One of the most heartbreaking calls we've had to go on involved an old war veteran who should have been buried by now; yet by some fluke, some miracle, he was alive.

Solomon Lechere  (not his real name) was a veteran of the Vietnam War. He was probably in his sixties (but looked closer to seventy-five, eighty).

Solomon, according to his wife, Esther, his family, his friends, had a whole variety of serious medical problems. He was legally blind, was almost stone-deaf (due to all the heavy gunfire he was subjected to when in the heat of battle), had an artificial leg that caused him to limp when he walked (he used a crutch for balance), suffered from post traumatic stress disorder (he was prone to terrifying panic attacks and/or flashbacks), was diabetic, had high blood pressure, and emphysema (he wore oxygen via a portable tank when his breathing got bad), and was "borderline bi-polar depressive".

Solomon was a "frequent flyer"--that is, he utilized our services on a very regular basis. One thing or another was always flaring up. He could be counted on to need us at least every other week or month.

Such was the case this go-around. We were summoned to the Lachere place because Solomon's breathing had gotten so bad he was literally gasping for breath.

The emergency tones sounded their familiar chime, sending us into action. We grabbed our gear, grabbed our jackets, and jumped into our rig in one smooth, easy rhythm. The call was for a man who was having difficulty in breathing.

We prepared ourselves for what we would be dealing with once we arrived on scene. We got to the Lachere place  within minutes.

Solomon's wife, Esther, met us at the door, a look of panic on her face.

"It's Solly!" she exclaimed. "He's having lots of problems breathing! It's really bad!"

"We're on it, ma'am". (That was "Goose", my partner.) "We'll take good care of him; don't you worry about a thing", he told the stricken woman.

We found Solomon in his room, sitting up in his hospital bed. He was perspiring heavily, blue eyes terror-stricken, face shockingly pale. His breathing was so bad you could hear it from across the hallway: you could literally see his ribs working  hard beneath his sweat-soaked undershirt.

Solomon had his oxygen tubing hooked to his nose; yet it didn't appear to be helping any: he was still gasping for breath.

"Goose" gently talked to Solomon as he removed his shirt, applied EKG leads to his now-exposed chest, and got the heart monitor off and running, and listened to the man's heart, breathing. I, meanwhile, talked to Esther, who gave me a detailed medical history and ticked off his medications in no time flat.

I started an IV line into the man's arm. Soon we had the man loaded up on a stretcher; after covering him up with a warm blanket and strapping him into place, we wheeled Solomon out to the ambulance still waiting outside.

On the way to the hospital, Solomon suddenly "crashed". His blood pressure plummeted, and the tracing on the EKG monitor screen was becoming increasingly erratic. Solomon's head slumped over to the one side as he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Holy crap!" I heard "Goose" scream,  "He's bottoming out!! We may have to initiate CPR!!"

Which is what we did. I told the driver of the ambulance to floor it if Solomon was to have any chance of surviving.

It was all in vain. He died as he was being rolled into the ER. Doctors pronounced him dead shortly after arrival.

This happened two years ago.

I still think about this case, wondering if there was anything different we could have done to insure the man's survival. Yet God had other plans: he mercifully took this sick, beaten war veteran home.

Maybe it was for the best.

~Written by Kendall V. Smith, paramedic/EMT, Nashville, Tennessee.