The engine, and the ambulance were dispatched together, to a "altered level of consciousness" call. I don't know why they called it that he was wide awake. Anyway, we drive fast honk the horn and make the siren scream to get there quick.
Almost exactly 2 seconds before we pulled to a complete stop, in front of the actual address, dispatch updates us that it is a suicide attempt.
M'kay, thanks for the tip, and in such a timely fashion too.
I have said for a long time that suicide attempts are really 'cries for help' or more accurately most of the time 'cries for give me some attention'. Rarely are they really wanting to die. Highlight the word rarely.
This guy was the real deal. Not only that, he fit the worst case scenario I learned about in EMT school; the guy that wants to die bad enough to take someone else with him.
So here we are, standing in the living room together. There's me, Lt. Fixit. My engine crew was "Tiny", the 6'3" former college linebacker weighing in at at trim 265, and my driver that day was "Grandpa", the old grouchy bastard with a pot belly who plays gorilla volleyball with us and spanks us most days like his red-headed step children.
The ambulance crew consisted of "Nacho" the no-Spanish speaking Hispanic, and "Goofy" who, God love him, we're just happy if he finds the station most days.
And the center of all our attention is dressed in black, looks like a hyper meth addict, and tells us "I want to die, and everyone in this room will too". That, ladies and gentlemen is what my friends in law enforcement call a clue. I keyed my radio to ask for the police to be sped up.
That's when he reached into his pocket.
I am told that the only words that were understood over the radio were not all said by me, and that they were "Dispatch...police....Shit!...Fu@*" .
Nacho suddenly learned Spanish, or maybe Latin, because he was yelling something I didn't understand. Goofy for once had a clear and immediate understanding that he needed to do something, but he wasn't sure what. He jumped towards the guy asking "what do you need buddy?"
I dropped the mic and went for the arm, and somehow Tiny and Grandpa decided to just go completely WWE on the guy. I don't know how, but we all somehow landed on the guy within about .5 seconds of each other. I swear to Chutlu the entire apartment building shook.
Arms were flailing, Tiny was fighting at the bottom of the pile trying to recover the fumble, Grandpa was twisting arms, Goofy was yelling "let go of my arm", I was trying to hold an arm and talk on the radio, and Nacho was under most of us holding the legs. I think he switched back to English somewhere in there.
The first cop in the door looks at us on the floor, the table broken, the furniture thrown around and asks (I swear) "Do you guys need help?"
The second and third cops were quicker on the uptake and jumped in to get the guy in cuffs.
And what was he going for in his pocket you might ask?
A pack of cigarettes.
And he complained we crushed them. Told the cops he wanted to file charges on us for crushing his smokes.
Good luck with that.
By the way, a loaded pistol was in another room with the suicide note, a 'last will and testament', and the family photo album.