Roy stole a glance at his partner. He hadn't moved or opened his eyes since they left their last 'patient.' His head was resting against the door frame, with wind blowing through the open window, tussling his hair. He wasn't sure if he should offer words or reassurance that his day would get better, or just let his friend rest for a while. The poor guy had missed lunch, and dinner was quickly approaching. Roy was hoping that they would make it back to the station without incident, and Johnny would be able to get a hot meal and a restful shower. The beeping of their squad radio shattered any hopes of that happening. A groan from the passenger side of the vehicle told Roy that his partner wasn't asleep.
E*E*E*E*E
Kneeling at the side of his patient, John quickly went to work, assessing the situation. A hysterical woman pacing in their family room made it hard for Roy to gather any information.
"Ma'am, can you tell me what happened here? Ma'am? We need to be able to help you husband! Can you tell us what happened Please?" The woman hiccuped between sobs and began to tell Roy that she and her husband were getting ready to head into the kitchen to make dinner, when her husband began clutching his chest, and fell to the floor. Johnny was diligently taking vitals, when concern spread over his face.
"Roy! He stopped breathing! NO PULSE!" Johnny delivered a big thump to the man's chest, and then he began performing CPR as Roy prepared the defibrillator.
All of a sudden, the patient's eyes flew open, and he grabbed Johnny's arms and yelled, shoving Johnny off of him, landing John onto the carpeted floor on his butt.
"Hey, cut that out! That hurts!" Johnny and Roy's faces matched each other, as they sat dumb stuck, their mouths open. Not more than 10 seconds ago, this man had no pulse, and John had begun life-saving measures. Now this man had flung him off his chest, and was talking and acting normally.
Johnny scrambled back to his patient and reached for his wrist, and placed his hand on the man's belly, counting his respirations. Roy opened the bio-phone, and raised one of the doctors from Rampart. Johnny reported his findings to his partner, which were now, unbelievably normal.
"Yes, Rampart. Patient is now breathing on his own and has a normal pulse rate of 50. We are hooking the patient up to leads and transmitting – this will be lead 2, Rampart."
"I don't need no stinkin' wires. I'm perfectly fine. Put that stupid contraption away." Roy and Johnny exchanged glances. John eased the ear pieces free from his ears of his stethoscope.
"Listen, Mr. ah,…" Johnny tried to reason.
"Slater, Artie Slater. I'm jus' fine I tell ya." The obstinate man tried to remove the BP cuff. John tried to hold it in place as he talked.
"Mr. Slater. Not more than two minutes ago you had no pulse and no respiration. We are on that phone right there with a doctor at Rampart General Hospital, and we would like to have them check you out. It would be in your best interest."
"Listen to 'em, Artie. Let the man check you over." The nervous wife begged, kneeling by her husband.
"I'm tellin' ya, Francine, I'm FINE. I don't need NO cop guy or NO wires on me to tell me that!" Johnny huffed and looked at Roy. Roy asked Rampart to stand by.
"Mr. Slater. They just want to make sure that you're alright. Wouldn't you like to do that? If not for you, at least for you wife?" Roy reasoned.
"Please Artie, for me?" His wife pleaded. Artie Slater knew he was licked, and agreed. John put the leads on his patient. Both paramedics looked at the monitor in puzzlement. It was sinus rhythm. Perfect sinus rhythm. Dr. Brackett responded back to his paramedics.
"Squad Fifty-One, I'm reading sinus rhythm. Continue to monitor for an additional five minutes and send me a new set of vitals and another strip." Mr. Slater began to protest, and then grew very quiet. Johnny's face fell, and he looked at Roy again.
"V-FIB! No Respirations!" John began CPR again as Brackett confirmed what they were seeing on the monitor, telling them to shock their patient.
As Roy once again was at Johnny's side, who was in full CPR mode, he had the defibrillator paddles in hand. Artie Slater woke up again with a start, and pitched Johnny off of him like a toy. Johnny, being no match for the burly man and his animal strength, became airborne as he flew backwards into the white wicker shelf unit, housing Francine's prized potted mums and other various plants.
As the decorative pots teetered, they rocked and eventually fell from their precarious ledge, landing squarely and breaking on top of John Gage's head, giving him a lovely dirt 'hat,' accessorized beautifully with the three beautiful yellow mums standing at attention on top of John's head.
The rich, smelly, heavily fertilized potting soil trickled down onto his uniform shirt – not to mention down into his white T-shirt, and most likely his pants, socks and shoes. He sniffed the air, trying to place the odor that was assaulting his nose. He sat dazedly wondering what had just happened.
"I told you, CUT THAT OUT! That hurts, damn it!" Artie Slater sat up abruptly, rubbing his chest. Mrs. Slater leaned over and hugged her husband. Roy sat with his mouth agape. Dr. Brackett interrupted Roy's astonishment.
"Sinus rhythm, Fifty-One. Good work." Roy slowly brought the receiver up to his ear, never taking his eyes off their patient. He glanced over at his partner, who was now sporting a 'dirt' chapeau with a pretty flowers sticking gracefully out of the top, and tried to find a way to explain to Rampart what had just happened.
"Ya, ah, Rampart, we, ah didn't have to convert patient. He did it on his own. Patient is ah, alert and talking. Vitals are once again normal."
"Fifty-One, Patient needs to be transported for observation." Roy let the receiver slide from his ear, knowing what was coming next, knowing the patient had heard the doctor's request.
"I'm not going to no stinkin' hospital. This is crazy. I'm staying right here." Roy shook his head. Johnny was still sitting against the askew shelves, blinking the dirt away, wondering what to do next. He started to right himself, when Mrs. Slater yelled.
"No! Stop! Those are my prize winning Mums you're destroying! Let me get something to put them in before you wreck them! Please! DON'T! MOVE! I need to save my soil! It's our own special blend! Don't move a muscle!" Francine hurried into the kitchen and retrieved a bucket and tried to scope up the stinky soil, and carefully picked up her precious flowers like they were fine imported china.
"I do hope you haven't damaged them!" Francine whined. Johnny was still trying to figure out the putrid smell. Johnny watched as Mrs. Slater lovingly scooped the stinky mess off his uniform, smearing and grinding it into his last clean shirt. He could feel it sticking to him under his shirt, permanently branding the smell into his skin. The family cat started to take quite a liking to him, rubbing up against his arm. Why couldn't he figure out that horrible smell?
Roy informed Artie about the dangers and all the things that he was risking by not going to Rampart, and as he expected, was abruptly refused.
"Rampart, patient is refusing to be transported and any further treatment at this time." Brackett told Roy to inform the patient to contact his own doctor, which Roy did, and Roy had the patient sign the proper forms. Mrs. Slater helped her husband up, and assured the paramedics that she would have him checked with their doctor.
Johnny finally rose from his dirt pile, and helped Roy gather their equipment. Once in the yard, Roy took the equipment, as Johnny began shaking himself, trying to free himself of all remaining dirt, knowing that he wasn't going to succeed. He felt more of it settle in his socks and shoes. John gave his partner a sideways glance, knowing his partner was trying not to chuckle at his latest predicament. Roy slid into the squad, smirking at his partner's latest fiasco. Only Johnny.
Johnny opened the door and slid in. An interesting aroma followed him. Roy crinkled his nose.
"What is that? It smells like…like…fish!"
"It is, Roy. Fish guts to be exact. It's what they use to 'enrich' their 'special' soil. Stinkin' smelly fish guts, Roy." John waved his arms for effect. John rubbed his forehead.
It was never going to end. It was one of those days.
"How's your head? You got cracked pretty good with that flowerpot." Roy smiled in his friends' direction. John rubbed the top of his head and mouthed the word 'ouch' as he did. Roy made a mental note to check it after John had a chance to shower when they got back.
"A couple of aspirin and a hot shower and I'll be fine." John slammed the door, regretting it after he did. He leaned his head back and sighed. He just had to hang in there a little longer. The tally was rising of things adding to Johnny's bad day. He kept thinking about that hot shower and a plate of hot food. Heck, a cold sandwich would be fine too. They would be back at the station in 15 minutes and he could kick back and take a few minutes for himself. Just a few minutes. That's all he needed. Just a few quiet, uninterrupted, Chet-free, undisturbed…
"BEEP…BEEP…BEEP! SQUAD 51, WHAT IS YOUR STATUS?!"