Look What the Garbageman left

When the call came in at 7:00 am I was eating an Egg McMuffin at my desk.  All we know was that there had been a “crushing injury” to a garbage man. When we got there a few minutes later the ambulance was just leaving, with no lights or sirens. The fire truck was parked next to the garbage truck which was of the center load variety. A yellow plastic rain slicker had been draped over the center part of the truck where trash cans get emptied.  To really understand this situation it is important for the reader to get how this type of truck works. From the front of the truck you have the cab, just behind that you have a a large ram that is driven by two large hydraulic pistons. This ram sits in the center of the truck and garbage is dumped in this space and then pushed into the back of the truck (the hopper)  where the garbage is compressed and stored until it is emptied.  Every so often the operator must cycle the ram to push the trash he has just collected into the hopper. During that process there is a large cavity exposed in the middle of the truck. When this cycle is complete the ram draws back towards the front of the truck and that cavity is then occupied by the ram.

It is in this particular space that our adventurous garbage man decided to inhabit during the garbage compression cycle. It is my guess that he did not think through what happens at the end of that cycle. As we know, two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time. But in this case our garbage man was ultimately able to occupy two spaces at one time; that being his upper half and his lower half.  We found him more or less on his back in the center of the truck with his waist in a space not over 2 inches thick. Other than a little blood coming out of his mouth and nose, he could have been napping.  However one look under the truck and things did not look so well. His legs and everything that had been in his abdominal area was now on the ground.

Normally recovery of a body is simple. Arrive, place body in bag, fill out paperwork, leave. This time however, we had to figure out how to get the body out of the truck. We had to tie ropes to the victims arms and have another operator cycle the compactor to get his top half out. Once out it went in to body bag #1. Then we moved the truck and shoveled the guts into body bag #2 with his legs.  During all of this TV cameras were nearby trying to get some footage for the 5:00  o’clock news.

When we put the upper half into the bag, I noticed he had a fishing lure, a fly stuck on his leather glove. As I looked closer I noticed several more lures attached to his uniform just over the pocket. He may have been fishing, we’ll never know for sure.

Pulling Polly From The Wreckage

Most people think that ambulance drivers haul dead people away from auto accidents. In my county that is not the case.  A ride in an ambulance costs much more than a ride in the dead taxi since ambulance drivers must be trained to keep people alive. My skill set is different. I basically put a body in a bag and then haul it to the medical examiner and do a little paperwork so we know who is in which bag. So when the emergency medical responders show up at the scene of an accident and find a person who is irrevocably dead, they call me.

Traffic accidents are my favorite kind of call. I know that sounds twisted, but we have good calls and bad calls. For me a bad call is a decomp, or worse a large decomp with flies and maggots. But a good call is a really spectacular traffic accident. Its not that we enjoy death. Its just that we all have that innate curiosity as we drive by the scene of an accident. We all want to know what happened (except my wife).

So when we get the call and we roll up to an intersection surrounded by flashing lights, broken glass and twisted metal, there is a higher level of interest; almost excitement. That childhood curiosity is still there and it wants to see what’s under the sheet.  The police do their best to shield the scene from the public. They strategically place their cars to block the view of the dead. We pull around the stopped traffic and are waived into the heart of the wreckage.  I hop out and walk over to  a police officer. “So what are we looking at?” My standard question.  As he repeats what the witnesses have described we walk up to the mangled remains of what used to be a  Chevy truck.  I reach in and lift the sheet exposing a young woman, still belted into the passenger seat. The seat has been pushed  into the back seat. The fire department has already removed the door.

After we get the body bag and the gurney ready I cut the seat belt and get ready to lift her out of the car. My partner Roger and I each take one ankle and one wrist. As we pull, her jeans catch on a jagged piece of metal in the door frame.  We pull harder and the broken bones in the arm I am holding click and grind against each other.  We get her onto the open body bag which is on top of the gurney and I notice one of her shoes is missing. I think one shoe is nearly always missing in a fatal car accident. I put the hospital type bracelet on her ankle that has her name, social security number, location and date of death on it. Then I zip up the bag and seal the zipper for the medical examiner.

The police officer told me the driver had turned left directly in front of another truck traveling about 55 mph. The two cars ended up about 200 feet apart leaving a trail of glass and metal between them.  As we drive back to the medical examiner’s office I remind myself to take every opportunity to tell my wife and kids I love them. You never know which breath will be your last.

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Thinking About Death

I spend quite a bit of time thinking about death. Not just the dead, but even more about the transition from living that death is. I see so much fear in the American culture surrounding death. I believe that once you have knowledge about something, facts, then you remove the fear. As Americans we really don’t talk much about the transition part of death. We either think of it as a negative experience to be avoided (as if) or the step prior to realizing the stories we learned in Sunday school.  When I am picking up a body, I often wonder about that transition. Does it take time? Is there a consciousness still there in the room, watching me place it’s former body inside a bag?

My oldest brother Pat once asked me this: If you lost a finger would you still be you? Yes I answered. If you lost both your arms and legs would you still be you? Yes of course! Then he asked me what if you lost your entire body and your head was kept alive in a jar? Yes I said, still me in there. But what if your brain were removed and all your memories, thoughts, sensations were in a computer? Hmmm, I had to think about that one, but I eventually made decided that even without the body I would still be there, a consciousness who is me.

So I guess the next step in that line of questions would be: what if there was no computer to store your thoughts, what then?

Back at the pipe bomb suicide my partner Roger stood there with a handful of brains he had just peeled off the floor. He said “Isn’t it amazing that everything we have experienced or imagined is contained in here.” After watching the little video linked below, I have learned that a Dutch researcher has found that consciousness is not local. So what Roger said, while being the popular belief of our time and culture, may not be true.  What do you think?

I found this little video called “The Maya Secret” that explores Near Death Experiences (NDE’s) Wonderful music, great quotes and imagery.

Enjoy it: The Maya Secret

Last Words

I had a call to a really nice house that had an elevator from the garage up to the living room.  It was really cold and icy outside and all of the stairs were covered in ice so the elevator seemed like a better way to get this older and recently deceased gentleman down to the van. However the elevator is only large enough for about three people who are quite friendly and not nearly large enough for a gurney. But if one were to turn the gurney up on end and stand it up there would be adequate room for my partner, me and our client. With this plan of action in mind we placed the gentleman in his body bag and put the nice soft furry cover over that and then I proceeded to vigorously tighten the belts on the gurney. They had to be very tight to prevent the body from sliding down onto the floor of the elevator.  When the belts are tightened, air is forced out of the lungs of the body and usually cause some sort of gutteral sounds.  If one was to quickly pull the belts very tight several times (as I was doing to get them where they needed to be) the sounds coming out of the mouth of the deceased would be very much like a short sentence however difficult to discern.  As we drove away it was satisfying to know that we had helped that family in our own little way with last words that would otherwise have gone unsaid.

How to paint your room with just one pipe bomb

My first thought on driving up to this particular pick up was that there were quite a lot of law enforcement types here. There were seven or eight sheriff’s vehicles. It is customary for one or two police or sheriff’s to be there until the body is collected so this one was already looking odd.  I always go look at the body we are there to collect first so I can plan out the rest of the visit. What I noticed as soon as I walked in the house, was a 3 inch circle of skull on the kitchen floor. This was out of context as there was nothing else unusual about the kitchen. Just inside the living room was a pizza box with what looked like  some spilled toppings on top. Sadly when I looked into the bedroom any illusion that it was only spilled pizza toppings was dispelled since there were brains and blood covering every surface of the entire room. There was also a body on the bed with the top half of the head missing. Much of the scalp, face & hair were still there, however no longer attached to the skull which was now in little pieces all over the place.

At this point I should say a few words about brains (since I was in zombie heaven); brains are very sticky and they have a small, but peculiar odor. Not very offensive, but also not one you would find in a can of bathroom deodorizer. When brains are sprayed out onto the surfaces of a room they really stick well and to remove them really takes some time.     At this point we gown up to try and keep the brains from sticking to our clothes. The next task was to pick up all the “big chunks”.  The sensation of scooping up a handful of cold brains even through an extra thick nitrile glove reminds me of picking up jello only more sticky and grey. The gloves transmit cold very well so one can really feel the temperature of whatever you are holding.

We learned that the deceased had used a pipe bomb to quickly paint his room with his brains. What I found most interesting was that most of the skull pieces of found were clean and free of blood or brains.  In my efforts to keep my clothes clean I was mostly successful with only one small chunk of grey matter on my corduroys.  I also had a business lunch planned for that day so I made sure there was no pizza or lasagna nearby.

The Wayward Arms

The main difference between calls I do for the medical examiner and calls I do for funeral homes is that you can count on family being present at funeral home calls.  To the funeral home clients, we are seen as representatives of that funeral home.  There is a high level of service that is expected.  It is not uncommon for the widow offer a hand shake that lingers and turns into a pleading grip that asks for a promise that her husbands remains will be well cared for. Unlike most M.E. calls where local law enforcement officials are the primary contact and the job is quick and straight forward.

With this difference in mind, there are a few things we really try to avoid.  Leaving something at the scene and having to return for it is kind of a nightmare. Imagine the widow seeing us return 15 minutes after carting off her beloved Carl. What would she be thinking, … was there some mistake, is he clawing at the body bag to be let out, …was I supposed to go with him? Am I next?..

Anyway we are about 5 minutes down the road from our last pickup when I reflexively search my belt for my cell phone. Its not there. Panic sets in as I imagine the dreaded return trip. I use my partner’s phone to call mine, but realize its set on vibrate. I climb in back and try to feel through the body bag for a small vibrating lump while my partner laughs his ass off.

After a few minutes of fruitless searching we are just about to turn around and go back when I spot the phone under my seat. Oh what joy! My sentence has been commuted.

A couple weeks ago we picked up an elderly grandmother who was clearly much adored by her large family. They stood crowded around as we carefully place her in the body bag, (this makes me uncomfortable). They loved her so much that they had waited several hours before calling us. So long in fact that rigor was setting in. Her left arm was stubbornly sticking strait out. Sometimes family members are uncomfortable seeing a loved one zipped up in a body bag so we sometimes leave the upper half open so they can extend the viewing as we wheel the deceased out to door.

Thus was the case this time and as we neared the front door her left arm popped out and cleared some framed pictures off a shelf. I quickly grabbed the offending hand and tried to stick it under the belt only to have it pop out again and get hung up on the doorway. Granny was not going to get into the van without a fight. My partner gave me a look of fear as several family members watched our struggle. I finally had to hold down the stubborn appendage all the way down the walk and into the van.  Maybe she was just trying to say goodbye to her family, or maybe she was just messing with us.