We have been getting slammed all shift. We stop in at the Golden Arches in Lakeside, because hey, it's just my arteries clogging, nothing important, right?
I walk in and place my order.
"I CAN HAS CHEEZBURGER?"
The lady at the register eyes me as one might eye an annoying mosquito - or perhaps a tired looking EMT giving her lip and holding up her line.
"Number 2, with cheese, plain, please. Coke to drink."
Take that, arteries.
Of course, we get a call right after we place our order. Dispatch can smell when something good happens to paramedics, and they don't like it. Think Narcan to a heroin addict. Yeah. That level of hate. Well, god bless the stalwart employees of this restaurant, because our food was ready in no time flat once they realized we had a call. So with cheezburger in hand we take off down the road.
The section of town we're in is infamous for violent crime and drugs. We arrive to the residence to find the fire department on scene holding a lady's arm up. It is wrapped in a large bandage. The lady looks familiar to me. They are sitting on the steps of a rundown home. I walk up and introduce myself. The Firefighter tells me it's deep and will definitely need stitches. When I ask the lady what happened. In a rapid narrative, she tells me "I was washing some dishes and there was a broken glass, uh I broke a glass. Last night. It, uh, I broke it and put the glass in my sink. And I was doing dishes, and I didn't see it. I cut it." She will not make eye contact with me.
It doesn't take a Mensa membership to figure out she might be lying. My partner takes over and I ask the cops if they've been inside. They say they haven't been past the living room, where the lady was sitting. I ask him to come with me. He humors me and we go in the front door. There is a large puddle of congealing blood. It trails in from the kitchen, but I see immediately that it doesn't trail from the sink. It trails from the hallway. Just to make sure, I check the sink - no broken glass. I check the trashcan - no broken glass. Something ain't right.
Gingerly, carefully, watching my every step, I follow the trail of blood into the bathroom. There, I find a larger pool of blood, and a small broken window. There is blood and bloody fingerprints all over. Hmm. Crime scene, I realize belatedly. Uh-oh. I carefully walk back out and tell the police officer what I've found. He calls it in and as I'm leaving I suddenly realize where I recognize the lady from - she's the Woo-Woo You-Hoo!
I walk back outside. "You used to live in Mosquito Bayou, didn't ya."
I kneel down. "Did you try to hurt yourself today?"
She looks up at me. "The rock. I can't handle it no mo'."
We bring her in. I tell the Doctor at the hospital what has happened. When I leave, she is getting stitches put in her wrist. I go over to her, and grab her hand, and tell her it will be ok.
* * *
A few months later, another crew returns to the residence. A female matching the description of our patient was found dead of an overdose.