So we're driving down the road enjoying some Cold Stone when the radio crackles and the dispatcher sends us to a reported officer involved shooting.
It never fails.
We sigh, flip on the lights and sirens, and start heading towards a nicer hotel way out in the 'burbs. The pucker factor shoots sky high for about 2 seconds until we hear
scanner traffic that the cops are okay and the suspect is down. While enroute to the call we get an additional update that law enforcement has cleared us into the scene, and they really want to know our ETA. That's a pretty decent indication that somebody's probably pretty banged up. Thankfully, the suspect was still down and the cops were still okay.
We pull up to the hotel and park, but there's something wrong.
I've responded to a number of shootings over the years, and with one big exception there've always been a number of police cars on scene. But an officer-involved shooting? Fuhgeddaboutit. Usually those calls bring out the cavalry... city cops, county mounties, troopers, Amtrak police, military police, game wardens, transit cops, park rangers, postal inspectors, the occasional federal agent and maybe even a bored Mexican Federale or Scotland Yard type. No joke, officer-involved shootings are a sure way to get a HUGE law enforcement response to your scene... and we had one measly sheriff's vehicle on scene. Granted, the cops were all okay, but still.
Uber weird.
We grab our equipment and gurney, and head inside the lobby. We catch the elevator upstairs, and attempt to get off on what we hope is the right floor -- God bless our dispatchers, but we don't always get the best information in sketchy situations like an OIS.
The elevator doors open and reveal a sea of uniforms, easily a dozen cops. They're standing outside a room right in front of the elevator.
What the what? Did they roll in Shriners-style, a 15 cops in one car? Are they teleporting to scenes now? Are we getting Punk'd?
Taken aback by the unexpected sight of Johnny Law's whole extended family, we hesitate for a second.
I clear my throat and yell out, "Anybody order a pizza?" Okay, maybe I didn't, but it would've made a great opening line. I tap the closest cop on the shoulder and he turns to see what's going on. He sees us and his eyes light up.
"Hey guys," he yells, "the ambulance drivers are here!" Without missing a beat, I say, "Can the police car drivers please make a path?"
That didn't happen either, but someday I'm gonna use that one, too.
Anyway, the cops happily move away from the elevator, and we approach the patient's room. A trooper sergeant is standing guard at the door, and he nods in greeting as he recognizes me.
"Hey, FM, welcome to the party. You've got two shell casings on the floor right at the threshold. Try not to kick 'em around too much, would ya?" He then happily scurried out of our way and starts doing... sergeanty things. We carefully step over the evidence and enter the room. As I approach the patient, I do a quick survey of the room.
That survey reveals a 35ish male supine on the ground with two county deputies rendering first aid, a sizable quantity of narcotics, narcotic distribution and packaging paraphernalia, and a butt load of cash in small bills. The patient is conscious and alert, and frantically saying he can't feel his legs.
Huh. That's funny. Deputies rendering first aid, and a trooper sergeant at the door. I look over my shoulder and see the cops all trying to be nosy and peer into the room, and realize that all of them are troopers. That's really not normal. 12 troopers in the same place at the same time usually only happens at really big wrecks on the expressway, inside a state police district office, or at Super Troopers-themed parties. I shrug it off and start my patient assessment.
Our patient appears to be in typical health for an unlicensed urban pharmacist, which is to say, not great. He's dressed in only ratty sweatpants, which should be no surprise if you've ever seen even a single episode of Cops. He appears to have been shot twice, once just below the bellybutton and once in the upper right chest. Both wounds have been covered with dressings by the deputies, and there is very little external blood loss. There's no other obvious trauma.
The rapid trauma assessment revealed absent sensation from the bellybutton down - a pretty good indication of spinal cord damage - and a priapism, which, when combined with the lack of sensation, sealed the deal. Priapism is a persistent erection, and is often found after transection of the spinal cord. I'm willing to bet my entire paycheck that this guy is paralyzed. Aside from the two gunshot wounds, though, the assessment is unremarkable. We package the patient for transport and head back down the elevator towards the rig. We load the patient, and the younger of the two deputies jumps into the patient compartment. We beat feet towards the trauma center.
During transport, the patient keeps muttering that he wishes they had just killed him, and the younger deputy tells him that he almost got his wish.
I learn that the the two deputies had been serving a warrant for the patient's arrest. They knocked on the door, and when the patient answered the door he yelled, "F$%@ you, I'm not going back to prison!" as he quickly reached behind his back. The other deputy fired two .40 rounds at the patient, who never actually had a weapon. The deputy riding into the hospital with us didn't have to fire a shot, and he made the 'shots fired' call on the radio. There happened to be a number of troopers next door to the hotel in a training exercise, and they quickly ran next door to provide assistance. Hence the mysterious presence of one lonely squad car.
We drop the patient off at the trauma center, and find a bloody ten dollar bill that had apparently fallen out of the patient's pocket on the floor of the ambulance. We put the money in a biohazard bag and headed back toward the scene to drop it off. By the time we got back, it looked like a typical OIS scene -- squad cars everywhere, and bored rookies manning blockades at the driveways. I explain the situation to one of the new guys, and the trooper sergeant sees us and walks over. I won't bore you with the details of chain of custody and evidence rules, but let's just say it would've been a lot easier to deal with if the money had just stayed in the patient's pocket in the first place.
Sheesh.
All in all, a pretty tragic situation. Bad guy will end up in a wheelchair, if he survives -- apparently there were complications in surgery -- and the deputy was pretty distraught that the bad guy attempted suicide by cop. The smallest disaster of the evening was having to drink melted Cold Stone out of the cup instead of eating it with a spoon. Eating it is better, but even melted Cold Stone is pretty awesome.
We pull up to the hotel and park, but there's something wrong.
I've responded to a number of shootings over the years, and with one big exception there've always been a number of police cars on scene. But an officer-involved shooting? Fuhgeddaboutit. Usually those calls bring out the cavalry... city cops, county mounties, troopers, Amtrak police, military police, game wardens, transit cops, park rangers, postal inspectors, the occasional federal agent and maybe even a bored Mexican Federale or Scotland Yard type. No joke, officer-involved shootings are a sure way to get a HUGE law enforcement response to your scene... and we had one measly sheriff's vehicle on scene. Granted, the cops were all okay, but still.
Uber weird.
We grab our equipment and gurney, and head inside the lobby. We catch the elevator upstairs, and attempt to get off on what we hope is the right floor -- God bless our dispatchers, but we don't always get the best information in sketchy situations like an OIS.
The elevator doors open and reveal a sea of uniforms, easily a dozen cops. They're standing outside a room right in front of the elevator.
What the what? Did they roll in Shriners-style, a 15 cops in one car? Are they teleporting to scenes now? Are we getting Punk'd?
Taken aback by the unexpected sight of Johnny Law's whole extended family, we hesitate for a second.
I clear my throat and yell out, "Anybody order a pizza?" Okay, maybe I didn't, but it would've made a great opening line. I tap the closest cop on the shoulder and he turns to see what's going on. He sees us and his eyes light up.
"Hey guys," he yells, "the ambulance drivers are here!" Without missing a beat, I say, "Can the police car drivers please make a path?"
That didn't happen either, but someday I'm gonna use that one, too.
Anyway, the cops happily move away from the elevator, and we approach the patient's room. A trooper sergeant is standing guard at the door, and he nods in greeting as he recognizes me.
"Hey, FM, welcome to the party. You've got two shell casings on the floor right at the threshold. Try not to kick 'em around too much, would ya?" He then happily scurried out of our way and starts doing... sergeanty things. We carefully step over the evidence and enter the room. As I approach the patient, I do a quick survey of the room.
That survey reveals a 35ish male supine on the ground with two county deputies rendering first aid, a sizable quantity of narcotics, narcotic distribution and packaging paraphernalia, and a butt load of cash in small bills. The patient is conscious and alert, and frantically saying he can't feel his legs.
Huh. That's funny. Deputies rendering first aid, and a trooper sergeant at the door. I look over my shoulder and see the cops all trying to be nosy and peer into the room, and realize that all of them are troopers. That's really not normal. 12 troopers in the same place at the same time usually only happens at really big wrecks on the expressway, inside a state police district office, or at Super Troopers-themed parties. I shrug it off and start my patient assessment.
Our patient appears to be in typical health for an unlicensed urban pharmacist, which is to say, not great. He's dressed in only ratty sweatpants, which should be no surprise if you've ever seen even a single episode of Cops. He appears to have been shot twice, once just below the bellybutton and once in the upper right chest. Both wounds have been covered with dressings by the deputies, and there is very little external blood loss. There's no other obvious trauma.
The rapid trauma assessment revealed absent sensation from the bellybutton down - a pretty good indication of spinal cord damage - and a priapism, which, when combined with the lack of sensation, sealed the deal. Priapism is a persistent erection, and is often found after transection of the spinal cord. I'm willing to bet my entire paycheck that this guy is paralyzed. Aside from the two gunshot wounds, though, the assessment is unremarkable. We package the patient for transport and head back down the elevator towards the rig. We load the patient, and the younger of the two deputies jumps into the patient compartment. We beat feet towards the trauma center.
During transport, the patient keeps muttering that he wishes they had just killed him, and the younger deputy tells him that he almost got his wish.
I learn that the the two deputies had been serving a warrant for the patient's arrest. They knocked on the door, and when the patient answered the door he yelled, "F$%@ you, I'm not going back to prison!" as he quickly reached behind his back. The other deputy fired two .40 rounds at the patient, who never actually had a weapon. The deputy riding into the hospital with us didn't have to fire a shot, and he made the 'shots fired' call on the radio. There happened to be a number of troopers next door to the hotel in a training exercise, and they quickly ran next door to provide assistance. Hence the mysterious presence of one lonely squad car.
We drop the patient off at the trauma center, and find a bloody ten dollar bill that had apparently fallen out of the patient's pocket on the floor of the ambulance. We put the money in a biohazard bag and headed back toward the scene to drop it off. By the time we got back, it looked like a typical OIS scene -- squad cars everywhere, and bored rookies manning blockades at the driveways. I explain the situation to one of the new guys, and the trooper sergeant sees us and walks over. I won't bore you with the details of chain of custody and evidence rules, but let's just say it would've been a lot easier to deal with if the money had just stayed in the patient's pocket in the first place.
Sheesh.
All in all, a pretty tragic situation. Bad guy will end up in a wheelchair, if he survives -- apparently there were complications in surgery -- and the deputy was pretty distraught that the bad guy attempted suicide by cop. The smallest disaster of the evening was having to drink melted Cold Stone out of the cup instead of eating it with a spoon. Eating it is better, but even melted Cold Stone is pretty awesome.
