Emeril is ok after all

0548 hrs – Bed

That was the setting as I slept soundly in my comfy, rehab free, suburban lair.
Then 0549 happened.
I’m kind of new to the neighborhood I live in, bought the place last August, but didn’t move in until November. By then most of the neighbors had begun hibernating for the winter, so we didn’t meet many people. The lady in the chef’s uniform who woke me up was one of the people I had never met before.
When the screaming first started I was reminded of a call I did as an EMT out in Shrewsbury, MA at an apartment fire. A couple of children had been burned to death in the blaze and the sound the father, who I was bringing to EMH at UMass, of these children was making at the time was the sort of noise that sticks with you. It took me a few seconds to realize I wasn’t dreaming and a few more seconds to qualify what I was hearing. The absolute quite of suburban 0549 being shattered by an older woman screaming in absolute hysterics over a dead somebody named Emeril . When I first started working as an EMT, which I don’t anymore, an older guy I worked with ripped me apart once for running to a patient. His logic was simple, if you don’t know what is going on at a call; take your time and make sure the cops get there first. That way you’re not the one who has to make introductions with the guy who just killed his wife with a hatchet. So as I got up and walked to the window to size things up I see a woman in a chefs uniform standing in front of her running car and a white sheet lying over a body in front of the car. Looks like the lady just ran over one of the neighbor kids. It’s too early for this.
Rummaging for a shirt to put on as I head down stairs the hysterics become a little clearer, the language the lady is using is a little off in terms of describing a human. By the time I get outside another neighbor is with the woman on her cell phone. No sirens. Nobody trying to help the kid under the sheet. What’s wrong with these people? Emeril is dying for Christ sake!

Emeril was a really fat cat. Seriously folks, we all love our pets. But please, when something tragic happens to YOUR pet, don’t just assume that I’m likely to want to share in YOUR emotion. To make matters worse, once it was determined that Emeril would not be receiving any emergency medical care from yours truly this fine morn and I turned to head back into the house, the chefs husband comes into play, walking down the street. As we pass I give him an obligatory look of understanding; he gives me a whisper “Emeril is asleep on the couch right now”.