Jennifer Lafemina, MD

Emergencies happen anywhere, anytime, and sometimes, medical professionals find themselves in situations where they are the only ones who can help. Is There a Doctor in the House? is a Medscape Medical News series telling these stories.

I sincerely believe that what goes around comes around. Good things come to good people. And sometimes that saves lives.

My 10-year-old son was in the semifinals of the Little League district championship. And we were losing. My son is an excellent pitcher, and he had started the game. But that night, he was struggling. He just couldn’t find where to throw the ball. Needless to say, he was frustrated.

He was changed to shortstop in the second inning, and the home plate umpire walked over to him. This umpire is well known in the area for his kindness and commitment, how he encourages the kids and helps make baseball fun even when it’s stressful.

We didn’t know him well, but he was really supportive of my kid in that moment, talking to him about how baseball is a team sport and we’re here to have fun. Just being really positive.

As the game continued, I saw the umpire suddenly walk to the side of the field. I hadn’t seen it, but he had been hit by a wild pitch on the side of his neck. He was wearing protective gear, but the ball managed to bounce up the side and caught bare neck. I knew something wasn’t right.

I went down to talk to him, and my medical assistant (MA), who was also at the game, came with me. I could tell the umpire was injured, but he didn’t want to leave the game. I suggested going to the hospital, but he wouldn’t consider it. So I sat there with my arms crossed, watching him.

His symptoms got worse. I could see he was in pain, and it was getting harder for him to speak. My concern was that there was a tracheal injury, a carotid injury, or something of that nature that was expanding.

Again, I strongly urged him to go to the hospital, but again, he said no.

In the sixth inning, things got bad enough that the umpire finally agreed to leave the game. As I was figuring out how to get him to the hospital, he disappeared on me. He had walked up to the second floor of the snack shack. My MA and I got him back downstairs and sat him on a bench behind home plate.

We were in the process of calling 911 ... when he arrested.

Luckily, when he lost vital signs, my MA and I were standing right next to him. We were able to activate ACLS protocol and start CPR within seconds.

Many times in these critical situations — especially if people are scared or have never seen an emergency like this — there’s the potential for chaos. Well, that was the polar opposite of what happened.

As soon as I started to run the code, there was this sense of order. People were keeping their composure and following directions. My MA and I would say, “this is what we need,” and the task would immediately be assigned to someone. It was quiet. There was no yelling. Everyone trusted me, even though some of them had never met me before. It was so surprising. I remember thinking, we’re running an arrest, but it’s so calm.

We were an organized team, and it really worked like clockwork, which was remarkable given where we were. It’s one thing to be in the hospital for an event like that. But to be on a baseball field where you have nothing is a completely different scenario.

Meanwhile, the game went on.

I had requested that all the kids be placed in the dugout when they weren’t on the field. So they saw the umpire walk off, but none of them saw him arrest. Some parents were really helpful with making sure the kids were okay.

The president of Oxford Little League ran across the street to a fire station to get an AED. But the fire department personnel were out on a call. He had to break down the door.

By the time he got back, the umpire’s vital signs were returning. And then EMS arrived.

They loaded him in the ambulance, and I called ahead to the trauma team, so they knew exactly what was happening.

I was pretty worried. My hypothesis was that there was probably compression on the vasculature, which had caused him to lose his vital signs. I thought he probably had an impending airway loss. I wasn’t sure if he was going to make it through the night.

What I didn’t know was that while I was giving CPR, my son stole home, and we won the game. As the ambulance was leaving, the celebration was going on in the outfield.

The umpire was in the hospital for several days. Early on, I got permission from his family to visit him. The first time I saw him, I felt this incredible gratitude and peace.

My dad was an ER doctor, and growing up, it seemed like every time we went on a family vacation, there was an emergency. We would be near a car accident or something, and my father would fly in and save the day. I remember being on the Autobahn somewhere in Europe, and there was a devastating accident between a car and a motorcycle. My father stabilized the guy, had him airlifted out, and apparently, he did fine. I grew up watching things like this and thinking, wow, that’s incredible.

Fast forward to 2 years ago, my father was diagnosed with a lung cancer he never should have had. He never smoked. As a cancer surgeon, I know we did everything in our power to save him. But it didn’t happen. He passed away.

I realize this is superstitious, but seeing the umpire alive, I had this feeling that somehow my dad was there. It was bittersweet but also a joyful moment — like I could breathe again.

I met the umpire’s family that first time, and it was like meeting family that you didn’t know you had but now you have forever. Even though the event was traumatic — I’m still trying not to be on high alert every time I go to a game — it felt like a gift to be part of this journey with them.

Little League’s mission is to teach kids about teamwork, leadership, and making good choices so communities are stronger. Our umpire is a guy who does that every day. He’s not a Little League umpire because he makes any money. He shows up at every single game to support these kids and engage them, to model respect, gratitude, and kindness.

I think our obligation as people is to live with intentionality. We all need to make sure we leave the world a better place, even when we are called upon to do uncomfortable things. Our umpire showed our kids what that looks like, and in that moment when he could have died, we were able to do the same for him.

Jennifer LaFemina, MD, is a surgical oncologist at UMass Memorial Medical Center in Massachusetts.
 

Are you a medical professional with a dramatic story outside the clinic? Medscape Medical News would love to consider your story for Is There a Doctor in the House? Please email your contact information and a short summary to access@webmd.net.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

Emergencies happen anywhere, anytime, and sometimes, medical professionals find themselves in situations where they are the only ones who can help. Is There a Doctor in the House? is a Medscape Medical News series telling these stories.

I sincerely believe that what goes around comes around. Good things come to good people. And sometimes that saves lives.

My 10-year-old son was in the semifinals of the Little League district championship. And we were losing. My son is an excellent pitcher, and he had started the game. But that night, he was struggling. He just couldn’t find where to throw the ball. Needless to say, he was frustrated.

He was changed to shortstop in the second inning, and the home plate umpire walked over to him. This umpire is well known in the area for his kindness and commitment, how he encourages the kids and helps make baseball fun even when it’s stressful.

We didn’t know him well, but he was really supportive of my kid in that moment, talking to him about how baseball is a team sport and we’re here to have fun. Just being really positive.

As the game continued, I saw the umpire suddenly walk to the side of the field. I hadn’t seen it, but he had been hit by a wild pitch on the side of his neck. He was wearing protective gear, but the ball managed to bounce up the side and caught bare neck. I knew something wasn’t right.

I went down to talk to him, and my medical assistant (MA), who was also at the game, came with me. I could tell the umpire was injured, but he didn’t want to leave the game. I suggested going to the hospital, but he wouldn’t consider it. So I sat there with my arms crossed, watching him.

His symptoms got worse. I could see he was in pain, and it was getting harder for him to speak. My concern was that there was a tracheal injury, a carotid injury, or something of that nature that was expanding.

Again, I strongly urged him to go to the hospital, but again, he said no.

In the sixth inning, things got bad enough that the umpire finally agreed to leave the game. As I was figuring out how to get him to the hospital, he disappeared on me. He had walked up to the second floor of the snack shack. My MA and I got him back downstairs and sat him on a bench behind home plate.

We were in the process of calling 911 ... when he arrested.

Luckily, when he lost vital signs, my MA and I were standing right next to him. We were able to activate ACLS protocol and start CPR within seconds.

Many times in these critical situations — especially if people are scared or have never seen an emergency like this — there’s the potential for chaos. Well, that was the polar opposite of what happened.

As soon as I started to run the code, there was this sense of order. People were keeping their composure and following directions. My MA and I would say, “this is what we need,” and the task would immediately be assigned to someone. It was quiet. There was no yelling. Everyone trusted me, even though some of them had never met me before. It was so surprising. I remember thinking, we’re running an arrest, but it’s so calm.

We were an organized team, and it really worked like clockwork, which was remarkable given where we were. It’s one thing to be in the hospital for an event like that. But to be on a baseball field where you have nothing is a completely different scenario.

Meanwhile, the game went on.

I had requested that all the kids be placed in the dugout when they weren’t on the field. So they saw the umpire walk off, but none of them saw him arrest. Some parents were really helpful with making sure the kids were okay.

The president of Oxford Little League ran across the street to a fire station to get an AED. But the fire department personnel were out on a call. He had to break down the door.

By the time he got back, the umpire’s vital signs were returning. And then EMS arrived.

They loaded him in the ambulance, and I called ahead to the trauma team, so they knew exactly what was happening.

I was pretty worried. My hypothesis was that there was probably compression on the vasculature, which had caused him to lose his vital signs. I thought he probably had an impending airway loss. I wasn’t sure if he was going to make it through the night.

What I didn’t know was that while I was giving CPR, my son stole home, and we won the game. As the ambulance was leaving, the celebration was going on in the outfield.

The umpire was in the hospital for several days. Early on, I got permission from his family to visit him. The first time I saw him, I felt this incredible gratitude and peace.

My dad was an ER doctor, and growing up, it seemed like every time we went on a family vacation, there was an emergency. We would be near a car accident or something, and my father would fly in and save the day. I remember being on the Autobahn somewhere in Europe, and there was a devastating accident between a car and a motorcycle. My father stabilized the guy, had him airlifted out, and apparently, he did fine. I grew up watching things like this and thinking, wow, that’s incredible.

Fast forward to 2 years ago, my father was diagnosed with a lung cancer he never should have had. He never smoked. As a cancer surgeon, I know we did everything in our power to save him. But it didn’t happen. He passed away.

I realize this is superstitious, but seeing the umpire alive, I had this feeling that somehow my dad was there. It was bittersweet but also a joyful moment — like I could breathe again.

I met the umpire’s family that first time, and it was like meeting family that you didn’t know you had but now you have forever. Even though the event was traumatic — I’m still trying not to be on high alert every time I go to a game — it felt like a gift to be part of this journey with them.

Little League’s mission is to teach kids about teamwork, leadership, and making good choices so communities are stronger. Our umpire is a guy who does that every day. He’s not a Little League umpire because he makes any money. He shows up at every single game to support these kids and engage them, to model respect, gratitude, and kindness.

I think our obligation as people is to live with intentionality. We all need to make sure we leave the world a better place, even when we are called upon to do uncomfortable things. Our umpire showed our kids what that looks like, and in that moment when he could have died, we were able to do the same for him.

Jennifer LaFemina, MD, is a surgical oncologist at UMass Memorial Medical Center in Massachusetts.
 

Are you a medical professional with a dramatic story outside the clinic? Medscape Medical News would love to consider your story for Is There a Doctor in the House? Please email your contact information and a short summary to access@webmd.net.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

Emergencies happen anywhere, anytime, and sometimes, medical professionals find themselves in situations where they are the only ones who can help. Is There a Doctor in the House? is a Medscape Medical News series telling these stories.

I sincerely believe that what goes around comes around. Good things come to good people. And sometimes that saves lives.

My 10-year-old son was in the semifinals of the Little League district championship. And we were losing. My son is an excellent pitcher, and he had started the game. But that night, he was struggling. He just couldn’t find where to throw the ball. Needless to say, he was frustrated.

He was changed to shortstop in the second inning, and the home plate umpire walked over to him. This umpire is well known in the area for his kindness and commitment, how he encourages the kids and helps make baseball fun even when it’s stressful.

We didn’t know him well, but he was really supportive of my kid in that moment, talking to him about how baseball is a team sport and we’re here to have fun. Just being really positive.

As the game continued, I saw the umpire suddenly walk to the side of the field. I hadn’t seen it, but he had been hit by a wild pitch on the side of his neck. He was wearing protective gear, but the ball managed to bounce up the side and caught bare neck. I knew something wasn’t right.

I went down to talk to him, and my medical assistant (MA), who was also at the game, came with me. I could tell the umpire was injured, but he didn’t want to leave the game. I suggested going to the hospital, but he wouldn’t consider it. So I sat there with my arms crossed, watching him.

His symptoms got worse. I could see he was in pain, and it was getting harder for him to speak. My concern was that there was a tracheal injury, a carotid injury, or something of that nature that was expanding.

Again, I strongly urged him to go to the hospital, but again, he said no.

In the sixth inning, things got bad enough that the umpire finally agreed to leave the game. As I was figuring out how to get him to the hospital, he disappeared on me. He had walked up to the second floor of the snack shack. My MA and I got him back downstairs and sat him on a bench behind home plate.

We were in the process of calling 911 ... when he arrested.

Luckily, when he lost vital signs, my MA and I were standing right next to him. We were able to activate ACLS protocol and start CPR within seconds.

Many times in these critical situations — especially if people are scared or have never seen an emergency like this — there’s the potential for chaos. Well, that was the polar opposite of what happened.

As soon as I started to run the code, there was this sense of order. People were keeping their composure and following directions. My MA and I would say, “this is what we need,” and the task would immediately be assigned to someone. It was quiet. There was no yelling. Everyone trusted me, even though some of them had never met me before. It was so surprising. I remember thinking, we’re running an arrest, but it’s so calm.

We were an organized team, and it really worked like clockwork, which was remarkable given where we were. It’s one thing to be in the hospital for an event like that. But to be on a baseball field where you have nothing is a completely different scenario.

Meanwhile, the game went on.

I had requested that all the kids be placed in the dugout when they weren’t on the field. So they saw the umpire walk off, but none of them saw him arrest. Some parents were really helpful with making sure the kids were okay.

The president of Oxford Little League ran across the street to a fire station to get an AED. But the fire department personnel were out on a call. He had to break down the door.

By the time he got back, the umpire’s vital signs were returning. And then EMS arrived.

They loaded him in the ambulance, and I called ahead to the trauma team, so they knew exactly what was happening.

I was pretty worried. My hypothesis was that there was probably compression on the vasculature, which had caused him to lose his vital signs. I thought he probably had an impending airway loss. I wasn’t sure if he was going to make it through the night.

What I didn’t know was that while I was giving CPR, my son stole home, and we won the game. As the ambulance was leaving, the celebration was going on in the outfield.

The umpire was in the hospital for several days. Early on, I got permission from his family to visit him. The first time I saw him, I felt this incredible gratitude and peace.

My dad was an ER doctor, and growing up, it seemed like every time we went on a family vacation, there was an emergency. We would be near a car accident or something, and my father would fly in and save the day. I remember being on the Autobahn somewhere in Europe, and there was a devastating accident between a car and a motorcycle. My father stabilized the guy, had him airlifted out, and apparently, he did fine. I grew up watching things like this and thinking, wow, that’s incredible.

Fast forward to 2 years ago, my father was diagnosed with a lung cancer he never should have had. He never smoked. As a cancer surgeon, I know we did everything in our power to save him. But it didn’t happen. He passed away.

I realize this is superstitious, but seeing the umpire alive, I had this feeling that somehow my dad was there. It was bittersweet but also a joyful moment — like I could breathe again.

I met the umpire’s family that first time, and it was like meeting family that you didn’t know you had but now you have forever. Even though the event was traumatic — I’m still trying not to be on high alert every time I go to a game — it felt like a gift to be part of this journey with them.

Little League’s mission is to teach kids about teamwork, leadership, and making good choices so communities are stronger. Our umpire is a guy who does that every day. He’s not a Little League umpire because he makes any money. He shows up at every single game to support these kids and engage them, to model respect, gratitude, and kindness.

I think our obligation as people is to live with intentionality. We all need to make sure we leave the world a better place, even when we are called upon to do uncomfortable things. Our umpire showed our kids what that looks like, and in that moment when he could have died, we were able to do the same for him.

Jennifer LaFemina, MD, is a surgical oncologist at UMass Memorial Medical Center in Massachusetts.
 

Are you a medical professional with a dramatic story outside the clinic? Medscape Medical News would love to consider your story for Is There a Doctor in the House? Please email your contact information and a short summary to access@webmd.net.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.