The Water Was Still Running

Most first responders have one or many emergencies that stick with them the rest of their life. I have seen an electrical truck take off the whole engine of a minivan with a grandpa, grandma, and their two grandchildren in the backseat. The most notable part of that experience was that the electrical truck driver had swerved hard to miss the passengers in the van, while he was also diving out of the window as his electrical truck rolled, worried that he had killed someone, even though the minivan was the vehicle that had run the stop sign.

The most heartrending was, of course, a car accident. A sixteen-year-old was a quarter mile from his home when he fell asleep at midnight, taking off a guardrail of a wooden bridge on the way into a small river. Unfortunately, I have seen individuals stuck in grain bins, sharp things stuck in individuals, and many, many people gone too soon.

The second most heartrending was the night of the fire department’s golf tournament fundraiser. It was a hot day, the beer cold, and many bad decisions were made. One of the best firefighters should have stayed home instead of responding to a call. Needless to say, the golf tournament fundraiser is no more.

My most unique story still sticks with me for a strange reason. I had been an EMT with the local volunteer fire department for about six months. The call came in that a newly crawling baby was choking on a piece of paper.

In our town, we were always supposed to be the first team to an emergency with our fire department ambulance. After seeing the garage door open, we immediately breached the door from the garage to the house. There on the cold, hardwood floor was the choking baby. The father had been doing dishes just before he made the call, and he was on the floor by the child. Julie quickly did a mouth sweep on the baby and was able to dislodge the paper. We carefully loaded the baby onto a small stretcher and brought the now screaming child in for evaluation.

As members of a volunteer fire department in a small town, we almost always know the people and houses we respond to. Phil, the baby’s father, was a good friend of mine. I ran back to the house to check on everything at his request. Luckily, we had remembered to close the door to the house as we hurried away. I would get the garage door closed on the way out. I decided to check if the lights were off first. I twisted the handle and heard it immediately. Phil was so caught up in the worries of a new father that he had forgotten to turn off the water after rinsing a dish. I turned off the sink and slumped to the floor. Initial reports were that my godson would be okay, but the situation still left me shaken.

I decided to go back and see Phil and the little one at the hospital and tell him the house was okay. Phil had been a widower for about six months now. He had been using the hospital room restroom when his wife had let out an unsettling scream before delivering the baby. He had rushed to her side despite being in the middle of washing his hands. A nurse would later clean their room after child bearing had taken Phil’s wife. That night she would whisper the story to her husband in bed and finish by telling him that after all that went on, the water in the bathroom was still running.