THE THIN WHITE LINE: the history of a future avian influenza pandemic

Chapter 3: Pandemic

Interview with "Arthur," a paramedic

SASKATOON, SASKATCHEWAN

[When “Arthur” heard I was writing a book about the Pandemic, he contacted me through email, hoping to tell his story on condition of anonymity. During the Pandemic, he walked off the job as a paramedic and stopped working, which became illegal. I wanted to know why and how he felt about it now. His name has been withheld at his request, and all other names in his story have been changed.]

    At the beginning of the epidemic, we had a lot of calls from people sick at home complaining about difficulty breathing. You get a woman on the phone telling you that her middle-aged husband has had a fever and is coughing and fighting for air, and it’s usually pneumonia, not a cardiac event. Breathing problems are themselves considered high-level medical emergencies, though, so we’d got there as fast as we could. My partner and I would show up and get the patient comfortable. I’d listen to his chest with a stethoscope and would hear a harsh, rattling sound common with pneumonia. Many of the people we’d been treating were cyanotic, so we’d slap an oxygen mask on them, get them in the ambulance and rush to the hospital.
    After a few days of these calls, it was obvious to me that something was seriously wrong. By then, the hospital required us to wear masks and gloves during our calls. Not just during the calls that sounded like pneumonia, but all of our calls.
    My wife and I follow the news every night. I knew about bird flu, the epidemic in Asia, the Chinese burning up thousands of corpses outside their biggest cities. I had a hunch that it had already gotten into Canada, saw the gathering clouds of a major shit storm on the horizon. Which was eerie, because besides some increased infection control protocol, the provincial health system was saying zilch about it. Was I being crazy? Did I know something they didn’t? Or did they know but weren’t telling us?
    Then one day, at the end of the week, I braked our ambulance at a red light behind an SUV, but the SUV kept moving. I almost speeded up to follow, caught myself just in time. The light was still red. I caught a glimpse of the driver slumping over to the side and a little girl sitting up in the backseat, looking out the back window right at me.
    I watched in horror as the SUV coasted into the intersection.
    Tires screeched just before the deafening, metallic clap. I saw somebody fly out the windshield of the oncoming truck just before both vehicles sort of merged and spun as one. He landed on the hood of another car. Cars screeched to a halt all around them. I kept looking for the little girl, but she was gone. Then I turned just in time to see a car coming at me from the left, trying to brake. It was a light impact, but the collision rocked me and my partner in our seats and gave me an instant headache.
    My partner was already out the door, rushing over to give assistance. I tried to open mine, but I was trapped, so I crawled across and got out the passenger side. The cold air felt good on my face, but I was a little dizzy. Glass was everywhere on the ground. A helicopter buzzed loudly overhead. The left side of the ambulance was crumpled around the front wheel. The tire was flat. All around the intersection, people got out of their cars. My partner was taking care of the other driver lying on the ground looking broken and tangled. I ran to the accident but the little girl was gone. A woman sprawled in the front seat of the SUV. Her eyes were glassy. She was dead.
    Her face had turned blue.
    I found the little girl a few minutes later, on the side of the road. Dead.
    I should have stayed. There might have been other people needing help. Instead, I left. I didn’t say anything to my partner. I just started walking until I got home.
    My wife is eight months pregnant. Back then, she was four months. Our second child. Our first is Natalie, who is four years old now.
    When I got home, my wife was real worried about me. My partner had called a couple of times wondering what the hell happened to me. I told her I’d call him later.
    I knew in my heart that a big epidemic was coming, that every first responder would be needed to get through it. But all I could think about was my family. I didn’t want them to get sick from me. I didn’t want to get sick and have to leave them. Every day, a paramedic takes a risk. I always accepted this. But not this time. I couldn’t have divided loyalties between my job, which I loved, and my wife and little girl, who are my world. I had to choose, but of course it was really no choice. I bought a ton of groceries and bottled water and we holed up for the duration.     Later, they made what I was doing illegal. I didn’t care. There was nothing they could do to make me go back.
    I haven’t been back since the epidemic ended. I don’t think I could face my partner or the others. I let them all down. I know what I did, even though I had my reasons, and have no regrets about it now. Right now I need to decide whether I’m going to stay a paramedic or find a new career, and whether we’re even going to stay here in Saskatoon at all. Maybe I won’t have any more choices to make. I hear the police are starting to arrest people who stopped working during the Pandemic. They have lists.
    My family will always come first. I hope people will understand this, and forgive me.