Driving Like Dorks: Why Are We Killing Ourselves?

This issue sees the debut of Vehicle Ops, a new column in EMS Magazine that will address a variety of topics centering around emergency vehicle operations—everything from safe driving techniques to ambulance maintenance to how to purchase an ambulance.

The column will feature guest writers, as well as interviews with leading industry figures. Our mission is to help educate EMS providers on how best to operate the vehicles they place their trust in every day in a bid to reduce the number of accidents experienced by public safety personnel. If there is a particular topic you would like us to cover, e-mail emseditor@aol.com. In the meantime, this month’s column features a guest editorial from EMS Magazine editorial advisory board Member Thom Dick on the issue of safe driving.

Chances are, you don’t know me from the rock in your front yard. But I’m going to ask you for a personal favor. In fact, I’m going to beg you, because it’s important.

Imagine the face of the one person you love more than anyone else in the whole world. Imagine the depth of their eyes, the sound of their laughter, the touch of their skin and the smell of their hair. Imagine everything that makes them special and makes you feel joy when you see them.

Now, imagine they’re suddenly ripped out of your life. Just gone, without warning. There will be a memorial service at the end of the week, that’s all. You feel the pain of never seeing them again, and it hits you like a truck. You wish you could have just one last moment to say good-bye and tell them how much their life has mattered to you. But it’s too late. It’s all over.

Why would you want to put yourself through such a thing? Because, as you’re reading this article, there are young EMTs in your town and all over the world who are driving their ambulances way too fast. They’re not stupid, they’re not malicious and they don’t go to work planning to risk the life of anyone, especially their own—but they don’t know what they’re doing.

They don’t know that it only takes an instant to kill somebody with an ambulance. They’ve never thought about the fact that, once an instant is spent, we can never have it back again. This is not cyberspace, and there are no Undo commands for us. Not on the control console of the best ambulance ever built. And nowhere else in EMS.

Nothing in a young EMT’s training can provide them with the wisdom they need to appreciate the weight of an ambulance or the danger they face every time they light one up. Most of them have never seen an ambulance wreck or felt the death of anyone they really loved. But the odds are, one of them is about to experience the wreck of their life. And it will happen sometime this week.

Worst thing is, all that stuff that our EMTs don’t understand is not their fault. Why? Because a whole lot of us do understand it, and we’re sloppy teachers. Too many of us give our folks a few hours in a classroom, and maybe some parking-lot exercises. That’s not education, and it does not produce understanding.

Ambulance crash expert Dr. Nadine Levick estimates there are 8,500 collisions every year in the United States involving EMS and fire vehicles, resulting in a death every week. Seventy-five percent of those casualties are innocent pedestrians or occupants of other vehicles; most of the rest are caregivers in the patient compartments of ambulances. And, she says, there is no such thing as an acceptable morbidity or mortality figure for EMTs.1

See, good caregivers don’t grow on trees. They’re rare. Valuable. Irreplaceable. Anybody can get through an EMT course. But when you’re kneeling in front of somebody’s grandpa who’s denying chest pain, you need to be able to read his chest pain anyway, along with the shortness of breath he hasn’t even mentioned. And you need to detect the fact that the lady who’s sitting on the couch next to him is scared to death she will never get to sleep with him again. Then you need to figure out how to make it all better. Not just anybody can do that. You need to be born with some very uncommon gifts.

NASCAR vehicles are designed to sustain a frontal crash at 130 mph without injuries to their occupants. They’re designed not to roll, disintegrate or catch fire. But ambulances are designed so a crash of any kind at 30 mph will kill anyone in the patient compartment. They’re top-heavy, their brakes are undersized, they’re not equipped with roll cages, they come apart in collisions, and their physical layout makes most procedures difficult during transport unless a caregiver first disables his or her own safety restraints.

Think younger drivers are slicker than older ones? Hope not, because that would make you wrong. An excellent study published by Denver Health this year revealed a drastic decrease in the frequency of collisions when operators have more than one year of emergency driving experience. It revealed another significant drop after six years.2

What does experience teach you? Mostly that EMS isn’t about speed. It’s about competence, reliability and respect for the public.

Those are all facts that impact the survival of every EMT and paramedic. And they’re all facts to which most field caregivers are completely oblivious. That’s unforgivable. As an industry, we need to do a better job of informing people about the machines they operate every day—machines that can either earn them a living or kill them.

As an individual, do you work with somebody who drives like a dork? You shouldn’t, you know. Your first job is to come home safe, shift after shift. Nobody has the right to take that away from you. If they do, demand that they change their driving habits—even if you’re the newest EMT in town. If they refuse, or if they blow off your concerns, take the keys. Then, do whatever’s necessary to free up their future. If you can’t do that, free up your own. But trust me…if somebody’s driving scares you, it should.

References

1. Levick N. Address at Kentucky State EMS Conference, Owensboro, KY, September 2004.
2. Custalow CB, Gravitz CS. Emergency vehicle collisions and potential for preventive intervention. Preh Emerg Care, 8:2, p.177, April/June, 2004.