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In Memory of Paula
Her name was Paula. That was really all I knew about her.
I was driving home from a gig my band had just played, in Hastings, Michigan. My Beatles
tribute act had closed the town Summer festival, and we had blown their doors off. I was
feeling great.
As I pulled up on a rural intersection, I had the radio blasting. Tom Petty was Runnin' Down
a Dream. I saw several cars off to the side of the road, and a small bunch of people
gathered around something. Then I saw pieces of a vehicle scattered about the small
clearing. I knew this was going to be bad.
As a trained paramedic, I pulled my van over, and went to give assistance. I hustled past a
smoking six cylinder engine, looking very odd just sitting there in the grass. It smelled
like burning rubber. Another fifty feet or so, in the mangled wreckage of what appeared to
be a small pickup, was Paula.
She was a pretty girl, mid twenties, with long brunette hair. She was trapped upside down in
a knarly chunk of metal that was once the cab of the truck. This was way out in the country,
and no emergency responders had arrived yet.
I took charge of the scene. One of the bystanders said, "Her name is Paula."
She was unconcious, but I managed to rouse her. Did a quick physical survey. Breathing.
Check. Pulse 136 and thready. Broken leg, broken nose, but alive. That in itself was a
miracle. She had serious internal injuries, and closed head trauma.
First order of business, she needed to be extricated from that thing which looked more like
a bear trap than a vehicle, but extrication was impossible. We needed jaws. That was the
only way she was going to get out of there.
I had no equipment with me, so I could do nothing except hold her hand, and tell her to hold
on. After a couple minutes, she started fading. I was literally yelling at her to stay conscious.
Finally, the ambulance arrived. I barked at them to get extrication equipment, O2, and an IV
kit. They just stood there and looked at me like I was from another planet. Backwoods
volunteers; they didn't even have jump kits. It didn't matter, anyway. When I turned back
around to check on Paula, she was dead. I had the EMTs start CPR, even though I knew it
would be useless.
Police and emergency vehicles started showing up. There was nothing more I could do, so I
walked back to my van, and drove away. As I was leaving, a car hurried to the roadside, and
a man and a woman in their fifties jumped out,and sprinted toward the scene. "Oh my God," I
thought out loud, "Those are her parents." I am not ashamed to say I'm thankful I did not
have to be there to witness that.
I don't remember what I thought about on the way home that night. As a medic, you are
trained to suspend your emotions in an emergency, and let your training kick in. This is
very useful in managing an emergency situation. The thing is, those emotions eventually come
out, sometimes very unexpectedly, years later. I finally cried for Paula today.
When I got home that night, there was a bat flying around in my house. I left the front door
wide open, and she found her way out.
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