You know what? I think she's lying
So, 30+ hours in the city should yield some interesting calls; shootings, stabbings, calls that are generally violent in nature. That is, of course, if you are not a white cloud like I am. I had the formula right: ALS bun, warm weather, the weekend, and I had just sharpened my trauma shears, but I just ended up with a long string of various types of BS calls peppered with the occasional “good one.” I had so many calls, that I literally have to look back in my paperwork to remember what happened.
Day work:
What did happen? CHF, HTN, unknown unconscious (patent airway), etc. A man with a fractured femur secondary to a car backing into his motorized wheelchair and knocking it over.
Then we had a patient who claimed her boyfriend had assaulted her. The cop interviewed her in the ambulance and it soon became clear that the patient was not a very good liar.
“What’s your address? Where can I serve a warrant?”
“Um… [gives address]”
“That’s not your address, that’s a strip club! Don’t play me!”
“Okay, uh…he was choking me, look at my neck!”
“You wanna play games? I’m gonna play you all the way to jail! What is your address?!”
“Uh…4…2…uh, I dunno”
“Okay, what happened?
“I told you, he was choking me, look at my neck!”
“Is that why when we came in, he was asleep?”
“I…I have mental problems! Look at my neck, don’t you see?”
This continued for a while, until the cop said:
“Show of hands, who thinks she’s lying?”
By the time we got to the hospital she was reporting:
“I got choked, I have mental problems, and I have, uh…trouble breathing.”
UH HUH.
Oh, and she had taken a delicious cocktail of illegal drugs. Drugs are bad.
Night work:
“Ellie, it’s a pediatric pedestrian struck and he’s f’d up!”
Okay; backboard, collar, straps, bag. Get out; spidered windshield, dented fender, no less than 300 bystanders, blood on the ground from the patient’s face. I grab c-spine, the patient is bloody, but I’m comforted by the fact that he’s screaming his head off. In the ambo; trauma naked, vitals, a quick IV with fluids running, Mr. Vaccu-Splint on an obvious humerus fracture, and we’re off. En route; oxygen, consult, and the patient never stopped screaming for very long. About 30 minutes, and we’re back in service.
Bag handling 101
We had a call in the creepiest house I had ever seen. It was dark and cavernous, right out of a horror movie. There was a porch and an entryway both dank and unlit. We knocked on the door and hear loud arguing, drowned out by a large dog barking. I was carrying the first-in bag and at that point, I put it on the ground. I don’t need that slowing me down when I run away. In the end the dog got put away, and our belligerent drunk patient went to the hospital with us, marking the first time I raised my voice to a patient. There will be no threatening gestures toward my crew.
Our next call was in a house that you could say had a little more than humans living in it. I had put the first-in bag on the floor. When I realized we weren’t alone, I picked it up. No need to take any creepy crawlies with us.
So, I wanted to make a little rhyme for this story:
“Dog at the door, bag on the floor,
Roach on the floor, bag...on your shoulder?” It’s a work in progress.
Later we had a guy who claimed that paint thinner had been put in his diabetic meds. Schizophrenia, check. A guy with a blood sugar over 600. Diabetes, check. A non-breathing in a car with pupils the size of, for lack of a better term, pinpoints. Heroin, check.
Night shift #2 blogged soon. Now is the time for sleep before another shift tomorrow.
Day work:
What did happen? CHF, HTN, unknown unconscious (patent airway), etc. A man with a fractured femur secondary to a car backing into his motorized wheelchair and knocking it over.
Then we had a patient who claimed her boyfriend had assaulted her. The cop interviewed her in the ambulance and it soon became clear that the patient was not a very good liar.
“What’s your address? Where can I serve a warrant?”
“Um… [gives address]”
“That’s not your address, that’s a strip club! Don’t play me!”
“Okay, uh…he was choking me, look at my neck!”
“You wanna play games? I’m gonna play you all the way to jail! What is your address?!”
“Uh…4…2…uh, I dunno”
“Okay, what happened?
“I told you, he was choking me, look at my neck!”
“Is that why when we came in, he was asleep?”
“I…I have mental problems! Look at my neck, don’t you see?”
This continued for a while, until the cop said:
“Show of hands, who thinks she’s lying?”
By the time we got to the hospital she was reporting:
“I got choked, I have mental problems, and I have, uh…trouble breathing.”
UH HUH.
Oh, and she had taken a delicious cocktail of illegal drugs. Drugs are bad.
Night work:
“Ellie, it’s a pediatric pedestrian struck and he’s f’d up!”
Okay; backboard, collar, straps, bag. Get out; spidered windshield, dented fender, no less than 300 bystanders, blood on the ground from the patient’s face. I grab c-spine, the patient is bloody, but I’m comforted by the fact that he’s screaming his head off. In the ambo; trauma naked, vitals, a quick IV with fluids running, Mr. Vaccu-Splint on an obvious humerus fracture, and we’re off. En route; oxygen, consult, and the patient never stopped screaming for very long. About 30 minutes, and we’re back in service.
Bag handling 101
We had a call in the creepiest house I had ever seen. It was dark and cavernous, right out of a horror movie. There was a porch and an entryway both dank and unlit. We knocked on the door and hear loud arguing, drowned out by a large dog barking. I was carrying the first-in bag and at that point, I put it on the ground. I don’t need that slowing me down when I run away. In the end the dog got put away, and our belligerent drunk patient went to the hospital with us, marking the first time I raised my voice to a patient. There will be no threatening gestures toward my crew.
Our next call was in a house that you could say had a little more than humans living in it. I had put the first-in bag on the floor. When I realized we weren’t alone, I picked it up. No need to take any creepy crawlies with us.
So, I wanted to make a little rhyme for this story:
“Dog at the door, bag on the floor,
Roach on the floor, bag...on your shoulder?” It’s a work in progress.
Later we had a guy who claimed that paint thinner had been put in his diabetic meds. Schizophrenia, check. A guy with a blood sugar over 600. Diabetes, check. A non-breathing in a car with pupils the size of, for lack of a better term, pinpoints. Heroin, check.
Night shift #2 blogged soon. Now is the time for sleep before another shift tomorrow.
Comments
The curiosity is killing me ... In between passing judgement on the woman's worth as a human being did anyone manage to actually look at her neck to to see if there was any evidence of choking or bruising?