Things you don't forget in EMS(Charlie)

A Man Among Men

Some people make your job easier. A rare few make it better just by being who they are.

(The name Charles (and Charlie) has been changed to protect his identity.)

We used to go to a higher-end assisted living facility when I was working nights. Anytime I got sent there, I knew I was in for a treat, because I’d get to see the night “manager,” Charles.

We’d pull up, and Charles would already be outside waiting for us. He’d greet us like old friends and immediately offer coffee, fruit, or whatever else he happened to have on hand. Whatever you said yes to would magically be ready for you on the way out.

But that wasn’t the impressive part.

Charles knew everyone in that building.

Single residents, widows, married couples — he knew something about each and every one of them. Charles was a retired Marine Corps colonel and a member of the CIA. If the patient we were picking up had been military, he’d tell us their branch and rank. If they were retired law enforcement, fire, a lawyer, or anything else, Charles knew it — and he told you without being asked.

He also gave us a complete, concise report on the patient’s condition before we ever stepped inside. And without fail, he made sure the medical staff was standing right there, ready to fill in anything else we needed to know before transport.

It was an absolute pleasure going to that facility and seeing Charles.

Over the years, I got to know him a bit. He had three sons. Two of them he spoke about with unmistakable pride — one working at the Pentagon, the other a high-ranking federal employee of some kind. The third, his youngest, he loved just as much, but you could tell there was some hurt there. The kid wasn’t in trouble or anything like that — he just wasn’t the rigid, disciplined man Charles had hoped he’d be.

Now for the fun part of the story.

Sometimes what we do in this job isn’t strictly medical — it’s moral.

We were dispatched to that same facility during the daytime for a reported fall. When we arrived, the day manager met us and directed us to the laundry area. The call was for an elderly male who fell.

I turned the corner and stopped cold.

There was Charles, lying on the floor.

The second he saw me, a big grin spread across his face. He called me by name and said,
“They won’t let me off this damn floor until you get here.”

I did a quick assessment — no head injury worth worrying about, no neck or back pain, no change in mental status. Other than a small knot on his head, Charles was tip-top.

There was, however, one very obvious thing going on.

Charlie was drunker than Cooter Brown.

What had happened was this: his youngest son had surprised him by coming into town and wanted to tell Charles something important. His plan was to get his dad good and liquored up first to soften the blow. Turns out the bombshell wasn’t terrible at all — the kid wanted to be a dancer. No military, no federal service, no rigid path. Charlie told me he came to work, and he was just going to sleep it off before his shift. 

As Charles was explaining all this to me, I was already forming a plan.

There were a few things I knew for a fact about Charles. He was proud. He was frugal. And he was armed.

The day manager clearly had no idea Charles was tanked or armed, and I wanted to keep it that way. The last thing I wanted was for him to get in trouble or fired for being intoxicated at his workplace.

So I leaned in close and laid out my plan.

We were going to “transport” him to the hospital. Somewhere along the way, Charles was going to refuse further transport — and wouldn’t you know it, we’d just happen to be right by his house.

At first, he balked. Then I explained why I was doing it. Once he understood the totality of the situation, it clicked.

We loaded Charles onto the stretcher, rolled right past the day manager, and I told her we were taking him to the ER for evaluation. No questions asked. Off we went.

About a week later, I stopped by to check on him.

There he was — back at the desk, sharp as ever.

He wanted to do something for me to say thank you, but I told him the truth: he already did something for me every single time I walked through those doors, and I appreciated that more than anything he could ever give me.

I miss Charles.
I miss people like Charlie.

He is a man among men.