We had a shooting one afternoon. It was a beautiful sunny, spring day. I could never understand violence on days like that. We arrived with Engine 2. A man was sitting quietly on the front porch of a rundown shanty. We almost walked past they guy, until I saw the blood on his shirt. As usual the police are nowhere insight.
I began to exam him. He had been shot three times in the shoulder and chest. He was conscious, alert and showing no real signs of distress. The engine company and my partner begin to bandage his wounds. I set up an IV. I was looking for a vein when I heard the patient say.
“I shot him do you want the gun?”
I almost put the catheter through the patients arm. I looked back to see my patient handing a pistol to the Lieutenant off the Engine. The Lieutenant smiles and says.
“Sure. I think that would be a good idea.”
We finish patching they guy up and load him into the ambulance. His vitals remain stable. I ride in to assist the ambulance paramedic. As we head for the hospital the patient is still sitting up talking in stable condition showing no signs or symptoms of being shot three times except for the three holes in his body. He looks at me and says.
“You know I didn’t think that little motherfucker was serious after the first shot. Shit when he shot me two more fucking times I thought “this little motherfucker is tryin to kill me.”
I almost fell of the bench seat in the ambulance.
“So I took the motherfuckin’ gun away from him.”
“But…” I sputtered. Somehow I did not ask how the other guy got the gun back.
What was there to say. This was one tough guy. I treated him with great respect the rest he way to the hospital. The more you see, the more you don’t know.
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