Sometimes I can tell just by looking that we're going to have a rough call.
We pull up next to a cane field. A man lies crumpled at the edge of the field.
"Shit. He doesn't look too hot," I say as I get out.
One of the fire fighters yells at me that the guy's having trouble breathing.
"OK," I yell back. "Let me grab my bag!"
As I open the side door I hear a curse. "HE STOPPED BREATHING!"
"OK." I hop the ditch with my bag and run over to the guy. AS stated, he is not breathing. I reach down to check for a pulse.
"He's a code. Start CPR, Let's get him loaded up."
We are only one mile away from the hospital and I'm thinking he would benefit more with me transporting than if I worked him here in the mud and sun. As they load him into the back I slap on the pads. The guy is already in PEA. We get him to the hospital in exactly one minute. I'm not getting good compliance with the bag and as we hit the brakes I quickly try to tube but the guy's incredibly anterior. I can't get it and we wheel him in. It's only been 3 minutes since I pasted the pads to his chest but he is already asystole.
They quickly IV him and push round after round of drugs, but to no avail. 20 minutes after we've gotten the call the man is dead on the table.
He is an immigrant into this country, working illegally, and through a translator we learn his family is all back in Mexico. There is no one to come and take responsibility for the body.
Later I get his medical record bounced back to me for not providing a social security number or address with his billing information. I fight with the billing department for three days before they have me contact my supervisor to write off the call.
EDIT: Please welcome PARACYINC and VOODOO MEDICINE MAN to the Blogroll!