“We’re going to have to stop your heart,” he said, to which I responded, “Ok. Will it start again?”

 

His answer: “We hope so.”

 

This was circa 2006. I was in the back of a Bridgeport ambulance and blessed to have Fire Captain and paramedic Randy Scott taking care of me.

 

The procedure obviously worked, and since then, I have considered Randy a true superhero. Little did I know then, but he had already saved the life of a teenage boy who would eventually become my son-in-law and father to two of my grandbabies.

 

Life sure holds some amazing situations if we pay attention, and I would speculate that Randy Scott was placed to facilitate many, many miracles.

 

Before his 2014 retirement from the Bridgeport Fire Department with 18 years of service, he had served more than a decade in Lumberport and formerly in the state of Maryland. After he relocated to Ormond-by-the-Sea – a tranquil beachside community on a barrier island north of Daytona Beach – I kept in intermittent touch.

 

I could always count on a sincere, friendly conversation, expert knowledge, upbeat attitude, and that signature sense of humor. We chatted about his new laidback lifestyle, our pets, and life in general. He boasted about his wife, Miss Christy, whom he thought the world of. In September of 2017, we talked about the approaching Hurricane Irma. I told him I assumed he was making plans for preparedness, to which he replied:

 

“My plan is I have no plan. We will react to whatever God gives us. We have probably 10 cases of water, 30 days of MRE’s, flashlights, lanterns, a ton of spare batteries, and lots of guns and ammo,” he said.

 

He went on to tell me that the level of readiness was not unusual for him.

 

“We actually were always supplied this way, even in West Virginia because of my emergency management history. This could be too much prep or not enough, depending on the needs of those who have not prepared. We will share as necessary, of course,” he said.

 

Helping others and being invested in their well-being were driving forces in Randy's life. 

 

The last message Randy sent me was a post on a Facebook page, “Rescuing Providence,” the firefighting and EMS reflections of Michael Morse, a retired Providence firefighter and EMS captain.

 

It read:

 

“Time moves relentlessly forward, and what we do is ever changing. Who we are is shaped by what we do; we are the culmination of a lifetime of experience. Everything we do is a thread that creates the tapestry of our life. Those of us who spent much of our time responding to other people’s emergencies can rest assured that what our time on earth weaves will be remarkable.

… The best part of looking back is all the frustration, sadness, and pain I encountered while responding to 911 calls dissipates like morning mist when the sun breaks through, and the memories, without fail, remind me that because of what I did, my life has meaning and purpose.”

 

Yes, Randy, your life did have meaning and purpose, and the thousands you fought fires for and medically treated are forever grateful. Rest in peace, and thank you for the example you set.

 

Randy died May 25, after battling short bowel syndrome for several months. But his physical challenges started 12 years ago. Shortly before he retired from the Bridgeport Fire Department, he was rushed to the hospital with a rare bowel condition requiring surgery. A complication led to a second surgery - a lifesaving one - during which he said he encountered an angel after crying out to God for help. 

 

"I was upside down - reaching out and thinking this was the most important grab of my life," he told me several years ago. "I caught the angel's right hand, and he pulled me into his chest. I remember breathing a huge sigh of relief - and the pain stopped."

 

Christy said her husband should have died that day.

 

“But in true Randy Scott fashion he survived. We believe he did so because of the amazing physical condition he was in. His friends, family, and fellow firefighters know how disciplined (fanatically so) with regards to his rigorous daily workouts. He used to say. ‘I feel like I’m training for something big. I just don’t know what it is.’ Well, it wasn’t a massive fire or rescue situation. It was way more personal and happened in an operating room. Who knew, right?

 

Read my former blog about Randy and his twin brother Rick – also a selfless lifetime first responder  – HERE.