital, where they rushed him in for the MRI that confirmed the stroke. (p. 97)

I couldn’t wait to get home. I was foggy for a few weeks after, and I had a few headaches, but I recovered pretty quickly. I was covered in bruises though. I guess I earned those by fighting with everyone. I heard the stories--I elbowed a male nurse in the chest so hard I caused a big bruise. I slapped a paramedic in the ambulance. And apparently I even kicked Martin between the legs. Sorry, Martin! Willie said at one point I balled up my fist, and he backed away, knowing he was about to get sucker-punched in the face. He was afraid if that happened, he’d hit me back, and he didn’t want to do that since I was clearly out of my mind. Brothers.

As they wheeled me into the elevator, I gave him the finger and shouted a loud "Fuck youuuuu," just as the doors closed. Very dramatic exit. In the ambulance, as the paramedic started an IV line, she said, "Why not just get a divorce, honey? I mean, you don't have to kill yourself." "You don't understand," I murmured.

It felt like hours before they reached the road. As the Chief had promised, an ambulance waited, doors open. Sawyer and another paramedic rushed over as soon as they spotted the officers emerging from the woods with Calvert. Sawyer and his colleague got him into the back of the ambulance and began assessing him, calling out findings and instructions to one another. On the gurney, Calvert looked small, almost frail. It was hard to imagine this was the same man who had viciously attacked two teenage girls the day before. Josie stood at the doors to the ambulance. “I’m going to call your wife, Mr. Calvert,” she said. His eyes found hers and grew wide. “No, don’t call her. Don’t call my wife. Whatever you do, don’t call her.” Sawyer stepped toward Josie and grabbed the handles of the doors. “We have to get him to Denton Memorial now. He’s going to need surgery.” Josie nodded. As Sawyer pulled the doors closed, Elliott continued to yell, “Don’t call my wife. Whatever you do, don’t call my wife. It’s not safe. Please.

I almost asked Holmes, But she was looking at me like I was a cancerous growth she needed to have removed. "What now?" I asked, half-laughing. "What's the plan?" Her eyes were always colorless. Now they were cold. "I need you to take the fall," she said, turning to look at the paramedics jumping out the back of the ambulance. "I need you to confess." Had it been any other day, any other situation, I might have agreed. I might have flung myself into it after her. Maybe it was desperation for connection. Maybe it was delusion. Folie à deux. Maybe for the last three months I'd had a death wish, throwing myself off bridges, not caring if any net hid at the bottom. Not this time. "That's what I'm here for, then. To take the blame." "Watson -" "That's the big reason behind me coming along with you. I'm the fall guy. The person you pinned it on. You've had weeks. Weeks, Holmes, to explain! If you'd said anything at all. Anything! I could have changed your mind! But you maneuvered me here just to -" She whirled on me. "This is love," she snarled, her pupils pinned, her eyes all dangerous light. "This is what love looks like." "Then no one's ever loved you," I said, "including me.

The paramedics arrived, took over, and stabilized her. Sean rode over in the ambulance while Michelle followed in her truck. Sean and Michelle were now in the waiting room at the hospital. They had been interrogated by both local Virginia police and federal authorities. They told some but not all of what they knew. It was fortunate that witnesses to the events at the mall had uniformly reported that the three dead men were the aggressors and that Sean and Michelle’s actions had been in self-defense, and had actually saved the life of one of the police officers. That still did not buy them many points, particularly with the Feds. A despondent Michelle looked up when she heard the door to the waiting room open.

the boy had killed only eight. The presence of a lone FBI agent only complicated the situation more. What had he been doing there? Eyewitness reports of a brief firefight outside before the massacre only piqued his curiosity. A frenzy of reporters and news cameras had flooded the scene outside, held at bay by tight-lipped crowd control officers. Detective Harper noticed that Darion had failed to upload his video in time. After recovering the busted-up GoPro, he viewed the recording and was met with gruesome scenes of the carnage—death captured in real time. Harper placed it in a sealed evidence bag to be transported to the evidence room with everything else. The detective did a Hail Mary and then tried to get some ID on the shooter. Nothing on the scene directly linked him to a terrorist network. He had no identification on him. Suddenly, Harper heard on his radio that another man, who resembled the diner gunman, had been hit by a truck, not far from the diner. *** Craig tried his best to maintain control of the crash site. He called Patterson repeatedly but only got voicemail instead. A sick feeling brewed in his stomach as he heard sirens blare from a few blocks over. Police were everywhere on the street around him. Paramedics had the driver of the truck—an unconscious white-haired man—on a wheeled stretcher and fitted into a neck-and-shoulder brace. As they pushed him to the ambulance, one EMT held an oxygen pump over the man’s face and pumped intermittently. Rasheed lay in the road unconscious among broken pieces of the truck’s front end and a backpack full of pipe bombs. It was a surreal scene, the second time Craig found himself in the middle of the street amid destruction and chaos in a matter of days. The tide seemed to be turning against him. He forbade investigators to touch the pipe bombs and demanded that the paramedics handle Rasheed with the utmost care.

Roper shrugged, cleared his throat and then swallowed the phlegm. ‘Never liked fish anyway.’ ‘Just pick it up,’ she muttered. ‘Throw it in a damn bin.’ He looked at her for a few seconds, licked his bottom lip, and then turned towards the river and walked away, leaving it there. Jamie stared at it, weighing up whether to pick it up and prove Roper right, or to leave it and admit to herself that it wasn’t that important. She didn’t like the idea of touching something that had been in his mouth, so she left it and followed him. This morning, they did have bigger fish to fry. Whether Roper liked them or not. There was a police cordon set up around the area and three squad cars and an ambulance parked at odd angles on the street. It ran parallel to the water, with a pavement separating the road from the grassy bank that led down to the body.  A bridge stretched overhead and iron grates spanned the space between the support struts, stopping debris from washing into the Thames. It looked like the body had got caught on one and then dragged to shore.  Some bystanders had gathered on the bridge and were looking down, at a loss for anything else to do than hang around, hoping for a look at a corpse.  Jamie dragged her eyes away from them and looked around. The buildings lining the river were mostly residential. Blocks of apartments. No wonder the body had been seen quickly.  There were six uniformed officers on scene, two of whom were standing guard in front of the privacy tent that had been set up on the bank. It looked like they’d fished the body out onto the grass. Jamie was a little glad she didn’t have to wade into the water.  To the right, a man in his sixties was being interviewed by one of the officers. He was wrapped in a foil blanket and his khaki trousers were still soaked through. Had he been the one to pull the body out? It took a certain kind of person to jump into a river to help someone rather than call it in. Especially in November. That made three officers. She continued to search. She could see another two in the distance, checking the river and talking to pedestrians. The conversations were mostly comprised of them saying the words, ‘I can’t tell you that, sorry,’ to people who kept asking what had happened in a hundred different ways. Jamie was glad her days of crowd control were over. She’d been a uniformed officer for seven years. The day she’d graduated to plainclothes was one of the happiest of her life. For all the shit her father did, he was one hell of a detective, and she’d always wanted to be one — minus the liver cirrhosis and gonorrhoea, of course. She was teetotal. The sixth officer was filling out a report and talking to the paramedics. If the victim had washed up in the river in November then there would have been nothing they could do.

Are you family?” the paramedic asked. “Yes,” Jay said. She eyed him and Nick. “I am,” Jay insisted, “and if you don’t let me go to the hospital with my brother, I will run alongside the ambulance the entire way, screaming like a banshee. No one wants that.” The paramedic stared at him, seemed to do a quick mental calculation of the value of fighting him, and shrugged her shoulders.