Calling All Volunteers
by Evelyn Bartin

… Calling Milan. … Priority one response. … Sixty-two year-old male with cardiac history. … Experiencing severe chest pains and shortness of breath. … Milan Hollow Road, at eighteen forty-three. Repeat …

… Calling Red Hook. … Priority one response. … Twelve year-old female on bicycle struck by motor vehicle. Unconscious and bleeding. East Market Street just north of intersection of Cherry Street. At nine twenty-two. Repeat…

… Calling Rhinebeck. … Priority one response. Eighty-three year old diabetic female in distress. Home companion reports patient's skin is cold and clammy and patient is acting combative. White Schoolhouse Road. At two thirty-five. Repeat.…

And so my pager calls out, at any hour of any day. It shrills of kids having severe allergic reactions to bee stings, of elderly people suffering from strokes, of twenty-something-year-olds in motorcycle accidents. Of drug overdoses, of suicide attempts, of people falling off ladders. And each time it does, my head jerks to attention, adrenaline rushes through my system, and my feet hit the ground — seemingly all in the same moment. And then in the next moment, as I'm in my car racing to the scene, my head is swirling with questions: How bad it will be? Will we arrive in time to do some good? Will the months and months of training I just finished be right at my fingertips or will I forget everything in one quick blink?

You see, in June of 2007 I became the newest member of the Milan Rescue Squad. And it will be some time before I get used to all this.

* * *

One gray December day last year, I was driving along Route 199 (minding my own business, as the saying goes) when I saw the signs poked into the shoulder of the road: "Won't you join the Milan Rescue Squad?" Hmmmm. I've always had an aptitude for things medical, and I certainly believe in community spirit, so "Why don't I?" I asked myself.

I made note of the number and the next day called and spoke to the force behind this recruitment effort, Jack Kelly. A recruiting force of one, that is; indeed, one of a small group of volunteers who this day comprise the Milan Rescue Squad. Jack explained to me that the squad had several active members who contribute their valuable time and energy. These are folks who still believe in the old tradition of neighbor-helping-neighbor, a tradition born in the days of our agrarian culture when nearby farmers would drop their hoes and rakes and come running at the call for help. He explained further, however, that the majority of these active members were now quite senior and had already "done their time," and the remaining number who actually went out on calls was small — a half-dozen or so. He also said that only one new person had joined the squad in the past couple of years and there was an earnest need for new volunteers.

Jack then shared the most sobering news: that many people now believed that emergency medical volunteers were unnecessary — that they were not particularly well trained . . . and made "redundant" by paid paramedic services. Of course, this is not true. Volunteers are exceptionally well-trained; and paid services can be miles and miles away, while a town's own volunteers are often only minutes away. This allows them to begin basic life-saving services much more quickly. And when someone is unconscious or bleeding or can't breathe or is having a stroke or a heart attack — or is suffering from any life-threatening situation — seconds count.

After about 20 minutes of listening, I asked Jack if he was sure the squad would want me. "I'm 55," I said, "and though I'm game in spirit, I'm not necessarily in the greatest physical shape. I'm overweight and I have a bad back and a bad knee, so I can't lift anything too heavy or squat down too low. And at this age, I have absolutely no interest in running into burning buildings or climbing down steep embankments!"

"Not a problem," Jack said. "We'll work around it." It was then and there I realized how (dare I say?) critical the emergency medical volunteer situation had become in our town. "OK, I'm in," I said. What do I do next?"

Next was school. Lots and lots of school. My Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) training began shortly after my conversation with Jack, in January of 2007. All told, I attended nearly six months of classes given by Dutchess Community College and taught by Julie Hart, one of Rhinebeck's Rescue Squad volunteers and an amazing source of intelligence and information. Class met at the Rhinebeck Firehouse for a total of roughly 130 hours of lectures, labs and exams. During this training, I was also required to complete ER rotations at two of the key emergency medical facilities in the area, St. Francis and Vassar Brothers Hospitals, as well as several hours of online OSHA training required by the squad's fire chief. (Most rescue squads operate as "subdivisions" of the various towns' fire departments.)

My class started with 28 students from all over Dutchess County, but quickly dwindled after the first few weeks. In the end, 17 of us completed the course successfully and got our certifications. As I think every one of my fellow students would agree, this was no mean feat. The time demand was great (during those six months, our class met on Monday and Wednesday nights from 6:30 to 9:30, plus some all-day sessions on Saturdays); and the study requirements were immense (we were asked to digest a huge amount of what I began to call "almost doctor" information).

We were a mix of all types and temperaments and ages — most in their late teens or early twenties, maybe a couple in their thirties, and perhaps three or four more-or-less my age. As we all got to know one another, we found out that most of the younger folks were planning careers in emergency medicine and, after completing this class, were going on to become paid paramedics. Only a remaining few of them and the more "mature" of us seemed to be the small handful destined to become the new blood in our respective towns' volunteer rescue squads. As one assistant instructor, Barbara Cary from Roosevelt's Rescue Squad, was fond of saying, "We're a dying breed."

And so we trooped on, week after week after week of study. We had to absorb human anatomy, learn signs and symptoms of hundreds of emergency medical situations, and memorize dozens and dozens of procedures and New York State protocols. We listened, we took notes furiously, we sat for exam after exam. Some of us hadn't had to digest this much book-learning in 30 years! Then we started to "practice." We practiced swathing, splinting, bandaging … securing, lifting, carrying … taking pulses, blood pressures, respirations … administering nitroglycerin, epinephrine, albuterol … stabilizing spines … stopping bleeding … opening airways … re-starting hearts.

And through all this we laughed, we studied, we sweated, we bonded. In fact, only a few weeks into the semester, I broke my ankle. But my classmates came (ironically!) to my rescue. They picked me up, drove me to class, carried me up the stairs of the firehouse, carried me down the stairs of the firehouse, and drove me home. And mine wasn't the only calamity. One classmate's mother died; another classmate was diagnosed with cancer; and yet another was shot at while trying to break up a bar fight. But despite all this, we stuck with it. More than our own individual misfortunes, we seemed to feel the greater importance of finishing.

Now, months later, we try to keep in touch. We even occasionally work together on mutual aid calls. They are part of their squads as I am now part of mine. Like me, they've received their pagers and their kits. And soon, after our respective probation periods, we'll all be "official" and will have our blue lights.

And it staggers me that, at the age of 56, I am the "newbie" in my squad. And I can't help but wonder how it will all keep going.

* * *

… Calling Milan.… Calling Red Hook.… Calling Rhinebeck… Priority one response…. Rescue volunteers needed.

* * *

In acknowledgment of the active members of the Milan Rescue Squad: Jackie Bradford, Captain; Peggy VanBuskirk, First Lieutenant; Terry Bradford, Second Lieutenant; Ginny Sidorik, Secretary; Jack Kelly, Treasurer; Frank Christensen; Pat Christensen; Bob Haack; Peg Hunt; Mike Murphy; Pat Sidorik; Christopher VanBurkirk; Lee VanBuskirk; Todd VanBuskirk; Todd VanBuskirk, Jr. And in acknowledgment of all the rescue squad volunteers in our area past, present and, hopefully, future.

Evelyn Bartin lives and runs her design and construction planning business in Milan.