When the alarm began its high-pitched bleating this
morning at an ungodly time shortly before 3 a.m., I hauled myself up from bed
and already forgotten dreams and went through a ritual than I do most mornings.
Finished sipping the water from the cup on my nightstand, slumped down the
hallway with my furry roommate, Patrick, to let him out the back door to do his business, then hit
the shave-and-shower routine.
I rarely glimpse into the mirror in the morning,
particularly so at this hour, because I fear I’ll see some visage of Dorian
Gray leering back at me or a bald clone of Linda Blair’s noggin’ turning 360s at
warp speed. Suffice it to say, I am an early riser most mornings, but not at an
hour when drunks, stoners and disappointed barflies are starting to flock to
Denny’s for a nightcap of greasy eggs and oozing meatloaf.
But there I was. On assignment to help with live remotes for our local ABC affiliate, WRTV-6,
beginning at 4:30 a.m. and running at the top and bottom of each hour until
6:30 a.m. It just happened to be with reporter and cameraman I have worked with
several times in the past. Good folks and always on top of things.
Their news truck’s microwave tower was up and linked to their
downtown Indy station. We chatted a bit
about our families, the horrible weather and how TV meteorologists had pegged
this latest hellish spell. Then they met some of our great crew working the
overnight shift in our Emergency Room (ER ) – the people who treat others’ pains and illnesses and
keep them alive while the rest of the city sleeps.
There is an unspoken word you never use when talking with
ER staff. You never ask if the shift has been “quiet.” Maybe it’s a
superstition or just a tradition, but you just find other ways to ask it. An
emergency room is a world of mixed-bag experiences. I always have admired the way
our teams operated. And this just happened to be a blessedly q---t night.
My job? Stand around with my nifty large notebook, look
somewhat important and occasionally check my cell phone for important calls
which I havent' received. Essentially, in these situations, my real function is to
make sure interviewees and extra video footage called “B-roll” are available.
Keep the trains running on time, as it were.
Each segment rolled smoothly. The morning shift ER chief doctor
earlier had sailed finely through a standup with the reporter, checked up with
patients and nurses before returning for the final one-minute Q&A.
The news team began to catch the perfunctory cues from
studio producers to get ready. Ready, set
– okay we’re rolling…
The reporter did her brief intro and then asked a
question. That’s when one of the nurses came jogging into camera view and told
the doctor she was needed right away. She didn’t bat an eye, waved and simply
said, “Gotta go!”
Real pros – especially those who deal with important
flesh-and-blood urgencies – just do that. It’s wired into their DNA.
And then I witnessed another pro team go into action,
something I have never witnessed as a hospital flack while working live
television. The reporter briefly glanced over her shoulder as the doc and nurse
trotted away, looked back at the camera and acknowledged the hasty departure and then moved on.
Often, an uncanny mix of valleys and peaks, adrenaline
drag-racing that most us will never know.
Then like the pros they are, the news team continued on. “Let me recap what physicians
are saying to people about how to protect themselves in this heat…” With the reporter continuing her commentary, the
studio crew immediately inserted B-roll for viewers as the cameraman directed
the reporter to a nearby location to prepare for the return of the live shot.
A few more words, a little banter over the ear buds
between the reporter and the anchor desk. And then it was done. A patient had
received immediate care from our ER staff. The TV news team had filed the last
installment of a story.
Grizzled and jaded as I might sometimes be, I must
confess I was mighty impressed this morning.
It’s good to work with people who care about their craft
and, more importantly, the people they serve.
Let me tell you that Joe is being so very modest. He is our rock, both in doing his job, and as being a FSFH team member in general. More than once I have depended on his reliable, sane perspectives, sometimes in the middle of a disaster. That last sentence of the entry above is exactly how I will end this-he loves his craft, and all of us, and you, those he serves!
ReplyDeleteI taught him all he knows.
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