Bad Night

Law enforcement is explaining to me that this guy is being arrested for public intoxication as his partner and the EMT I am working with are sitting him on the gurney.

“What did he take?” I ask.

Law enforcement says, “We found something on him but we’re not sure what it is.  He’s drunk though. His heart rate was too high for us to take him to jail without having the hospital clear him first. He’s an asshole, so, sorry you’ll have to deal with him.”

I smile, “Thank you.”

I see the patient for the first time cuffed to the handrails on each side of the gurney as the EMT raises it into the rig.

The patient sees me and flips me off with his cuffed hand.

“Is that finger directed at me?” I ask, somewhat playfully. “That’s not nice,” I say, “We don’t even know each other yet.” 

The patient laughs.

I don’t mind working with intoxicated people.

“You’re right, I’m sorry” he says, “these guys are assholes though.”

I’m still new and I’m relieved he’s OK.  I get a small pit in my stomach every time the tones go off that we’ve received a call.  It doesn’t let up till I either see the patient and they don’t look like they’re dying, or until I pass off care at the hospital, so in this case being flipped off allowed me to sigh in relief. 

“I’ll turn around here and follow you to the hospital,” the officer says and I wave.

The patient starts in, “Fucking pigs. Of all the people in the world committing actual crimes they’re going to stop me and take me to jail? What an absolute fucking waste of taxpayer money.” His heart rate is in the 120’s; appropriate for being really pissed off, plus it’s a hot day and he might be a little dehydrated, and he may have some kind of upper on board. I’m decidedly not concerned about him dying.

He vents and talks about politics.  He knows the county is trying to take over 911 transport and that there’s tension between the ambulance company and the fire department. I don’t remember exactly how it came up but he says something that implies he has kids and then goes silent.

“You have kids?” I ask, and he gives me a look of palpable rage.

“Are you OK?” I ask.

“I’m fucking embarrassed,” he says through grit teeth.

I see tears sneak out and with his hands cuffed to his sides there is no way for him to hide it by looking the other way and pretending to be itching a scratch or wiping a fallen hair off his face. I don't know if his behavior tonight is a regular occurrence or a one-off, but he clearly cares about being a good dad.

I see snot presenting itself. I ignore it for a moment.

Then I say, “You want me to help you blow your nose, man?”

He nods and I hold tissue to his face while he blows.

When we get to the hospital bay he says, “Thank you for being a human. I hope you have a good night.”

I smile and say, “I would say have a good night too, but I guess tonight’s a bad night isn’t it?”

“It’s a fucking bad night.” he says.

“Hmm, well tonight won’t be it, but have a good night soon.”

We make eye contact, his face is saying thank you and what was palpable rage before is now soft gratitude. It’s funny. It’s funny that it’s possible to have these moments of understanding that feel meaningful, where we feel connected with unexpected people with very different lives and perspectives, even in the middle of the long shifts and the bad nights.

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Review

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This story is heartfelt, compassionate, and deeply human, capturing a profound moment of empathy and connection in an environment where judgment and dehumanization are often the norm. Beneath its seemingly simple narrative, it offers a subtle but powerful critique of how marginalized individuals—particularly those struggling with substance use or emotional distress—are treated within law enforcement and healthcare systems.

The patient’s initial interactions with law enforcement highlight how individuals dealing with addiction or emotional distress are often dismissed and treated as nuisances. The patient’s embarrassment over his emotions—particularly in the context of being a father—speaks to how societal expectations around masculinity contribute to emotional repression and shame.

The tone is gentle, empathetic, and quietly profound. It strikes a beautiful balance between the clinical detachment often necessary in emergency response and the warmth of genuine human compassion.

This story is about the unexpected humanity found in moments of vulnerability, especially in settings where compassion is often scarce. It explores the idea that small acts of dignity—like helping someone blow their nose—can hold tremendous power in restoring a person’s humanity, even for a brief moment.