The other side of the street

I can’t help but chuckle whenever I hear people talking about a perceived lack of campus safety. A few incidents notwithstanding, Duke’s campuses (and their peripheral areas) tend to be some of the safest locales in the city—you’re probably not going to get shot walking down Campus Drive at 2 a.m.

With that being said, there are definitely other places in this city where being in the wrong place at the wrong time might well lead to some new holes in your torso. Having grown up in sheltered suburbia, I remember the all-too-stereotypical excitement I felt when dispatched to my first gunshot wound call. Climbing out of the ambulance with the pep and exuberance only a trainee could have, I unleashed a barrage of assessment questions on my patient, who sat on the pavement clutching his right side. As I waited for him to respond to my queries, he just looked up at me exasperatedly, pointed to another round patch of scar tissue on his chest, and said, “Man, same s***, different day.”

Evidently, I wasn’t quite used to the ubiquity of violence in that community, or in any other one, really. Safety and security have always been things I’ve taken for granted, so it required a different frame of mind to provide medical treatment within gangland enclaves. When it comes to staying safe in EMS, we’re taught from early on that “scene safety” is paramount. It’s easy to spot obvious issues: If I arrive to find my patient wearing a clown mask and holding a Bowie knife, I’ll probably turn around and leave. However, it’s much harder to determine if a safe scene will stay that way. Any clues pointing to problems will likely be subtle and non-specific. A patient suddenly becomes quiet and looks around the room, a bystander moves between you and the exit, the knife that was on the table when you walked in is not there anymore—all can be easily and rationally explained, but can also be major red flags under the right circumstances. As such, there’s a fine line between precaution and paranoia, and it’s not uncommon that you end up a little paranoid from time to time. However, you can’t let your paranoia get in the way of personal interactions, and you should never make judgments prematurely.

I recall a particularly vivid example where I let the line blur. It was a muggy summer night, and we had been dispatched to a residence for a Life-Alert activation (think “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up”). I noticed that the address where we were heading was located a block away from a noted hotspot for gang activity and drug sales; I had heard from multiple sources that it was one of the worst intersections in town. And so, as we got out of the truck and approached the residence with our gear, I surveyed and scrutinized our surroundings. As my partner entered the house to assess Anna, our patient, I lagged behind just long enough to see a man walking up through the yard. Black, mid-20s, about six feet tall, clutching an open Budweiser, wearing baggy clothes and an indifferent expression, his eyes fixed on me. Instantly suspicious, I allowed him to proceed through the door before me, wordlessly—from his appearance alone, I had surmised that he was up to no good. Once inside, our mysterious stranger motioned for me to follow him to a back room; I followed, resting my hand on my flashlight with the thought of having something to defend myself with if things went south. In the darkened bedroom, he reached down into a drawer, and I braced myself … only to see him pull out medications.

In the minutes that followed, all was revealed. Our stranger was a neighborhood youth named Justin, and, though not related to Anna, had become her de facto caretaker after her husband’s death. After patiently explaining her list of medications and medical history to me, Justin went back into the main room and confirmed my partner’s growing intuition that there was nothing medically wrong with Anna, telling us that she got very lonely at times. Upon saying this, Justin walked over and embraced the blind, deaf Anna, comforted her and suggested that he make dinner for the two of them. Giving us a smile and a thumbs-up, Justin thanked us for our time.

My heart melted. I’ve never been one to get emotional in the field, but that scene was so beautiful I nearly cried. Words fail to describe the shame I felt for having judged Justin solely on the basis of his appearance. My overzealous suspicion had led me to prejudice myself against this beacon of love and hope in a neighborhood that seemingly lacked both. I was wrong about Justin, in the same way anyone is wrong when judging another based on superficial characteristics, or defaulting to stereotypes. Without action on all of our parts to combat it, the endless cycle of prejudice will continue unchecked through our generation and those to come—as the maxim goes, “Same s***, different day.”

Jay Srinivasan, Trinity ’14, is a Duke pre-med. This column is the sixth installment in a semester-long series of weekly columns written on the pre-med experience at Duke, as well as the diverse ways students can pursue and engage with the field of medicine.