EMS experience - a suicide
I am an EMT volunteer in a local Fire Department; Fire Medics unit. It is an odd combination, writing software, building business web applications, writing an occasional political blog when my ire is raised, and rescuing or assisting people in 911 medical emergency situations.
Recently, I responded to my first suicide by gunfire. It's not a call I prefer to deal with. It's a shame someone thinks that's the only thing to do. If only...two words uttered over and over again all over the world in as many languages as exist, by parents, children and loved ones... if only... if only we can take back what we do or what we say... if only...
There are no do-overs in life.
if only they would have let that moment pass.
This suicide was not the result of a chronic degenerative illnesses with no hope of recovery. It appears to have been the result of a relationship not going as hoped. Such finality for a non-final problem is tragic. Of course I really have no idea what was going on in someone's mind nor will I ever know the circumstances leading to the event, yet to me it says in equal parts "I can't live without you" and "now you live with this guilt as I kill myself in your home". Hmmm, actually, I see more of the latter.
What did I find? It appears that a shotgun was held in a mouth, a trigger pulled, massive amounts of brain matter propelled yards backwards and the body falls forwards ending prone on the floor. A flap composed of back of the head skull, skin and hair lie flat on the floor disguising the missing part of the face and side skull. Blood is everywhere; on the floor, on the walls, in the hallway. I didn't check the ceiling. I thought of that possibility later.
I was asked to pronounce death, which I did based on the definition of obvious mortal injury. It is also a crime scene and I touch nothing unless it's necessary for patient care. It appears to be a suicide, but who really knows. Someone found the body, the police arrived and then I arrived. No one else was allowed inside until the detectives and the crime scene experts arrived and collected their data.
I called the medical examiner, reported my findings, wrote my report, left a copy with the commanding police officer and headed back to the fire house.
The vision of the flap of skin and neat hair lying on the floor is what stayed in my memory. It's hard to get it out of my mind. Yet I am a minor player in this life drama. There are people whose lives will be affected in more ways then I will ever know. I overheard someone whispering, a sibling will be happy - finally they inherit the house. There are tears, crying and wailing, disbelief. There will be anger and bitterness - who knows what else.
The chief wanted to know how I felt and did I want to talk to anyone? The department is experienced and prepared. I am fine. Though I will never forget the scene.
I will never get accustomed to dead bodies. There have not been that many and now there is one more
I still remember my first DOA.
A young woman in her 50s who died in bed while reading. Reclining on her bed over the covers leaning on her pillows, lying peacefully under the glow of a reading lamp, her glasses pushed down her nose, an open book fallen from her fingers just a hint of spittle on her lips betraying that not all was normal. Everything was so neat and warm you knew she would have wiped her lips.
posted by David Tyme @ 2:04 PM
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