“Miss, darling, when will the ambulance arrive? Her fever is nearly one hundred and four, and I can’t get it down…” The exhausted voice on the other end replied, “All units are currently out on calls. Please wait.”
Barely holding back tears, Claire hung up the phone and rushed to her daughter. Little Sophie lay on the sofa, covered with a light sheet, her breathing labored. The five-year-old’s body was burning with fever, refusing to lower, inching toward the dreaded one hundred and four degrees Fahrenheit mark.
The doorbell rang, startling Claire. She leapt up, almost stumbling, and hurried to the door.
“The fever is reducing, the medicine’s working. The child has rattling sounds on both sides of her chest. I recommend hospitalization,” said a tall, gray-haired man, who rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily, watching as a young nurse placed a syringe into a medical box.
“Can’t we manage at home?”
“You can’t. We’ll head to the hospital to monitor her.” Claire grabbed her passport and a bag with essentials and stepped into the hallway. “I’ll dress Sophie and… Oh, who are you?”
Through the open door, an ambulance crew came in: a stout, bearded doctor of about forty, a slim thirty-two-year-old medic with glasses carrying a briefcase, and a freckled, red-haired intern.
“You called for an ambulance?” the bearded doctor confirmed.
“Yes, but… there was another doctor,” Claire said, puzzled.
“What other doctor?” the young intern asked, joining the conversation.
“Well… there was a tall man, gray-haired. He eased Sophie’s fever and said we needed to go to the hospital,” the young woman explained, bewildered.
The doctor and medic exchanged glances.
“Jackson!”
“Two teams dispatched to one call?” the intern wondered out loud.
The bearded doctor addressed the young mother: “Dress the girl. We’ll take you to the hospital.” Claire went back to the room. The surprised intern asked the doctor, “Aren’t we going to examine her?”
“Jackson never makes mistakes.”
“Who is Jackson, anyway?”
The medic chuckled. “Jackson was the most experienced specialist on the rescue team… was. He was invited to London several times but always refused. He said his job was saving lives, not sitting in an office.”
A year ago, Jackson’s team was rushing to an emergency call. Some idiot tried to cut in front of the ambulance.
The medic fell silent, looking down. The bearded doctor patted his shoulder and continued: “There were no survivors in that accident. But forty days later, strange things started happening in the town.
There was a stabbing on the street. An anonymous call came in: a stab wound to the liver area. It was our shift. We arrived. The young man was lying on the pavement, bandaged, and a stranger was holding an IV. We approached the stranger: ‘Who provided first aid?’ He just shook his head, saying, ‘The ambulance was just here, tall, gray-haired doctor and a young nurse with him. They provided aid, set up the IV. The gray-haired one told me to hold it like this… I turned away for a minute, checked the guy’s breathing, then you showed up. But where did the gray-haired one go?'”
A chill went down our spines. From the description, it was clear Jackson and his team had provided first aid. We transported the young man to the hospital, noting in the report that first aid had been administered before our arrival. We didn’t mention Jackson. Later, they began talking openly about him at the station. But that day, we were stunned.”
“No one would have believed us!” chuckled the medic. The bearded doctor adjusted his stethoscope and continued: “A few days later, a worker fell at a warehouse: stroke and head injury. Before the city ambulance arrived, the ‘tall, gray-haired doctor and young nurse’ provided first aid: they set up an IV, gave oxygen, and diagnosed. ‘And then vanished without a trace.'”
“Remember the birth at the traffic light?” the medic smiled, adjusting his glasses.
“Ghosts delivering babies?” the red-haired intern was astonished.
“Watch your words,” the doctor frowned. “I don’t know what Jackson’s team became, but certainly not ghosts. More like the city’s guardian angels.”
“Sorry…” the intern blushed, his cheeks and ears turning red. “So, what about the birth?”
“A taxi driver was taking a woman to the hospital: she was thirty-four, her second child, thirty-nine weeks along. He stopped at a traffic light, and the woman went into premature labor. In a panic, he turned his hazard lights on, called the ambulance, and didn’t know what to do, running around the car shouting for help. The dispatcher instructed him, ‘Sir, don’t worry, put the phone on speaker, and I’ll guide you on what to do.’ But the man was hysterical, couldn’t think straight.”
“And that’s when Jackson and his nurse came to the rescue. The baby was coming breech, with the cord around its neck. If it weren’t for them, the baby wouldn’t have survived.”
Shortly thereafter, the ambulance arrived, taking the happy mother and the healthy baby who was loudly crying. Many such instances happened over the year – too many to count. ‘Jackson’s team’ only shows up for the most critical cases. Without Jackson, none of those patients would have survived until the city ambulance arrived. That’s how it is.”
“We’re ready.” Claire appeared in the corridor with her daughter. The bearded doctor took the bag from her and smiled at Sophie: “Everything’s going to be just fine now!”
