Miscellaneous Monday

In the wake of Mother's Day, I do have to gush a little. James made me a coloring book picture of a teddy bear today while in daycare at the gym. It's just a page ripped out of a book, with blue and brown marker scribbled on it -- but it's almost in the lines ... sorta. And he looked so happy with it that I just about melted. It now proudly resides on the fridge, when he's not carrying it around in his grimy little hands.

On the subject of moms, did everyone at least call their mother yesterday? I did, dreading as usual my dose of yearly angst but pushing forward nonetheless. My mother sent me a card for Mother's Day with an apology letter in it for her phone call of a few weeks ago. Well, it was mostly an apology letter ... though apologizing for something you have no recall of is pretty weak. Besides, the majority of the letter was just more of the same theme we've been reliving for the last decade. How I couldn't possibly understand or realize what she goes through, how worried she is about my brother (they're a matched set of alcoholics) etc. Though I will admit she reached a new level of guilting me. Apparently now she doesn't feel like I love her because , get this -- I've never forgiven her for divorcing my biological father and changing her life. Well, that would be pretty textbook save for the fact that I was only nine months old. I have no recall of him nor interest, anxiety or psychological baggage as a result. Perhaps some mild curiousity at his half of the DNA. I realize I'm stubborn but that would be one hell of a grudge. Anyway, we got through it with pleasant conversation and no real changes of course. There's always next year.

Last week was my husband's birthday, and as part of our night out we went and saw Van Helsing. First off, it's a fun movie. It's campy and not for purists and we had a good time. And Kate Beckinsale in that outfit alone is worth the price of admission. The theater we go to generally doesn't get overly crowded. Just as the movie was starting, this black family shows up -- guy, his fairly pregnant SO, and two children. A boy who looked about 12 or so and a little girl who couldn't have been more than 5 or 6. They slide into the seats right in front of us. The guy reeked of some heinous aftershave or something and would keep throwing himself back in the seats when amused. But the most upsetting part was the little girl. As soon as the movie started she started to cry, she was sincerely frightened and they were just awful to her about it. Saying things like, "I warned you. You should've listened to me when I said it would be scary. I'm never taking you with me to the movies again. Hush and go to sleep." etc etc. Even when she was sobbing, "But I think its real Mommy!" They completely blew her off about it. And THEN, so they wouldn't "disturb" the rest of the folks in the row, they would climb over the seats to an empty row behind us to get in and out ... multiple times. At one point the little girl got stuck trying to climb them and started crying and the woman was saying, "Look girl, I'm 6 months pregnant and I can do it now just climb over." I was so upset by all this. Who lets their five year old decide for them if she'll see a rated R movie or not??? Here's a clue people, the word is "No". Say it once in awhile, you'll find it's good for your kids. And who ignores their child sobbing in fear? Oh I was so angry I just wanted to kick them all in the head and take the little girl to go see something Disney.

And my work-related advice of the day: If you have a relative who's a dialysis patient with no feet and a myriad of other health problems, please do not let them live in the attic. It's a complete bitch trying to get them out of it when they keel over.

Now if you all will excuse me, I have some Evil Overlord tasks to attend to.

On a lighter note

I don't talk about work much, I really don't.  I may vent after a shift or whatever, but in general I'm not one to go off on a bunch of war stories -- especially when I am around non-EMS people.  Now, put a bunch of EMS people together and the stories will propagate endlessly.  I've had a pretty long career and have certainly forgotten more than I will ever remember, but there are always a few things that withstand the test of time.  If anyone is sincerely interested in the darker side of humanity perhaps I will write about it here.  In the meantime I thought that instead of headless pedestrians I might share one of my favorite stories from early on in my career.

While the show M*A*S*H did an excellent job of demonstrating "gallows humor", it can be hard to understand where it comes from -- especially when you see it in action.  It is not meant to be disrespectful or insulting, it is merely our way of distancing ourselves and placing it in a framework we can function in.

We laugh.  Alot.


Quite a few years ago now, my first medic partner Andy and I were working a city unit on a chill February day.  (For those of you who know me, yes I actually did work days for a time, the horror of it all.)  We got called down to the eastern end of the city, by the river, for a drowning.  Now when we pull up there's a frenzy of activity as the Fire Department is working to fish some man out of the river.  As we're waiting for the victim to be brought up the bank to us, we notice something definitely out of the ordinary -- a handful of men wearing windbreakers with pulldown ID flaps that read "US Treasury Agent" aka the Secret Service. 

Since we're not in the know at this point, we start inventing reasons for being there.  Andy and I decide that if the Secret Service is involved, then the guy must be a KGB agent of course.


So let me cut to the actual story.  The victim was travelling by train, and on him he was carrying counterfeit money plates.  The agents had been trailing him.  When he caught on to it, he ran from the train station.  They chased him on foot down to the river.  He threw the plates into the murky water and then jumped in and swam out aways.  (Where he thought he would end up I have no idea, the other bank is in the city too.)

The police got involved during the foot pursuit and now together they congregate on the bank and wait for one of the boats to come.  Meanwhile our friend the "KGB agent" has swum to a buoy and was hanging on.  So they figured they'd let him cool his heels till they could scoop him up.

For forty minutes.

Did I mention it was February?

Anyway, in true hypothermic fashion he goes unconscious and ends up drowning before the FD can fish him out of the water.  Thus enters our heroes (ta da!) and that's where we were at.  Now for Andy and I, this is straightforward stuff.  We do CPR and all our little advanced procedures and try our best to begin warming the body up -- because you can't be officially dead until you're warm and dead.  We take him to the hospital with little more than some jokes about sleeping with the fishes.  Then it gets interesting.

Now, if you've ever seen CPR, it's pretty unmistakeable.  One would think that a clerk in an ER like ours would be quite used to it.  Apparently that's not the case.  As we're rolling by the registration area, everyone's working on him and there's water running everywhere.  The clerk stops me and says, "What's his chief complaint?"

(Insert dumb German Shepard look and a few blinks on my part.)

My response is, "Can't swim." 

We take him in the back and are now transferring him over to the ER stretcher, calling out a report and answering whatever questions they're throwing at us.  We have one doc there who is particularly obnoxious.  Allegedly a very good surgeon he's a blustery and caustic individual.  He's demanding to know the full story.  So ... we give it to him.

Doc: "What was he doing in the river?"
Me: "Drowning." (insert kick from partner)

Finally we fill him in on everything we know, sans the total truth part.

Doc:  "So what you're telling me is ... A KGB agent, being chased by the Secret Service, jumped into the Passaic River and drowned."

Andy & I: (nodding) "Yep, that's what we're telling you."

Doc:  "What in the hell was he doing there?!?!?"

Me: (in bad Russian accent) "Don't be ridiculous!  He vas looking for stupid moose & squirrel!"

(insert red-faced surgeon and partner dragging me rapidly out of the ER)

We laugh.  Alot.  Don't ever take it personally, we do it to everyone.

Masters of the Obvious

There are a few things inherent to my line of work, two of them are the ability to make rapid decisions and the power of observation.  Now it never ceases to amaze me when other personnel (for example the police) overlook something particularly pertinent.  This is not a bash on any of my uniformed brethren -- there's just as many faux pas among our own.  But without further ado, I bring three of my favorite exchanges that caused me to cock my head and give them the "dumb German Shepard look."  Be advised there is some gore involved.


Scenario 1 (from last night):  We get called to a motor vehicle accident on a major highway around 3:30 am.  It's late, not too much traffic.  We arrive to see a very badly damaged vehicle with at least five Pakistani nationals drunk, bleeding and flailing inside.  Yelling is a good thing in triage, it means you're awake and breathing.  Since there wasn't much to do until the Rescue unit cut apart the minivan, I decide to survey the scene a little further. 

So I'm strolling along the perimeter, humming, and come across two other police officers by the median.  We smile and exchange some pleasantries above the background clatter of the hydraulic tools.  During the course of the conversation I happen to ask, "So are there any other patients from any other vehicles while I'm out here?"  Now mind you, we've been here about ten minutes give or take, and I've been chatting with them for a couple.  They reply, "Just the guy in the van."  I say, "What guy?"  They point to a blue van I had walked past twice that I had not seen anyone in.  So I hotfoot it back over there to find "the guy in the van" -- face down on the floorboards between the front seats, taking his last few breaths.

After running back to the other guys and gathering some help, I say to them "Just when were you planning to tell us about him?"  They answer, "Oh we reached in and didn't feel a pulse so we just left him."  The gentleman died shortly after we dragged him out of the van -- did that delay make a difference?  Probably not at all, but still they could've mentioned it!  Yeesh.

Scenario 2 (a few months ago):  We get called for a pedestrian struck on a main thoroughfare late at night.  By the time we arrive there are plenty of other folks there, fire and police etc.  It's in front of a KFC.  The patient is laying on the sidewalk, as we position the vehicle our headlights are shining on him like a spotlight -- illuminating the man's main problem.  Where his head should be is a smear.  Literally.  No head ...just a big bloody smear with a bit of a debris radius involving skin, brain and skull fragments.  We're still about 20 feet away, but that's what we see, an intact body and this smear.

While we're admiring the unusual injury pattern on poor Icabod here and parking the vehicle, a detective walks up to the truck.  Just to be sure of what I'm seeing I ask, "Does that man have a head?"  Now the detective who's been here for awhile now looks right at the headless body and sincerely says, "I don't know."

Good thing he gets paid more than I to notice these things.

Scenario 3 (a few years ago):  I have the misfortune of being called to a 16 year old shot in the head.  Now if there's one thing you learn the hard way, it's that where I work -- shooting someone in the head does not kill them.  And even when it does, it's certainly not right away.  So in typical fashion, this young man with his egg severely scrambled has not gone into the light and is still breathing.  So we are working hard to do what we can for him, I will skip the gory particulars.  Anyway, while all this is going on the police keep mentioning about just being careful to preserve the scene as best we can.  "And don't touch the gun!"  Which causes me to notice the revolver on the floor next to my left knee.  So I look at it for a moment and look back at the officers.

me: "This is the gun?"
detective: "Yes, that's it, don't touch it."
me: "This gun right here?"
detective: "Yes."
me: "It has no trigger.  How did he get shot?"
detective: "No trigger?"
me: "No."
detective: "Oh."

Here's your sign. 

Postscript on scenario 3 -- The triggerless gun was actually the weapon involved.  His friend had found it in the trash and figured it was harmless because it was missing the mechanism.  Unfortunately he started pulling back on the hammer ... while standing behind his friend.