Just because we can?

I had an 'asthma' patient not too long ago, who came over to me freaking out, gasping for breath, moaning, crying and clutching her chest, throat, face etc. I sat her down, stared her straight in the eye and told her directly to calm down. I coached her breathing for very few cycles before realizing that she was, for lack of a better expression, full of it. She would gasp and spit, choke and sputter, then look up at the scoreboard and cheer raucously for her trailing team. She would be close to death, then pick up her cell phone and start texting her friends. A colleague of mine walked over and asked, like I was completely inept, why this asthma patient was not on O2. Ummm....because she doesn't need it?

A few weeks later, I was running an event as control when one of my teams got a call for an injured cheerleader. She had been kicked in the head, rather hard, as she fell from the top of a formation. The trainer had walked her over to our post and sat her on the back step of our ambulance. She had a nasty headache, as well as nausea and dizziness. She did not have neck pain or tenderness, and from all accounts, had not actually fallen onto her head. I know I wasn't at the call and didn't assess her myself, so perhaps it is unfair to criticize the team's treatment. They put her in a KED (since she was sitting down), and were preparing to backboard her as EMS showed up. The paramedics checked her over, WALKED her to their stretcher, placing her on it sitting up comfortably, and left for the hospital.

A little girl turns her foot at a kid's event, my partner and I head over to check her out. She is sitting on the turf, no tears, no obvious look of pain on her face. She winces slightly when I touch the lateral edge of her foot, but there is no instability and only minimal swelling. Placing an ice pack on the injury does wonders to relieve the pain. My partner pulls me aside and asks if I'm planning on splinting it. I say no, and explain when he gives me an incredulous look. I am not putting a small child in a massive, uncomfortable knee-toe-splint for an injury that just doesn't seem to logically require immobilization. Sure enough, she is up and running around by the end of the event.

Over-treating patients seems to be a rampant disease among many of the people I work with. The "Just because we can" attitude drives me insane, and I strive to counter-act that whenever possible. On our training nights, this attitude is clearly visible among many of the responders. When we focus on patient assessment techniques, vital signs and theory, people are bored and disinterested, brushing it off as been there, done that. This is even the case among responders who are and always have been terrible at patient assessment, obtaining accurate vitals consistently, scene management and the like. As soon as we pull out the equipment, however, people get more interested. Backboards, the KED, crazy splinting stuff, people would rather do that than practice the oh-so boring, routine steps of assessment and treatment. There is also a great tendency to jump on the chance to 'practice' their skills on a real patient. I don't like that mindset, but sometimes I worry that I am under-treating in response to their over-treatment. I guess it has to be a fine balance, and always, always with the patient's welfare at the forefront.

Little Things

The beautiful little blond kid bounces over to me, then shyly asks for a bandaid as his father stands back and smiles. I kneel down to his level and ask him if a Spider-man one will do. His face lights up with a massive grin that is instantly mirrored on my own face.

She cries without ceasing, her massive shoulders shaking with sobs. She is filled with guilt over the pills she took, not enough to kill her, but enough to alter her mental status and have her seeing snakes. She is terrified, her mental status not much more than a child. I take off a glove and reach for her hand, letting her feel how much I care as I link my fingers through hers.

I stop short as I notice a bowl of small, wooden animals from Africa in the booth beside me. My grandparents bought a collection of them for us when we were kids, but I haven't seen them in years. I pick up a few of my old favourites and caress them softly, lost in memories of childhood. I turn to my ever-present partner Ryan and tell him we have to come back here later in the Fair. I forget all about them as we get swamped with calls, but he slinks back that evening and buys a bag of them. (I know I'm not supposed to know about them yet....but another partner let it slip.)

It's the little things in life that can make your day...I feel blessed to be able to give and receive so much love. Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful world.

The Midway.....

It's been a long weekend, and this has been such a loooooong day. Ryan and I are finishing up 17 hours on duty, two back-to-back shifts, and we're beginning to get a little loopy. I love working with him though; this cute new transfer and I get along very well.

We finish packing up our station for the night and head to his car, joined by Sarah, a bouncy brunette who is always a lot of fun to be around. The sugar rush brought on by massive amounts of fudge is fighting back the exhaustion we feel, leaving us giddy. We drive slowly out of the festival grounds, past the midway - which is still running! Ryan looks at Sarah. Sarah looks at Ryan. They both turn and look at me. "LET'S DO IT!!" we say in unison, grinning like maniacs. Pulling into a clump of trees and parking, we all jump out and lose our uniform shirts. We run across the road in black tank tops and our tac pants, attempting to hide from all the other members who are pulling out behind us. Stupid reflective striping!

The Tilt-a-Whirl is first up, spinning and laughing as the stress of the day flies off our shoulders and away into the starry night. The queasy feeling hits me as I step off the ride, odd, since I can usually handle these things just fine. I shake it off so I don't miss any of the fun, and we head for the spinning strawberries.

As soon as the carney releases the break, Ryan grabs the wheel in the centre and begins to spin. He spins and spins, faster and faster. Sarah and I are plastered to the walls; laughter and the force of the spin leave us unable to move. We hit Mach 10 and suddenly I feel like I'm about to die. I turn "glow in the dark white" as the spinning world begins to blur and fade away in front of my eyes. Ryan turns to look at me and immediately grabs the wheel with both hands, straining to stop the spinning motion. Just as the strawberry begins to slow, the actual ride begins and a whole different spin is presented. I hold onto the cool walls with both hands, trying to focus on something, anything solid and taking breaths as deep as I can muster. It's the ride that never ends, we just keep going around....and around....and around...and around...

After what seems to be an eternity, the ride stops and I am freed from my strawberry prison. Sarah helps me down the narrow metal steps; my legs just aren't working very well. Ryan grabs my other arm and they lead me back to his car in the bushes. "I just have to sit for a minute," I manage, trying not to sound as bad as I feel. It doesn't seem to work, as I collapse in the grass and they go into patient care mode. I'm feeling too nauseous to care at first, I'm just trying not to blow chunks over the most gorgeous guy I've ever met. Ryan rubs my back, telling me to "throw up, it'll make you feel better." as Sarah looks at me with a twinge of jealousy in her eyes. When Ryan gets up to grab a blanket from her car, she leans in closer, laughing, "You're faking it to get the attention, aren't you?!!" I attempt a smile, which turns into another groan, "I only wish I was, I've never felt so sick in my entire life!" She laughs again as he rejoins us on the damp grass, wrapping a soft pink blanket around my shoulders and continuing to rub my back. As sick as I feel, I simply can't appreciate his comforting touch.

After 45 minutes, I feel well enough for the car ride home, but just barely. They help me inside and I collapse on the couch with relief. I am on duty for the next several days as the festival continues, and am nauseous for all of them. Maxing out the daily recommended Gravol limit does little to help, and I live on white rice, crackers and ginger ale. The new running joke of the division is that Ryan makes me sick....which is ironic, since we start dating less than a week later.

Angry Patients Suck

A young girl runs up to our tent, panting and flushed. "I need help, my friend is hurt, come quick!" I stand and try to calm her down, "What happened, where is he?" "He dislocated his shoulder again, he's screaming, over on the grass at the other side, hurry!"

We hop on our stretcher-carrying super cool fashion statement of a golf cart and make our way through the festival crowds. I sit on the back with Ryan as NDP drives, the girl beside him giving him directions. We pull up to the group playing football on the field, our patient is obvious.

A young man is bent double on his knees, one arm hanging uselessly. He is alternately screaming in pain and dry heaving into the grass. His friends, a rough looking bunch, gather around yelling at us to hurry up. As I start talking to him, trying to assess him, he pleads with me to "just pop it back in, pop it back in!!" I explain I cannot do that, I am not trained to and I could just make it worse. At this, he begins to swear and curse at me, his friends joining in. "Pop it in, b****, just pop it in!" He begs for help, then screams at me to get away. I am on my knees in front of him, trying to reason with him, explaining what I can do, offering to call the ambulance for him. He doesn't listen, getting more and more angry. His friends join in, swearing at us, "F-ing ambulance drivers, what do you know?", "Just go, get away, you're useless!" I want to help this guy, but he and his friends are making it impossible.

Ryan touches my elbow, subtly drawing me away from the crowd. With his light touch, he makes me aware of the position I was in, and I smack myself for forgetting about scene safety.....again. NDP tries to get the patient to sign a refusal of treatment as he half crawls, half stumbles away, "I'm not signing nuthin', F-er!" His friends refuse to sign as witnesses until NDP mentions the calling the police to control the situation. They yank the PCR out of his hands and sign angrily, still swearing at us.

We get back on the golf cart and sigh. So much for trying to help people. I can handle frequent fliers, barf, blood, whiners and people of all ages without a problem, but angry swearing bothers me. I try not to let it and enjoy the beautiful day. As much as I wish I could have helped him, there was nothing else I could have done for the guy. I let it go and relax, enjoying the ride back to base.

Farewell to John

To my favourite partner, teacher, mentor, friend and brother, I will truly miss you. I know you have to move, being hired on by a service several hours away is better than no job here. I just wish this city would wise up and hire you already.


You took me under your wing over a year ago, making it your job to teach me, mentor me and help me out with the rough stuff. You answered every question patiently, reiterated the stuff I always seemed to forget, and always pushed me to do better, pushing me beyond my comfort zone. You were my safety net for everything we did together. You made me run the call, but always with the knowledge that you were there to step in or help out if I needed it. I know I still have a lot to learn and a lot of experience to gain, but you gave me a solid skill foundation and the confidence I need to be on my own.

You were always the protector; a bodyguard and big brother. I felt so safe with you. Drunks were never a problem; you protected me from both amorous and aggressive ones. You called me out of the way of projectile vomit; you pulled me back from clingy and unpredictable patients when I got too close. You taught me to become more aware of my surroundings and the environment. Scene safety was made paramount, as you knew you would not be my bodyguard forever. When another member showed interest in me, you became the big brother, pointing out the fatal flaws I was trying to ignore and comforting me when I was upset.

I was completely intimidated by you at first; you towered above me in both size and knowledge. I have come to realize that you are a big teddy bear, unless someone you care for is in need of help. I will miss you oh-so-very much, my respected mentor, trusted friend and honourary big brother. I love you and wish you all the best in your new city. You’ll knock ‘em dead.

Night Shift

Combine three relatively new and extremely fun partners with a 12-hour outdoor, overnight event. Add in very accommodating event organizers, a beautiful (yet cool) first night of summer and the reappearance of a VERY entertaining firefighter. With a touch of coffee and a lot of hot chocolate, you get the perfect recipe for a fun night.

Night shifts can be quite fun, if all the pieces fall into place. I know I should try to sleep for a bit before my next shift (6-midnight), but I just can't seem to get into sleep mode with the beautiful sunshine outside my window.

Fear

The sweet little girl with the tummy ache looks at me with frightened eyes. I talk to her quietly, softly, drawing her out of her shell in the tiny little first aid room. She tells me of her puppies, then mentions how her Dad abused them. She tells me of her siblings, then tells me they are in foster homes. She tells me of school, and how she hasn’t been in weeks. I want to hug her, to make her life easier somehow, but I just sit and talk. Shane slowly pushes the door open and steps into the room. I smile and look up at my trusted friend, but the little sweetie in front of me freezes in her chair. She pushes back, trying to shrink away from my lovable partner. A veil drops in her eyes, she refuses to speak or even look up, still cowering. Without speaking a word, I quickly advise Shane to leave, and he slips from the room without a sound. I watch my frightened little charge sadly. What is she so afraid of?

An excited din in the hallway brings me to my feet quickly. An ever-smiling Spanish child is holding her screaming brother tightly by the arm. He shrieks and cries out, “No, no!” as one of the leaders runs over to me and tells me he has a popsicle stick stuck in his throat. The leaders are trying to convince the girl to let me look at him as she shakes her head and adamantly repeats, “No, no.” I can assess him to some extent without touching him, and by the way he is screaming his head off in sheer panic, I think it’s safe to assume that he is breathing. He just keeps shrieking and pulling away in abject terror, his ever-smiling sister showing the same fear through her eyes. What are they so afraid of?

The kids file out of the building as Shane and I watch, smiling and saying goodbye. We try so hard to be a comforting, safe presence for them. So many of them shy away, look at us with fear. A tiny black boy looks at me with distrust as he passes, holding his even littler brother tightly by the arm. He also looks at us with fear in his eyes. What is he so afraid of?

What is the sweet little girl afraid of? What are the brother and sister afraid of? What are the two little boys afraid of?

I’m afraid to know.