We had an ambulance call this afternoon for a person with chest pain. When I arrived on scene, I could tell from a glance it didn't look good at all. I guess that after enough years I have developed a sixth sense about these things. Once we had the patient loaded into the ambulance I cautioned my partner, a new EMT, to have the bag-valve-mask ready at the patient's head "just in case". The ALS tech dispatched with us climbed on board and began his workup.

About halfway to the hospital, it happened. I had just asked the patient a question, and was watching and waiting for an answer when I saw his eyes roll back up into his head. The ALS technician saw this, checked the heart monitor and yelled "Stand by!" He reclined the head end of the cot and performed a precordial thump. My partner was ready to go with the BVM and began bagging while I helped the ALS tech pull the 12-lead patches off the patient's chest, in preparation for the defibrillator pads. We yelled to the driver to put the lights and siren on and "fly" us to the hospital.

"Everyone clear!" "All clear!" CLICK, shock delivered. Check for pulse - hey I have a good radial pulse! We started bagging again until we discovered the patient was breathing spontaneously. There was no time to even think about placing an OPA, let alone an ETT before he came around. After about a minute he started complaining about the "different" pain in his chest. We told him "hey, you went out on us, we had to zap you, please don't do that again." I called the dispatcher to notify the hospital what had just happened.

The hospital staff was waiting for us when we arrived, and the patient was whisked into the critical care room. We brought him back, but it was now their job to keep him back. I hope and pray that he makes it.

Heading back to the fire house, we were all in a daze. What just happened? Although this is not the first time I've been on a call like this, it's been many years since the last one. It takes a while for the adrenaline to wear off and for reality to sink in. My partner's eyes were as big as saucers. "Boy, that was a fast paced call! Didn't take us long to get to the hospital!" He gained some valuable experience today. Later someone asked me if everything was all right, because I seemed a little off. Well, I'd just helped save someone's life, how do you expect me to seem?

Now, this is not the medical definition of a "save". According to the statisticians and AHA/ARC policy people, a save occurs when a person walks out of the hospital and returns to a normal, productive life. I don't know if that will happen here, but in my book it's a "save". Someone's heart stopped beating on my watch, and we got it going again forthwith. I'm taking it as a save.

And my crew mates will take it. And the patient and his family will take it.

And I'll bet my eyes were as big as saucers too.