You Can't Cancel A 911 Emergency Call
In the early winter of 1990 it seemed to snow every day. We had several storms and many dustings in January. The temps remained near or below freezing. Snow was piling up. My driveway in Cranston, Rhode Island was a tunnel, a wall of white on both sides. We could barely open our car doors in the narrow passage.
The due date for my second son was upon us. Mom was huge, waddling around the winter wonderland. I tried to keep our driveway clear in the event she went into labor. We had false alarms in previous weeks.
On the day of January 21 we were whacked with another storm, a mixture of snow and sleet. I spent the afternoon shoveling the driveway, again. The drive was a small hill 60 feet long with one of those stupid grass strips down the middle making snow removal a bitch. As night fell the city plows had not been down our street. We went to bed that night under a blanket of fresh snow with a crust created by frozen sleet.
Just after midnight I was awakened to the news she was in labor. The pains were coming fast. While she dressed I ran outdoors to start the car and make sure there was a clear path. "Oh Shit!" The plows had come blocking our driveway with 3 feet of ice boulders. The car was covered with three inches of crust. I broke through the exterior shell of our 1986 Ford Ice Box to start the engine. There was no time to clear the driveway but I had to at least clear the car windows.
In the middle of my frantic frozen fun I heard a voice, "Daddy, Mommy wants you to come upstairs, her water broke." James was almost five years old, standing on the snowy steps in his Ninja Turtle footy pajamas. I ran upstairs to get the facts from mom. It was 12:33 AM.
Indeed her water had broken on the bedroom rug as she dressed. Our Bassett Hound was sniffing, wondering if this was something he might be interested in. The debate began, and it wasn't calm. Do we call 911 for an ambulance or do I continue my car and driveway escape preparation? She insisted there was no time to waste, she could feel his head moving down. We already knew he-was-a-he from an ultrasound.
Ambulance it is .... but my wife ... as always ... had conditions.
I ran downstairs to dial 911 and specifically asked the dispatcher if the ambulance would take us from Cranston to Pawtucket Memorial Hospital, two cities away. This was not automatic, there were at least four hospitals between our home and Pawtucket but my wife demanded we go to Memorial because that's where Dr. Healy practices.
The fire station was only one mile from home. Emergency was on the way but they would not be taking us to Pawtucket. It would have to be Women & Infants Hospital in Providence.
"I'm not going to Women & Infants! Cancel the ambulance! We're driving to Pawtucket."
Back to the phone.
"911"
"Ummm yeah, I just called for an ambulance because my wife is in labor. Umm, I'd like to cancel that call. We're driving."
"Sir, you can't cancel a 911 emergency call. They're on the way."
"But you don't understand, she won't go to Women & Infants."
"You'll have to discuss that with the crew."
I hung up the phone resigned to ambulatory transport to a hospital my pregnant wife did not want. When I went upstairs to break the news she was pulling her pants off.
"I can't stop him. I'm having this baby right here."
"OH NO YOUR NOT!"
I hurriedly grabbed the elastic prego pants to prevent her from removing them. I was trying to pull them back up while she attempted to push them down. If I recall correctly, it's been a few years, we may have exchanged pleasantries during the struggle. A man's voice interrupted our tug-o-war.
"Excuse me. You called 911?"
James had answered the doorbell and showed two Cranston policemen to our bedroom. They stood in the doorway watching me on my knees yanking her trousers up while she fought to get them down.
Apparently, she didn't need police assistance. To this day my ex-wife denies the following words. I assure you they're exactly what she said.
"OH GREAT, THE FUCKING COPS! WHAT ARE THEY GOING TO DO, SHOOT ME?"
"Alrighty sir, the ambulance is on it's way. We'll wait downstairs with your son."
......... to be continued.
...
The due date for my second son was upon us. Mom was huge, waddling around the winter wonderland. I tried to keep our driveway clear in the event she went into labor. We had false alarms in previous weeks.
On the day of January 21 we were whacked with another storm, a mixture of snow and sleet. I spent the afternoon shoveling the driveway, again. The drive was a small hill 60 feet long with one of those stupid grass strips down the middle making snow removal a bitch. As night fell the city plows had not been down our street. We went to bed that night under a blanket of fresh snow with a crust created by frozen sleet.
Just after midnight I was awakened to the news she was in labor. The pains were coming fast. While she dressed I ran outdoors to start the car and make sure there was a clear path. "Oh Shit!" The plows had come blocking our driveway with 3 feet of ice boulders. The car was covered with three inches of crust. I broke through the exterior shell of our 1986 Ford Ice Box to start the engine. There was no time to clear the driveway but I had to at least clear the car windows.
In the middle of my frantic frozen fun I heard a voice, "Daddy, Mommy wants you to come upstairs, her water broke." James was almost five years old, standing on the snowy steps in his Ninja Turtle footy pajamas. I ran upstairs to get the facts from mom. It was 12:33 AM.
Indeed her water had broken on the bedroom rug as she dressed. Our Bassett Hound was sniffing, wondering if this was something he might be interested in. The debate began, and it wasn't calm. Do we call 911 for an ambulance or do I continue my car and driveway escape preparation? She insisted there was no time to waste, she could feel his head moving down. We already knew he-was-a-he from an ultrasound.
Ambulance it is .... but my wife ... as always ... had conditions.
I ran downstairs to dial 911 and specifically asked the dispatcher if the ambulance would take us from Cranston to Pawtucket Memorial Hospital, two cities away. This was not automatic, there were at least four hospitals between our home and Pawtucket but my wife demanded we go to Memorial because that's where Dr. Healy practices.
The fire station was only one mile from home. Emergency was on the way but they would not be taking us to Pawtucket. It would have to be Women & Infants Hospital in Providence.
"I'm not going to Women & Infants! Cancel the ambulance! We're driving to Pawtucket."
Back to the phone.
"911"
"Ummm yeah, I just called for an ambulance because my wife is in labor. Umm, I'd like to cancel that call. We're driving."
"Sir, you can't cancel a 911 emergency call. They're on the way."
"But you don't understand, she won't go to Women & Infants."
"You'll have to discuss that with the crew."
I hung up the phone resigned to ambulatory transport to a hospital my pregnant wife did not want. When I went upstairs to break the news she was pulling her pants off.
"I can't stop him. I'm having this baby right here."
"OH NO YOUR NOT!"
I hurriedly grabbed the elastic prego pants to prevent her from removing them. I was trying to pull them back up while she attempted to push them down. If I recall correctly, it's been a few years, we may have exchanged pleasantries during the struggle. A man's voice interrupted our tug-o-war.
"Excuse me. You called 911?"
James had answered the doorbell and showed two Cranston policemen to our bedroom. They stood in the doorway watching me on my knees yanking her trousers up while she fought to get them down.
Apparently, she didn't need police assistance. To this day my ex-wife denies the following words. I assure you they're exactly what she said.
"OH GREAT, THE FUCKING COPS! WHAT ARE THEY GOING TO DO, SHOOT ME?"
"Alrighty sir, the ambulance is on it's way. We'll wait downstairs with your son."
......... to be continued.
...