Kelly's Keys

“Al!” The paramedic breathed heavily as he clutched the small cellular flip phone in his right hand. His blurry vision began to focus as the sweat, pouring from his body, dripped onto the concrete floor of the two car garage in a small town a few miles south of Springdale, Illinois. “It’s Josh, come get me” he breathed heavily struggling to speak into the handset. His lungs, partially paralyzed, were becoming useless and unable to inhale the precious life-sustaining air that surrounded his weakened body. He was nearing unconsciousness. Josh had to force himself to breathe. He had miscalculated; he was supposed to be dead already. He had taken plenty of the drugs, yet something had gone wrong. “Josh, buddy? Is that you? What happened, huh, wha—?” Al stammered, in shock, realizing he was talking to a long-time friend and, from his impression, a very solid strong man in the emergency services profession. “Yeah, man—I’m dying Al— if you don’t hurry! OD—30 tabs of Tramadol—30 mgs each. Nine hours ago, full—” He had to stop to force himself to inhale. The garage door was getting blurry. He wasn’t drifting off to sleep like he planned. He was going to die violently. The OD was going wrong. His blood pressure was going crazy, he could feel it. He was going to be fully alert when his lungs gave out. He was going to suffocate! He wished he had stayed in front of the train, a week ago, and let it splatter him all over the tracks. At least it would be done. Now, with this escapade, he feared he would be brain damaged, if his lungs didn’t start working and soon. “I need 4 mgs of Narcan— bad! Don’t call anyone else. Just you and Bryan come and get me!” He said quickly to save what air he had left in his lungs. “Bryan! It’s Josh!” Al screamed, as the idea sunk into his head that Josh had tried to kill himself. It is a bad thing when a medic attempts suicide; they usually succeed. Josh was almost there. “Just fucking go, Al! I know what is going on, I know. Let’s go— goddamn it! I talked to him at one”, Bryan screamed in the background as he fumbled to zip his combat boots. “We are coming, buddy— hang on we are coming”, Al said quickly, as the phone dropped to the floor. “Hurry Al, or I am not gonna be alive when you get here.” Josh grunted as he spoke the empty telephone line. He began to crawl toward the garage door. He couldn’t breathe. His head felt like it was full of sledge hammers that were smashing into his brain. He knew his blood pressure was not right, he expected it to be low. He was wrong. Uncharacteristic of a narcotic overdose, his blood pressure was nearly at stroke level. The drugs had fully metabolized and were racing through his system with a vengeance. He had awakened twice before and actually grinned at the feeling of the paralysis beginning in his lungs. All was working according to plan; he became drowsy in 30 minutes, which he expected, after ingesting the pills. He felt his kidneys and intestines stop working. He even smiled with this event. He began to panic when something went wrong—he kept waking up. The drugs met Josh’s bloodstream at 1:30 AM; it was now nine or ten in the morning. He should have been dead already, but his body kept fighting and forcing him awake with the severe pain in his head. His body was fighting whether he wanted to or not. A Paramedic who was known as one of the best anywhere south of I-70 was now calling his own crew to save his life. The man who had saved many lives in the last seventeen years, was now asking someone to save him. Josh regretted that he had failed in the suicide. He wished he had planned better.