T he vibration of the pager has a sound all its own. It's a low, insistent buzz — felt before it's heard — and in the fraction of a second before the speaker crackles to life, your body is already deciding what to do. Static. Modem tones. Then the dispatch, flat and efficient: Car versus motorcycle. Intersection of Route 299 and 44/55. I am standing in my laundry room. It is a Saturday afternoon. Thirty seconds ago, I was thinking about where my wife and I might go for coffee. Now I am a bundle of nerves pulling on my boots. As a volunteer EMT, still newer to the work than most of the people I ride with, I'm not waiting at a station or posted in a parking lot. I am living my regular life until I'm not — until the tones drop and everything else becomes secondary. Given the location, I'll head directly to the scene while other volunteers bring the ambulance and the rescue vehicles from the station. This means I will likely be the first responder to arrive.…