Life is just a Fantasy

An old friend, Dr. Francis Sullivan, one of the finest ER Doctors anywhere stopped by my house yesterday, we got to gabbing about the old days, the new 30 minute on scene CPR protocol in RI and our kids. When we talked about what I missed most about my time in charge of an ALS unit in a busy urban city I didn’t hesitate.

“Bringing in a Level 1 trauma, giving my report and handing over the patient, washing my hands and watching you people do your thing.”

It really was surreal…


“Rescue 1, to Fire Alarm, advise the ER we have a twenty year old male, unconscious, multiple gunshot wounds, 80 over 40 heartrate 140 with shallow respiration’s, ETA two minutes.

“Roger, Rescue 1, they have been notified.”

The mighty hunters bring their prey to the starving villagers, the bloody carcass dragged through the gauntlet, hungry eyes following the procession. They breeze past other, lowly hunting parties, whose contribution to the feast retreats to the background, invisible now that the Level 1 A is here. The village buzzes with excitement, games stopped, naps interrupted, lowly tasks put aside.

The village elders, dressed in their white robes leave their comfortable rooms and converge around the feast, touching it, probing it, sticking needles into it, shining light into its eyes. They order some underlings to skin the creature of its outer fur, leaving it naked under the harsh light .

The mighty hunters retreat, and tell the less successful hunting parties of their heroic feat, how they prowled around Potter’s Avenue and waited for the opportune moment to strike. “The city was angry,” they say, as their audience listens with rapt attention. “The radio told us of a wounded beast, huddled in some bushes, or maybe in a shelter next to a cave. We charged, found the beast lying in a pool of blood, fought the other beasts that had assembled, drove them back and captured our victim, strapped him to our stretcher, immobilized it, drugged it and brought him home.”

The other hunters can only wish they were there as they listen. Songs will be sung, stories told about this feat for generations, the legend growing with each telling. Children will listen, and dream of the day that they, too can join the hunt.

The hunters return to their cave, and wait.

“Rescue 1, in service.”

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