Monday, April 18, 2011

- Wow

Fabio and I are blazing to the scene, a gas station off of the main drag in our company's hometown. I've been working here for about a year, following my departure from Louisiana DOC. We're en route to an "Unknown", so that means when we get on scene, it's going to be something ranging from a stubbed toe to multiple shotgun homicide.

Ah, the life of a paramedic. At least I know my new haircut kicks ass.

There isn't a mutilated body upon our arrival on scene, just one man sitting in the driver's seat of his SUV. A drunk bystander comes up to us as we get out of the unit. "He wuz pumpin' gaz, and he drop da pump and walk back to hiz truck," he says. "When he dint get up for 20 minnits and wooden talk to us, I call 911."


He stumbles off as I walk to the driver's side of the SUV. The man is older and slightly out of shape, but doesn't seem to be in any phyisical distress, until I see his eyes. They have a look of pure panic in them, and when I introduce myself and take his wrist I can feel his pulse pounding.

"Sir, my name's March, with XXXX Ambulance. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

The man swallows, and tries to respond, but all that comes out of his mouth is a salad of mismatched vowel sounds and hard consonants. He stops, swallows, and tries again, but experiences the same result.

"Don't try and speak sir. Can you squeeze my fingers? Tightly, like you're trying to crush them."

The left hands squeezes my fingers tightly, but the right barely manages to keep grip on my hand.

"Open your mouth wide and try to show me your teeth." The right side of his face seems frozen while the left is normal.

"Sir, I suspect you might be having a stroke. We're going to assist you out the vehicle." Fabio grabs the man's legs and I get underneath his upper body, and we carry him out to our stretcher and lay him down. We load him up quickly and I get his vitals as my partner secures his vehicle. He is slightly bradycardic, but his twelve lead and CBG are normal. We rush him to the hospital. Dr Mick does an assessment and sends the man to CT immediately.

The staff are a little shorthanded, so I go upstairs with the nurse, a lively lesbian whom I've become chatty with. As they are cranking through the CT, she notices my new haircut.

"Does your girlfriend dig you hair?" She asks.

"Nah. We broke up ages ago, El."

"...So you're not seeing anybody?"

Uh-oh, I think, I dont want to be some 35 year-old lesbian's one last reassurance she hates dicks.


She has a gleam in her eye. "Seriously, no one? No girlfriend-"


"-or Boyfr-"


"No! No,' she says. She turns a deep shade of red.

"What?" I say.

"...are you interested in being a sperm donor?"

to be continued.