I’ll begin by stating that I’ve been a paramedic for nearly six years, spending all of that time in Ontario, Canada. For the most part, the job’s been relatively textbook. Not to say it wasn’t brutal, as I’ve experienced plenty of bullet holes, knife wounds, and burn victims. The job of a paramedic is to stabilise an injured persons’ condition, to make sure they’re able to arrive at a hospital, and receive proper treatment, before death, so we see plenty of gruesome sights. However, the experience I’m about to share with you was in a league of it’s own.
Mid way through 2015. I was working the “night shift,” if you could call it that, in a small district of Ontario. At our dispatch, there were a total of twenty three of us working, waiting for the tell-tale call to action. Usually, there are two paramedics in an ambulance, unless multiple people are hurt or injured. When I got the instruction to head out, me and my partner, we’ll call him Mike, climbed into the back of the ambulance. The call was placed at 2:13 AM, and we left two minutes after. From the vague description, a man was mauled by what he said was “a bear, but bigger and faster.” He was on a residential street, at least a few blocks away from any wooded area large enough to support a bear, so we found it strange that he referenced the animal.