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I've always been afraid of sirens. Even as kid, safe and warm in bed at night, I knew that a piercing wail in the dark meant someone else was likely lying in the back of an ambulance, potentially struggling for their life. For years I had terrible nightmares about that and other grisly things. My parents — following the guidance of pediatrician Dr. Benjamin Spock — chalked it up to a "vivid imagination."
Many decades later, I live one block west of a Burlington fire station. All day long, I hear the trucks responding to emergencies. At night, their sirens are replaced by flashing lights that illuminate the bedroom, briefly, until the heavy vehicles turn onto North Avenue. The visual reminder that they are off to deal with some drama I've been spared makes me feel just like I did when I was little: worried, guilty, grateful. I've always known — deep down — that one day an ambulance, a glaring reminder of mortality, would be driving in the dark for me.
Two years ago, one did. Readers of this column may remember I wrote about a stroke-like migraine that sent me to the hospital, unconscious, in the wee hours of my 61st birthday. Responses to that piece gave Seven Days the evidence we needed to document the extent of a waiting-time problem at the University of Vermont Medical Center. Our coverage launched a state investigation.
One detail I omitted back in 2021 seems important now, in light of this week's cover story about the dire state of emergency medical services across Vermont. On that night, while I was unresponsive, my partner, Tim, debated whether to call 911. When he did, our neighborhood firehouse responded. The EMTs were in our house, by my side, in a matter of seconds.
There are paramedics among Burlington's first responders and firefighters, and they are all professionals. City residents pay for their services, but that night nobody was complaining about property taxes or the cost of the ride, which was upwards of $800, as I recall. I left the house horizontally, in good hands.
When you're really sick and need to be assessed in an emergency room, that's the best way to go. Most Vermonters live much farther from a hospital than I do. And many are in towns with predominantly volunteer rescue squads. But no matter where they reside or how long the ride to a hospital, they've been able to expect that someone will respond to a call for help — until now.
In "On Life Support," Colin Flanders takes the vitals of Vermont's statewide emergency response network. Staffing and equipment shortages, combined with an increase in the number of calls, have stretched some teams, volunteer and professional, to the breaking point.
I worry about friends, many older than me, who live alone in the country. Their neighbors are there to help, of course, but sometimes those folks are on the senior side, too, or they've gone south for the winter. Helping someone up from a fall is one thing. But most emergency medical problems can't be remedied by a strong back, duct tape or a plow.
Which brings me to another detail I left out of my migraine story: the conclusion. My neurologist retired, but not before we met over Zoom to discuss my headaches and what I should do the next time I got one.
He suggested: Now that I know all the ways the problem can manifest itself, from impaired speech to nausea to unconsciousness, maybe I don't need to call 911 next time.
There hasn't been a "next time." But it's comforting to know that, at least in Burlington, we can still expect someone to answer.