We were called to a high-end loft apartment of a 33 y/o BF, for an attempted suicide. When we got the call, the notes on our computer said that she was shooting up the place with a shotgun, and she's about to shoot herself. It sounded like a TRUE emergency, so we only took a few more bites of our dinners, and then we moseyed on over there.
They called the right ambulance driver, because if anyone can talk someone out of shooting themselves, I can. My technique...based on the theory that people usually only kill themselves when they are coming OUT of depression...I use my verbal skills to drive them deep enough back into depression that they no longer have the willpower or self-respect to kill themselves.
Her girlfriend (the apparent femme in the relationship) called us because she got scared when the patient fired the shotgun in the house and blew a hole in the ceiling. That would explain why she's the femme...only a femme would be scared of a little shotgun fire in the house. The patient was trying to make her girlfriend think she was trying to shoot herself, and she accidentally missed. The rest of us aren't fooled by that sharade...you would have to be a complete failure to miss your own head with a shotgun.
When we got there, and after the police made sure the scene was safe for a couple of EMS pansies, the patient and her girlfriend were sitting in the kitchen arguing about 'you don't love me anymore' and 'why did you call the cops?...you betrayed me.' The gun was on the bed in the bedroom, and there was in fact, a big hole in the ceiling. The police took all of her guns away (perks of the job, I guess...we get free band-aids...they get guns), and after about an hour of trying to verbally persuade her to go to the hospital, the police forced her to go to the county mental health hospital. She did not go easily. The police had to kick her ass a little. It turns out, the patient was a federal police officer, so she kind of knew her way around resisting arrest.
You would think that would be the end of the story, right? I mean, you figure, if somebody is being rehabilitated by the county, they're going to emerge as a well-adjusted, mentally stable person, right? Plus that, the government took away all her guns...how would someone without guns hurt themselves or others, right?
Two weeks later, we got called to the same apartment. This time the computer said that the patient was inside the apartment, she had a gun, and she was waiting for the police to break in so she could fire at them, hoping they would return fire and kill her (police assisted suicide).
When we arrived, there was no shortage of police on hand. They live for this stuff. I don't know if their motivation was more to save her from shooting herself, or if they were hoping to be the one who got to shoot her. They were all dressed in their semi-SWAT gear. A couple of guys even had shotguns and assault rifles.
They asked us to breach the door, and when we did, the door only opened about a foot, being stopped by someone standing behind the door. The cops started yelling, "she's behind the door...she's got a gun...put the gun down, mother fuck#r...come out, god damn#t, ....put the fucki#g gun down..."
They continued yelling at her for about 10 minutes. The neighbors were poking their heads out of their doors, trying to see what was going on, and then quickly retreating, like a bunch cowardly sissies. We, of course, were hiding out 10-15 feet down the hall, waiting for the gun fight to end, like a bunch of cowardly sissies.
After about 10 minutes, one of the officers got really brave and looked in the crack in the door...then...Bang, Splat...the officers brains were sprayed all over the wall, ceiling, and all over the other officers. The other officers started firing at the girl, then she fired back, and when the smoke cleared, the girl was dead, and 8 officers were dead...it was a total bloodbath.
Just kidding..., when the officer looked in the crack, he saw a rope and said, "she's got a rope!...she's got a fucki#g rope!... ...(pause) ... ...why does she have a fucki#g rope?" Then he re-acquired some courage, got closer, and looked again. When he looked in the crack, he saw her looking back at him through the crack. He jumped back, processed what he saw, and said, "I think she's hanging by the rope." They looked again and verified that she was in fact hanging by a rope behind the door. We all felt kind of sheepish for engaging in a SWAT standoff and yelling obscenities at a dead, hanging chick.
We did what only highly trained medical professional are capable of doing...we checked to make sure she was dead, which was apparent without even touching her, since her eyes were bugged-out & all dried up. Also, her face was white (she's a black girl), and there were hardened stalagtites of snot hanging from her nose and mouth. She also had a touch of rigormortis. She must have been dead for more than a couple of hours. She was hanging by a rope, attached to the exposed plumbing of the loft-style apartment. Her feet were about 1-2' from the gound. I have a sneaking suspicion she wasn't messing around this time.
It was a tiny bit weird when I got up close and looked in her eyes...allowing myself to think illogical thoughts, just for a second, wondering if somehow she can still see me looking at her through her dead, bugged-out, dried-up eyes...and thinking it was kind of rude of me to be staring at someone like that. I also wondered, just for a second, if she could somehow hear the jokes we were telling each other about a girl hanging from a rope and about the situation, in general (SWAT standoff with a hanging chick). Don't count on a bunch of cops and firemen to solemnly respect the dead when nobody else is around...there have been a few times when we've had to take a second to collect ourselves, stop laughing, and wipe the grins off our faces before walking out where the public could see us, at the scenes of dead people.
I left the scene feeling disappointed and confused. I could hardly believe that my government failed to stop her from hurting herself. You would think that taking away her guns and sending her to a government mental health rehabilitation center would do the trick. I mean, if government can't keep me from hurting myself, who can? I suddenly feel so unsafe, insecure, and scared to be alone with myself. The world is a different place.