Angels of life

***

There was a gasping, panicked voice on the phone: "Help! Help!"The dispatcher's voice is calm, slightly tense: "Hello, what's wrong?"A minute later, the radio in the van beeps, with "Resuscitation" written over the windscreen and a red cross on the bonnet: "37th, baby suffocating" and the address.A siren wailed desperately. The doctor - not old and tired - casts a glance at the paramedic: "Prepare the def. Premonition."

A swift movement through the rain-washed streets. A turn, another turn, the driver cursing softly. The car skids on the wet asphalt, but there's no time to slow down - there's no time. There is tension in the doctor's eyes. A premonition is a very serious thing. It means he can feel death's scythe coming. We have to get there in time. There's the address. The medics run up the stairs. It's quicker to walk, and there's no lift anyway. They are exhausted and go up to the top floor. The bell rings. The panicked mother of the child opens the door. She tries to explain something - nothing is clear. I was in the room, not a polite place to be - the feeling was getting stronger and stronger, forcing me to discard all the rules. The important thing was something else. A quick, literally lightning-fast check-up. The child is a little girl, no more than three years old. Unconscious. The doctor's voice seems unnaturally calm, although he can barely catch his breath: "Not breathing. Intubation!"Hands swinging the bag. "Stop." Cramped but precise movements. A quiet sob from the paramedic. She was human too but now was not the time. "Steady on! Exhale, work." There will come a time for tears too. Later.Heart massage, adrenaline, more massage, hands pumping the bag, desperate sweat flooding my eyes. "Got a pulse!"Slowly, calmly, trying not to shake it too much, they go down the stairs. The baby is in the paramedic's arms. The doctor's hands swing the bag. They are walking down the stairs without pausing or interrupting.Now - put it gently into the machine, and fix it in place. Electrodes. Apparatus. Hands pumping the bag. Hands are already tired, but the baby is not breathing on his own, you have to pump the bag.

Driving through congested streets to the ear-piercing, inherently terrifying sound of an ambulance siren. It's not driving, it's flying through the wet streets in a desperate attempt to catch up, to cheat death.Defibrillation. "From the body!" Clear. "Got a rhythm, works."And the car is speeding along, not following any rules. Now there is only one rule, one law - a child's life.Some policeman is waving his stick copper as if he can't see the flashes of light on the roof of the ambulance.The ambulance is flying, flying, trying to keep up. People are working in its belly, and someone's hands are pumping the Ambu bag.A policeman in a car rushes after the ambulance, commanding it to stop, threatening and swearing. Someone wants to show his power. No one hears him.A turn, another turn, some kind of cordon, people spreading out to the sides, they realise - life is on its way. Doctors in the belly of the desperately roaring car save a life. No one wants to stop them, except a strange policeman rushing up behind them.The square, the turn, they are already waiting, everyone is already on the low start. Again defibrillation, again discharge, again desperate struggle. The fight for the life of this little man who must just have to live. To live, no matter what.Again, the doctor's hands pump the Ambu bag.

And the baby's mum is buckled up, she's being dragged along with the car. She can't even speak in terror, just howls softly on a single note. No one reacts to her - it's not the first time.It's not long now, just live, baby, just live! Just a little while longer, come on! Come on!And the hands are pumping, pumping, pumping the damn bag. The doctor can't feel his hands anymore, but he's pumping, no matter what. Because this is life.A turn, then straight across the square, and all traffic stands still, everyone knows why and where the ambulance is rushing off with such desperation.There's the entrance, and the car literally flies up, eliciting the doctor's profanity-laced comments, and driving onto the overpass. And the hands pump the bag.The doors open, the baby is moved onto a gurney, the doctor reports the patient's condition in a curt voice, the bag is intercepted, and the arms that have been rocked are cramped. It hurts! It hurts, I can't tell you how, but that's not the main thing. The main thing is that they got there in time.

A policeman who has finally caught up with them stops at the overpass, he is angry and wants to say something, but... His gaze falls on the child's mother, who is running next to the gurney. The policeman's eyes widen - he knows this woman.Forgetting what he wanted to do, the policeman runs off after the gurney and a scream reaches the doctors: "Mila? Mila! No!"They made it this time too. Another child's life was saved. Another life was saved. And in a minute - before the doctor has even finished smoking - the radio will beep again, and once again life will rush somewhere to defeat death.

Every day.Making death retreat.Life rides on.Amen.