Gratitude

It was 4 a.m. in an Army barracks. One of the cooks woke me up...I'd just gotten off duty at 1 and was NOT a happy camper.

"You gotta come, it's Ramierez...he's dead".

Well damn.

Followed the cook to the squad bay two doors down and there was Ramierez on the floor, purple, with a syringe sticking out of his arm.

Double damn.

Adrenaline kicked in and I went on autopilot. I had the cook call the base's equivalent of 911, yanked out the syringe (later found out it was full of the finest Turkish heroin) and started mouth-to-mouth on the guy. Everyone starts waking up and crowding around. Lot of Hispanic guys all jabbering in Spanish.

I'm beating on the poor bastard's chest and wishing more than anything else in the world for a defibrillator. Breathe, damn you, breathe. This goes on and on for almost 20 minutes and I am wondering where the hell is the ambulance crew.

Then, miracle of miracles, we get a heartbeat. His eyes fly open and he stares up groggily at me.

I'll never forget his words of gratitude:
"Get off me you @#$%^& homo!"