Backing into the bay, Roy had his head leaning out the window, breathing big gulps of air. John jumped out of the squad and slammed the door. He leaned on the hood of the squad, still reeling from his rotten day. Hank walked out of his office, sniffed the air, tilting his head, trying to trace the aroma.
"What the heck is that smell? Roy? You guys run into a skunk on your last run?" Johnny looked up at his captain, wanting so badly to say something, but thought better of it. Just about that time, three curious crew members sauntered out of the kitchen, making rude comments about the smell in the bay…when the phantom caught wind of his pigeon.
"Holy crap, Gage! And I mean that literally! Did you roll in a pasture? Geez, go have Mikey hose you off in the parking lot! We don't deserve this kind of torture!" Chet began making exaggerated retching noises.
Still plugging his nose, Cap spoke up for his crew.
" I think that's quite enough, Kelly. I hate to say it pal, but you do need to hit the showers. Pronto." John dropped his head, and slipped away to the locker room. Roy shook his head, feeling bad for his partner. Stoker opened the back bay door to air out the place.
"What happened to John?" Asked Marco. The men retreated to the kitchen to finish their meal and Roy shared the whole sad story. A few minutes later, a cleaner more relaxed John entered the kitchen, ready to eat, as he hadn't eaten since he came on duty early that morning.
"Still charming the ladies, huh Gage?" Chet began picking on his favorite mark. John began filling his plate, trying to ignore him.
"You smell better. How do you feel?" Roy inquired as he poured his friend some milk.
M-okay. Jus' kinda hungry. Glad there's some left!" Johnny sat down and took a big fork full and shoved it in his mouth when the unthinkable happened. The tones blared, summoning the paramedics to an unknown rescue. John slammed his fist on the table in frustration, and took a huge swig of milk, and ran after his partner. Eating would have to wait – again.
It was still one of those days.
E*E*E*E*E
Rolling up to the address, John and Roy began pulling their equipment, both thinking the same thing. Both paramedics hated unknown rescues; both always had the unsettled feeling in their stomachs of what could be behind that closed door.
Knocking on the door, John impatiently shifted back and forth on his feet as Roy announced their arrival. After being told to enter, the men made their way into a heavily cluttered livingroom, with a loudly blaring TV drowning out their communication with their charge. He seemed oblivious to the men that were there to help him.
"Sir? SIR? My name is Johnny, and this is my partner, Roy. We're paramedics with the fire department. What seems to be the problem? Sir? Can you hear me?"
"Are yous guys them para-whatzits I seen on the television that helps people?" The balding, heavy-set gentleman asked, sprawled out in his well used recliner. He turned his focus back to the TV. He popped a few more cheese doodles in his mouth. The man was dressed in a much too small sleeveless undershirt and shorts. It was obvious his relationship with his shower had definitely become estranged.
The man leaned back in his chair and groaned, rubbing his belly.
"Are you having pain, sir?" Johnny inquired, palpating the man's rather large belly. The man didn't answer. He leaned over to see the TV past Johnny, who happened to be in the way. John and Roy exchanged confused glances as they continued their ministrations.
Johnny took the man's wrist and began to count. Roy attached the BP cuff, and put the stethoscope in his ears, and looked at Johnny with a questioning look. Johnny shrugged. Roy placed a hand on the man's belly.
"BP is one-ten over eighty, respiration's normal." Roy looked at Johnny.
"Pulse is sixty. Pupils are normal. Skin color is good."
"Sir? Sir! Are you hurt? Do you hurt anywhere? Did you fall?" Roy questioned.
Johnny sat back on his heels, and scratched his head. He placed his hands on his hips.
"Sir, are you in need of our assistance? Did you call us for help?" Johnny asked.
"A 'course I called ya. Ya help people dontya? Your them para-thing-a-ma-bobs aint ya?"
"Well, yes sir. Are you in pain?" Roy began to assemble the bio-phone.
The man again put his hand on his stomach. John and Roy exchanged looks.
"Is it your stomach bothering you, sir? Is that why you called us?" John again placed a hand on the man's enormous belly and began pressing carefully in different areas, but not really getting a reaction. The man belched rather loudly in John's face for his trouble. John grimaced at the smell.
"Does this hurt? What about here?" John got near the belly button area, and the man reacted.
"Here? Are you having pain here?" John looked at Roy, and began to raise the man's shirt. Roy spoke into the bio-phone to establish contact.
"Rampart, this is squad Fifty-One. Rampart base this is squad Fifty-One, how do you read?"
"Go ahead Fifty-One." Dr Early's voice came through loud and clear.
"Rampart, we have a male, approximately forty-five years of age, complaining of abdominal issues. Vitals are:
BP one-ten over eighty, pulse is sixty, respiration's seem to be normal at this time. Abdomen is soft, no guarding or rigidity or complaints of tenderness. Stand by." Roy set the receiver down.
"Sir, we need you to tell us about the pain. Where are you experiencing your pain?" John inquired.
The man never took his eyes off the TV, and grabbed another handful of his snacks. John and Roy looked at each other, waiting for their patient's response.
"Nah, no pain. Jus' lint." The man responded, matter-of-factly.
John and Roy froze. Johnny looked at Roy as his mouth fell open. Roy stared at Johnny in disbelief.
"I-I'm sorry. What did you say?" Roy asked.
"I said, I has lint. In my belly button. A big 'ole chunk. I need you ta git it. You gots somethin' in one a your boxes there ta fix that, dontcha?"
Roy's mouth fell open and matched his partner's. After a moment, Roy regained his composure to address the patient.
"Are you saying that you have something lodged in your, your...and you can't remove..."
Naw, I jus' know'd you is one a them para-do-hickies, and would git it for me." Johnny remained in his stunned state, and Roy had no words. After a few moments, Dr. Early interrupted their confused silence.
"Squad Fifty-One, status update?" After a few moments, Roy answered.
"Ah, Rampart, ah, Patient appears to be uh, fine, and um, able to treat the um, condition on his own. Fifty- One out." Roy quietly closed up the bio-phone.
Ah, sir? This isn't a medical issue. I'm sure you can take care of this on your own. My partner and I need to be on our way now. If you have a medical emergency in the future be sure to give us a call." Roy tactfully told the patient. The man shrugged and crammed a huge amount of cheese snacks into his mouth and went back to his TV.
Roy stood up and picked up the bio-phone. Johnny, still standing there with a look of 'you've-got-to-be-kidding-me' on his face, mouth still hanging open, received an elbow jab from his partner, Jostling him into closing his mouth and to stop staring at their "patient" in disbelief. Johnny helped gather their equipment and they headed out the door.
Sliding back into the squad, Johnny was still shaking his head and mumbling to himself.
"I didn't get to eat. I had to run out because of lint, Roy. It was LINT! belly button lint! I missed lunch because of lint. Belly! Button! Lint!"
Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes. Roy started the engine and pulled away from the curb. As he drove, He quietly reflected about sweet little old ladies, grass skirts, and belly button lint.