Tuesday, October 9, 2007

MedicMarch, Your Lord and Savior

I'm sleeping happily at the station when the call comes in. It is Terminally Anxious Dispatcher.

"Hey, MedicMarch. Priority To Mosquito Bayou for an Unknown. 54 yo male rolling around in bed."

"Maybe he's trying to get comfortable?"

"Ha. Just get in the unit and run the call."

Sigh.

My partner is hauling ass. I believe we've gone plaid.

"Where do I turn? Where do I turn? I don't know where I'm going!"

I'm trying to coach her.

"Slow down, slow down, slow down, CAR CAR CAR! CAR! CAR! Turn Left! LEFT! LEFT LE-shit."

"Where, up there?"

"No, the road you passed."

She is not applying the brakes yet. "Huh?"

"The road was back there. Turn around."

"Why didn't you tell me earlier to turn?"

"If we weren't traveling at ludicrous speed, we would've been OK."

"What?"

"Nothing. Turn Around."

We make the turn and head back towards the scene.

"This is the house. The House. HOUSE. THIS IS THE HOUSE. STOP, STOP, THIS IS IT."

We have issues.

A man in a wheelchair is worriedly waving us in from the drive way. "In heah, In heah. He sick."

We roll our equipment inside to find a man rolling around in his bed, back and forth. His wife is holding his hand, kneeling by his bedside, crying. Pages are ripped out from a bible, scattered all over the room. I'm trying to remember our protocol for demonic possession as I introduce myself.

"I'm MedicMarch with XXXX EMS. How long has he been like this?"

She looks up. "He like this since I got home!"

My boot kicks over an empty bottle of SoCo.

"He have any medical problems?" I ask. "Or has he been reading the Necronomicon?"

"He has back problems, and he's got the pressure. Oh, and he got the sugar."

Aha. Most likely our culprit. His CBG is 28.

The man in the wheelchair has managed to wheel to the threshold of the door. "My daddy! My daddy! What's wrong with my daddy? Oh Jesus, help us! My Lord and Savior God, who protects us from all evil, protect us from the devil in my daddy!"

The wife kneeling by his side is chanting in tongues. I tell my partner to assemble my D50 as I set up my IV equipment. The man in bed is hooting- Hooo! Hooo! Hooo! Just like a white winged dove...I start humming.

"The devil's in him!" The man's wife is frantic. "He was reading the bible but then he started tearing out the pages and eating them."

"Not very nutritious, those bible pages. I hear the Diamond Sutra's a little more sugary. Probably would've been better."

"Huh?"

"Nothing, ma'am. Is he allergic to anything?"

The chanting is increasing in volume, and it's at least 100 degrees in the room. It's a circus. My partner drops the D50 and it shatters on the tile floor. "Grab another from the box in the unit," I tell her. Under my breath, I say to myself "This could not get any worse."

This is what we refer to in the business as a "Mistake."

You see, fate has a hard-on for jinxing health care workers.

At this moment, the family's daughter runs in. She sees me kneeling over her gyrating father, the son yelling, and the mom crying, and does the only thing she can - runs up to me, and grabs my hands, which are currently uncapping an 18g IV.

"What are you doin' to my daddy?!"

I don't answer immediately, as she stares down at my hand, which now has an 18g hole in the meaty part of the palm. I look down at my hand as well. "I was going to start an IV on him, but it's going to wait for a second now."

I take off my glove, put a 4x4 on my hand, and put another glove on, grab another needle.

"Ok, ma'am, I need your help to start this IV on him, so I can fix his sugar."

My partner, meanwhile, has come back. The man is rolling around. "Keep his arm still for me, guys."

I sink the IV and manage to get it secured. I push the sugar in. The son and mother are continuing their litany. Hallelujahs and Our Fathers bounce around the room, and any moment I expect a tambourine player to bust out of the closet, sweaty, messing around with a rattle snake.

The man comes around.

"Oh Jesus! Jesus Healed my father! Oh thank you! Jesus, Thank you! Jesus be praised, my lord and savior be praised."

Damn it, I hate it when someone else gets the credit for my work.

We start to get the man loaded up. Just as we are leaving the residence the man's pastor pulls up in a brand new caddy, he is dressed impeccably in a black suit, and his hair has been laid out, parted down the middle of his head.

He stops us. "A prayer for our brother."

He goes into another chorus of Hail Marys and Thank you Jees-us-uhs. I look at my watch.

We get it wrapped up, finally, and bring the man to the Catholic Hospital down the road. We are informed that it will be a 2 or 3 hour wait for a room.

Guess Jesus couldn't help us out with that one.

-MM

13 comments:

rookie bebe said...

Thank you! That is the funniest thing I've read in a looonnnng time! And so so so true!!!

I worked with a partner one night who wouldn't tell me the road I needed ahead of time, so I kept missing them and we had to keep turning around. I'm used to everyone saying second left, third right, etc...

Middle of the night. We'd been asleep for 2 hours when a code 3 call came in. We had to PEE! But we had to go to this emergency. Teeny tiny HOT room with a grown man with a sugar of 27 on the floor. There were me and partner, 4 firemen, and the mother. Did I mention I had 5 gallons sitting in my bladder?

It was either throw up or go use their bathroom. I hated to ask, but the father was okay with it. I was so hot and pale and SICK that the firemen were asking if I was okay. Then a policeman shows up giving off the heat of 4 people.

Partner finally got a line in on the outside of the elbow and the sugar went up to 170 and came crashing back down almost immediately. The mother wanted to make him eat a pb sandwich. He couldn't see her, wasn't very responsive and we didn't need to choke him to death. We think he ended with a double dose of insulin.

Mom got him to drink some coke and a hostess cake. She wanted to give him water. We said that won't do any good.

Then we finally were able to leave.

TrekMedic251 said...

Found you via Ambulance Driver. LMAO!

Gotta come back again!

Epijunky said...

Praise Jesus!!!!!

That was priceless... I loved it.

Overeducated Twit said...

Here through AD, think I'll stick around.

Hysterical. This sounds like a scene straight outta Faulkner. I guess there's truth in some of the southern stereotypes.

Fyremandoug said...

Hey MedicMarch good job love your stories I got here from AD site and this is going to have to be one of my new reads

NYC EMS said...

Tell your partner to get a (Tom Tom) or a (Magellan) navigation device.It will save you every time.

I had about pee my pants reading this Post.You are a truly talented blogger.

Anonymous said...

March you cocknocker!

I just read your entire blog, and you owe me for the sleep you stole. If your writing wasn't as good and funny, I would be snoring now.

Seriously, keep it up. I'm glad I found this blog, and if you wrote a book I would buy it.

Chris said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Loving Annie said...

heh-heh, MedicMarch, I do believe that you are cloning Ambulance Driver's dry wit !!!
Happy Friday to you, Sugar (no pun intended :)

Loving Annie said...

MedicMarch - she was a total idiot. Blew a great thing. Too dumb to know a winner when she saw one. Game playing twit. Insensitive user. Not worth a second thought. Grrrrrrr !

Pissed off on your behalf.

Loving Annie

Detail Medic said...

Ahhh. A really good call can always be measured in OLJs (Oh Lordy Jesuses). Kudos on the Spaceballs references. And if you need a chick to come help rough up your load of a partner, let me know!

It's Me... Maven said...

Minus the praise and halleluiahs, this is probably what it was like for my sister (who is an LPN) who showed up at my folks' house before the EMT volunteers (in the retirement community where my folks reside). Dad was on the floor, sugar was at 30, pupils were dilated, he alread had urinated on himself and she's scooping honey into his mouth, yelling at him to swallow and everything would be alright. By the time the EMTs showed up, one, who looked like death warmed over, attempted to "test" dad's sugar and wondered out loud, "I've never seen a glucometer quite like this before," which was met by my sister saying, "Yeah, that's because you're trying to test his sugar with his alarm clock."

Takes all kinds, eh?

emergencyemm said...

"Damn it, I hate it when someone else gets credit for my work." That and the rattle snake comment had to be my favorite parts.

Oh, and the comment about the hard-on, very nice!

You've been blogrolled!