Surprisingly (or maybe not so much), I’ve had a number of people call me to talk about the tragic accident that occurred last night in a rural area not horribly far from here. My mother-in-law read about before I did and was afraid to tell me about because she was afraid that I would be “too upset to go out to the fair”…

Here’s how I feel about it, for what it’s worth.

A horrible horrible horrible accident. I’m broken hearted over it.

A husband and wife involved in a MVC being transported with whiplash injuries.

Three EMT’s (Paramedic’s, whatever, what does a certification mean at this point?) are dead. One is a young wife, my age in fact, and mother of five. Her husband, also a member of the service, and was in the squad. He and the driver of the truck were the only survivors. A Veteran of the service who “rarely missed an ambulance or fire run”, a young woman who had just recently joined the service, a 2000 graduate of Antwerp Local High School.

All of them… gone.

“They were all just fantastic people. None of them would ever give up the chance to get in the EMS and help out, and they died doing it”

Antwerp is a tiny community, about 1600 people. What an awful blow to this town.

This really hit home for me, and my family. My mother is now completely frantic about the fact that I “ride around in the back of an ambulance with no seatbelt on”. I really didn’t know what to tell her at this point. I DO wear a belt for long transports, it’s just habit. I ALWAYS wear one when I’m in the front of the sqaud, as a driver or a passenger. That being said, when I’m doing patient care in the back it’s not always possible to be belted in. And unfortunately in this case, I’m not sure how much it would have helped.

There are a lot of dangers involved in this job. Some of them involve situations that we don’t perceive as threatening because that’s just how we work. I don’t know many EMT’s who wear a belt in back. I just don’t know what to say, it’s all so sad.

We all need to be more careful on the road. And I know that the next time I’m in the back of a squad I’ll definitely be more likely than not to have a belt on.

Please be careful out there.

3 medical workers, 2 patients killed as semi hits ambulance

By JANE SCHMUCKER
BLADE STAFF WRITER

PAULDING, Ohio — Three emergency medical workers and two of their patients were killed last night when their ambulance was struck broadside by a tractor-trailer and burst into flames in northwestern Paulding County, the Ohio Highway Patrol said.

Another emergency medical worker and the driver of the semi were hurt in the crash just before 7 p.m. between Paulding and Cecil, Ohio, about 65 miles southwest of Toledo, troopers at the patrol’s Van Wert post said.

The Ohio State Highway Patrol’s Van Wert Post released the names this morning of the five people killed in the crash. The emergency workers from Antwerp were: Sammy R. Smith, 64; Heidi L. McDougall, 31, and Kelly J. Rager, 25.

The victims who were being transported in the EMS squad were identified as Robert R. Wells, 64, and Armelda Wells, 60, both of Hicksville.

A fourth EMS worker, Matt McDougall, 31, of Antwerp, who was in the squad, and Gerald D. Chapman Jr., 54, of Bryant, Ind., the driver of the commercial vehicle, were both transported from the scene. Mr. McDougall, a Hicksville police officer, was in fair condition this morning at Parkview Memorial Hospital in Fort Wayne. Mr. Chapman’s condition was unavailable this morning.

The emergency workers were all volunteers from Antwerp, Ohio, who were treating patients from an earlier crash on U.S. 24 in Paulding County.

“It’s very sad. Very tragic,” Antwerp Village Council President Ronald Farnsworth said. “Right now, we need all the prayers we can get. Right now we’re grieving.”

The crash occurred at County Roads 176 and 87 in Crane Township.

The ambulance was southbound on Road 87 when it was struck broadside by the semi, which was eastbound on Road 176, troopers said.

No other details on either accident were available last night.

The loss hit hard in the village of Antwerp, population 1,642.

Last night, several dozen fire and emergency workers gathered at the fire hall with a pastor.

“They aren’t in very good shape right now,” said Mr. Farnsworth, adding that the village planned to arrange for counseling.

“We’ll get through it,” he said. “But we’ll need all the prayers we can get from everybody.”

I *heart* Ambulance Driver.

http://ambulancedriverfiles.blogspot.com

“People ask me what makes a good EMT…and here it is:

If you can be the island of calm when the feces strike the thermal agitator, and keep your wits about you when everyone else is losing theirs…and then turn right around on the very next call and do nothing more than gently hold a frightened old lady’s hand on the way to the hospital and perhaps coax a smile from her…and realize that BOTH are equally important skills…then THAT is what makes a good EMT. Even if they never saved a single life.”

Ambulance driver knows his stuff. It’s not often I come across someone who makes me think, gag, and laugh out loud in the same post. You HAVE to respect that!

For my birthday this year my baby brother (The Responsible One), gave me a pretty silver watch. I loved it. The longstanding joke between us is that any present he gives me becomes my “lucky” whatever. He gave me earrings one year. They were instantly my lucky earrings. When he was 11 he made me a necklace. It became my lucky necklace. This watch was my lucky watch. It was an integral part of my job. I NEEDED that watch. Plus, as I said, the second he gave it to me it became my lucky watch. I loved it.

The problem is, it has a weird latch on it and picks horrible times to fall off. Add to that the fact that I NEVER know it falls off until I go to take someone’s pulse.

Last shift it poured most of the night. The rain came down in sheets.

I lost my lucky watch. It disappeared somewhere between Local ER and a run we had a few miles away. I noticed it was gone pretty quickly, tore apart the back of the squad, and realized it was probably on the ground out in the rain. I was a little heartbroken over it, but there was no way I was going to be able to find it in the middle of the night, in the middle of a downpour. Besides, I wasn’t even positive I lost it at the scene. Pseudo Dad talked me into going back to the scene, in the RAIN mind you, to look for it.

To make this already long, boring, only-interesting-to-me story a little shorter, he found it.
We were both drenched and sitting in the squad after what I thought was a fruitless ten minute search when he said, “Hold out your hand.” There it was. Still ticking too.

Pseudo Dad is my hero. We’ve only worked together for a few months and he already knows when to tell me to sleep, even if it’s only for 25 minutes… He doesn’t roll his eyes at me when I’m whining (at least not to my face)… He buys me a Slider or a cup of coffee when I’m destitute… He makes me laugh out loud and teases me mercilessly. He’s a good guy. I couldn’t ask for a better partner at work.

I’m a lucky girl. I have an unbelievably wonderful and supportive husband at home, and a great partner at work. You can’t ask for much more.

Could it be that this job is making me lazy? I’m willing to give myself the benefit of the doubt and say that maybe the combination of school, studying, work, and lack of sleep is just stressing me out a little bit. I seriously underestimated how much time would be required for studying. I seriously overestimated how much sleep I’d be able to get during the day while working the 7p-7a shift at The Closet. I’m kind of just stumbling through life right now. It’s a familiar feeling, kind of like that feeling you have for the first few weeks there’s a newborn in your home.

Tonight was supposed to be quiet.

When will I learn that number of calls in a 12 hour shift directly relates to how many hours of sleep/studying time one needs?

I know how bad that sounds. They’re paying me to work. I understand that. I’m not one of those people who believe that they are entitled to sleep during a 12 hour overnight shift. Sometimes you just need a quiet night.

It was as far from quiet as it possibly could be.

The CT scanner at Backwoods General Hospital 35 miles away was broken. They contacted The Little Private Service that Could and contracted with us to transport any patient who needed a CT up to St. Moneybags hospital where the CT would be done, then return them to Backwoods General.

It didn’t sound too bad, how many people out in the middle of nowhere need a CT scan? I’ve been to Backwoods ER more than a few times, and typically, it’s empty.

That night everyone within ten miles of this hospital needed a CT scan.

(This wouldn’t normally be a problem except She Who Rules The House had been teething and miserable all day resulting in net sleep of ZERO for me in two days. So I’m exhausted.)

We ran patients back and forth all night long. And had to complete a run report for each segment of the trip. We would end up with 22 run reports by 7am.

At one point around five am I was literally in tears, babbling about something. Pseudo Dad grabbed me by the shoulders and steered me toward the patient compartment.

He told me in no uncertain terms that I would sleep, and I would sleep now. And he’d wake me up when the next patient was ready. If I chose to defy him he’d ground me. Or something.

“Yes, Dad,” was all I could mumble at that point.

He actually put me to sleep like I was a cranky five year old, which makes me think I must have been acting like a cranky five year old. I’m not proud of that.

I really need to work on getting that 24 hour shift.

*takes a deep breath*

Please, friends and neighbors, for the LOVE of GOD…

Do NOT call 911 because you popped a pimple and it wont stop bleeding.

Slap a bandaid on it. Try a little pressure.

When we arrived on the scene, (Code 3 by the way — but that’s for another blog.) the firefighters were laughing outside of the apartment.

Long story short, a 12 year old popped a pimple on his arm. It was bleeding. His mother was worried and called 911. The City Fire Department slapped a dressing on it and wrapped it in kling. Yes, they still want to have him seen at St. Moneybags ER. One of the firefighters remarked that the Mother believed the pimple was attached to a vein.

I had to stiffle a little giggle at this point. Then again, who am I to judge? If they want a 600 dollar taxi ride to the ER, I’ll drive ‘em.

On the way to the ER Pseudo Dad has to give one of the most hysterical Medical Reports ever given. He’s trying to relay to the ER staff that the patient’s Mother believed the pimple was attached to a vein. He accidentally says “artery” and corrects himself. Apparently the ER missed that.

When we arrive at the ER they direct us to the trauma room. The resident wants to know where the “arterial bleed” is.

Oh Jesus.

After a quick report the ER staff redirects us to a small private room.

All I can do is shake my head.

I did get to see the pimple after the nurse took off the kling… No sign of bleeding whatsoever. The only blood we can see is what can only be described as a pin-head sized dot on the dressing.

Another life saved.

Another night of school followed by work.

I arrive at The Closet around 11pm. The rig check is done (they haven’t even had a run in the four hours before I arrived), and there’s not much to do other than sit back in my nice comfy black leather recliner and watch CSI: Miami. A nice quiet night. Pseudo Dad is snoring at a volume that would wake any corpse.

Weeknights at The Closet typically are calm. It helps as far as studying goes at least.

My eyes start to close. I fight to keep them open.

EpiJunky: Hey, Pseudo Dad, I’ll be in the ER.
PseudoDad: *SNOOOOOOORE*

I scribble a note for Pseudo Dad on a post it and put it on the door. I pick up the radio and venture the 50 paces or so that leads to the ER. I turn the radio on. It’s quiet. I let dispatch know I’m on the portable for a few minutes. It’s easier for me to find PseudoDad if there’s a run.

Nothing going on in the ER. The nurses are playing solitaire on the computer or shopping Ebay for discount Crocs. I walk back to The Closet. The radio is still quiet. Sounds like everyone is in the same boat as I am. The light in the hallways is blinding. It gives me a headache.

The Closet is dark, lit only by an episode of Cops on the 19 inch TV. Pseudo Dad is still snoring away. I sink back into the recliner.

Maybe I can mentally WILL the phone to ring. A run, please, just to keep myself awake. I have a hard time sleeping on overnight shifts. I don’t like the feeling of waking up, groggy, to a ringing phone.

A Police Officer with a very thick southern accent is chasing someone on foot through some random neighborhood.

My eyes start to closer again. I give up and doze off……

(Three hours later)
*RRRRRIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGG*

I mumble an obscenity under my breath and reach for the phone.

EpiJunky: The Closet *yawn*
Dispatch: Sorry to wake you. County run to the nearby Taco Bell.
Pseudo Dad: *SNOOOOOOORRRRREEEEEEE*
Dispatch: What the hell was that?
EpiJunky: Copy that. We’re heading out.

It takes me thirty seconds to rouse Pseudo Dad from his coma.

It’s four in the morning.

We get on scene and it’s a minor aged female with abdominal cramps. My first thought is, “What in God’s name are you doing on the street at four in the morning on a school night?” This is closely followed by, “In a private school uniform carrying your back pack with your boyfriend.”

I rub sleep from my eyes.

On closer inspection, in the warm patient compartment of the squad, I see she’s muddy from her knees down, freezing, and in a pretty good amount of pain. Abdominal pain. She’s gives pretty vague answers to my questions.

On the way to the hospital I get a little more of the story. She says that she had been staying with her Grandmother and had snuck out. Grandma is not her guardian, mom and dad are. For some reason I’m still suspicious.

I rub my eyes again. I knew I wasn’t getting the entire story, but I can’t force her to be honest with me.

Yes, there’s a chance she could be pregnant, she admitted. She gives me a phone number for her parents. The number is disconnected.

We arrive at City Hospital, I give the ER Nurse report. The nurse tells my patient that she absolutely must give her a real phone number, the hospital has to call mom to get permission to treat her. The patient is clearly not happy with this, but gives up the phone number. She cuddles on the ER bed with her boyfriend. They watch the TV.

My suspicions were right on. It turns out she’s a runaway. Not just from her Grandmother’s house. She’s been missing four days. Her parents are frantic. The police department show up to sit with her until her parents can get there.

Of course I’m giddy to witness any drama that’s not my own. I relay this info to Mike and suggest we get popcorn and sit back and wait for the show.

I’m sure her Mother is going to be thrilled when she shows up. I can’t wait for Dad and the boyfriend to meet. We call dispatch and let them know of the situation (we need mom’s signature as well… not to mention we need insurance info if there is any.)

We were too tired to hang out for too long, and the signature and insurance information isn’t more important than getting back to our district.

I’m a bad bad nosy person.

So we get a call about 0230. Neither one of us is mentally awake. We roll up on the scene and see several cop cars.

This is NEVER a good sign. The only time we see cop cars on our runs is if there’s a car accident or a fight.

I walk into the house and I see *drumroll please* the cops from the run we had at the yacht club where the patient required five people to restrain him.

Hellllooooo Blondie.

Anyway, this patient was suicidal. And of course I’m bleary eyed and they’re my patient.
This patient cries much of the way to the hospital… I felt bad for them. They were definitely going through a rough time.

We get to the hospital and Pseudo Dad opens the back doors of the rig to help me get the patient out.

The patient takes one look at Pseudo Dad and blurts out, “You look like Captain Kangaroo.”

PD’s response: “That’s okay, he was my hero when I was little.”

I lost it. I giggled the rest of the night and the entire walk out to our cars this morning.
I’m seriously considering referring to Pseudo Dad as “The Captain” for at least the near future.
For the record, he looks NOTHING like Captain Kangaroo.

I grew up in a decent enough neighborhood. People took pride in their homes, they raised their children the right way (or at least tried to), and they respected authority figures, teachers, police officers, parents…

My family was not well of by any stretch, but I never wanted for anything. (My mom laughs when I say this, because she feels like we were dirt poor and she couldn’t provide us with enough. She’s insane, but I digress.)

I was raised to be grateful for what I had. I was raised to respect my elders. I was raised to not act like an idiot. (I need to work on that from time to time.) I feel like I was raised with a good head on my shoulders. And excellent hair. But anyway. I owe this to my mom. I work hard to instill this in my kids.

If there’s one thing I cannot stand, its people who think they are privileged due to their status (or more accurately, their PARENTS) status in life. I absolutely detest this. I see it all the time, and I have seen it for most of my life. I have yet to actually accept this behavior as “that’s just how some folks are.” I need to work on that, because little ole EpiJunky is not going to change the world.

These kids who think they can get away with murder because Mommy and Daddy own their own business and have monstrous amounts of cash… IT MAKES ME INSANE. There’s nothing wrong with having money, having nice things. But when you expect to be treated better because of this, when you think people owe you something because of it, when you think you can keep your sorry butt out of trouble because of who Mom and Dad are…

What set me off…

Yesterday while at work we get dispatched code 3 to the scene of an accident in a major intersection.

The first thing I notice is that both cars are totaled.
The next thing I notice is a teenager on his cell phone, turning his back on a police officer (who looks seriously pissed). The teenager is whining like a five year old on the phone. It reminded me of my son when he’s tired and really wants that last snack for the night.
The Police officer is telling him repeatedly to get off the phone. The kid is ignoring him. Like he doesn’t exist.

At this point I have to focus my attention on my patient.

Come to find out later on at the hospital, this kids license is suspended. He has NO ID on him. He said he had work privileges. Of course it’s 10pm on a Saturday night his work privileges refer to his position at a Law Office and he’s dressed like he’s going to a party with three of his closest friends, but what do I know?

I would have taken great joy in yanking the cell phone out of that kids hand and sending it sailing into the intersection he personally closed down. Then I would have unceremoniously tossed his butt into the back of the squad car. And that, my friends, is why EpiJunky would make a horrible Police Officer.

BTW, the last time I saw my patient they were kicking everyone out of the ER room. I hope she ends up okay. I think she will. Thank GOD the kid and the passenger with her were okay. Everyone was restrained and the airbags did what they were supposed to.

I’ve made some mistakes in my life. I’ve gotten in trouble. And you know what; my family bailed my butt out (not literally). And you have to do it once… But I really believe that after your one youthful indiscretion, you’re on your own… If you keep saving your kids over and over, they’ll never learn.

Maybe I’m completely out of tune with reality. I hope not.

The past few weeks at work have been insane. A TON of transfers, which is fine, I actually like transfers. You get to know the regulars. (And no, for the record, I have not muttered the phrase “I’m bored” in at least a month.)

Take my last shift for example.

Get to work at 6:50pm. Get a phone call from dispatch. “When you two are ready, head on over to The Little County Hospital.”

I typically take the first patient, so Pseudo Dad drives us over to the hospital. Our patient had been seen for some issue with her medications, which escapes me at the moment. She was so sweet. One of those patients that you thank for being such a pleasure to deal with. One of those patients that actually thanks you at the end of the run. She’s been in the ER for nine hours and just can’t wait to get into bed.

Here’s where things get interesting. We’re taking the cot with the patient up to the door and knock repeatedly.

EpiJunky: Are you sure your husband is home?
Patient: Absolutely. I talked to him on the phone before they called you two.
Pseudo Dad knocks again, even harder. He stops. “I see him coming.”

The patient’s husband opens the front door and we head in.

The smell hits me before the condition of the apartment does. It reeks of cigarette smoke, stale beer, and ammonia mixed with cat urine. My eyes begin to water immediately. I start breathing through my mouth on instinct.

The patient’s husband is stumbling over beer cans. His speech is very slurred. My patient is plenty pissed.

“How could you do this? You promised you weren’t drinking!” She starts to cry.

Pseudo Dad is trying to figure out how to get the cot through the living room into the bedroom.
Patient’s husband’s voice is loud, almost booming… “You lazy BITCH, get up offa there and walk your ass to that bed.”

“My Doctor said to not walk for three more days..” She stammers.

I have a hand on my patient’s shoulder… I tell her husband that we’re required to move our patient to the bed. It’s the law. Well, so it wasn’t a complete lie. He stumbles into the bedroom, kicking Busch Light cans to the side as he walks. He attempts to clear a path. The scene reminds me of a frat house I had been to back in my college days. Pseudo Dad is moving furniture in the bedroom to allow us to roll the cot in there.

For a few seconds it’s just my patient and I. I want to make sure that she’s okay with the situation. I want to be sure she’ll be taken care of. She assures me she will.

Her husband is yelling in the bedroom about having to take care of “that lazy bitch”. I want to hit him in the face. With the O2 tank.

We gently move the patient from the cot to her bed. I get her some blankets and make sure her phone and medications are nearby. She thanks us again.

I don’t want to leave her; I just have a bad feeling. Pseudo Dad steers me towards the door. “We’re done here,” he says.

We go back to The Closet and attempt to eat for the second time that night.

*RRRRIIIIIINNNNNG*

EpiJunky: The Closet
Dispatch: Hey we have a run for you, very little paperwork involved.
EpiJunky: Body Run? Yay.
Pseudo Dad looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

It’s been awhile since our last body run. Pseudo Dad says something about having a “quiet” patient.
EpiJunky: At least they’re stable. Heh.

We head over to St. Moneybags. They don’t want us parading a body through the ER (I can’t imagine why, most of the people in the ER looked bored as hell, those who didn’t were too sick to care), so we had to drive around the building.

Pseudo Dad played instigator and he and the security guard mocked my (lack of) maneuverability skills. I’m working on that. Pseudo Dad and I practice every shift now.

We walked into the morgue. I got an instant chill. My heart started racing. The patient was already in a body bag (Little known fact: Our body bags are white. *shrug*). For some reason I was having a really hard time with this… I felt like I was on the verge of having an anxiety attack.

Pseudo Dad picked up on this pretty quickly and started saying “It’s an empty bag, it’s an empty bag it’s an empty bag.” I walked out of the room, took a deep breath, and walked back in. I grabbed what I thought was excess bag. It contained the patient’s leg. Hard as a rock. I dropped it and damn near hyperventilated. What the hell was wrong with me? I’m not like this… It’s a dead body in a bag for crying out loud. Live folks are scarier than this!!!

Pseudo Dad: (a little worried) Are you okay?
EpiJunky: Yeah, I’m fine. (I’m doing Lamaze breathing at this point.)
Pseudo Dad: Empty bag, empty bag, empty bag. Just breathe.
EpiJunky: Let’s just do this. One, two, three, lift.

We moved him to our cot, and I calmed myself down. I apologized to Pseudo Dad. I felt awful about it. To this day I don’t know what the hell happened.

On the way out of the morgue/basement:

EJ: What would you do if the patient sat straight up right now?
Pseudo Dad: I’d run your ass over on the way to the elevator.
EJ: *giggles like a psychopath* You can’t outrun me old man!

All of a sudden the cot is getting harder to pull. I have the front end, Pseudo Dad has the back. I’m still laughing like an idiot when a nurse rounds the corner. She gives me a very strange look.

EJ: *laughing* besides, didn’t you almost break your hip last time you tried racing me?
I turn around to see his reaction. He’s gone. Totally and completely GONE! I’m laughing my ass of in the basement of a hospital holding a conversation with a body in a body bag. No wonder the nurse thinks I’m insane.

*insert several four letter words and obscenities here.*

Let’s just say a sailor would have blushed. I FREAKED out for a good five seconds. I had stopped dead (*heh*) in my tracks with my patient and scanned the hallways for Pseudo Dad. I can hear him laughing so hard I worry he’ll pass out. Actually, I HOPE he passes out so I can kick his unconscious body.

He’s doubled over in the hallway behind a pop machine. We laughed till we cried for several minutes.

We ended up dropping the patient off at the morgue at Local ER where I learned he was to be donated to science. I realized that this man was giving himself, his body, to further medicine. I felt a bad about my freakout/maniacal laughing episode/re-freakout. I should have been more respectful.

We head back to our quarters. We attempt to eat yet again. I believe this is the third time. I really need to look into cold foods for meals.

*RIIIIIIING*
EpiJunky: SON OF A BITCH! TWO BITES? *picks up phone* The Closet…
Dispatch: Code 3 county run at the Local Marina.

It’s one of those nights where there are parties and festivals going on EVERYWHERE in the city. There’s a major regatta going on at the nearby marina. It’s a HUGE party, hundreds of people. I have the distinct feeling one or both of us are going to get puked on.

I get out and notice that the City’s Finest are there escorting my patient, who is stumbling-fall-down-go-boom-drunk.

When it’s time to get into the ambulance, the patient goes absolutely nuts. He does NOT want to go to the hospital; he does NOT want to go to jail.

His choices are kind of limited at this point. I actually feel a little bad for him. The police are antagonizing him. True, he’s drunk and acting like a complete ass, but instigating a fight with him is not going to help things.

Now there are FOUR, count them FOUR police officers plus my very big partner fighting with the patient in the ba
ck
of the rig. I’m standing in the side door area when Pseudo Dad looks at me and with the most serious look I’ve ever seen yells at me.

Pseudo Dad: “Get out, now. GO!”

I jump out now, ask questions later. The struggle goes on for at least two more minutes. When it’s finally over two Police Officers now have official charges of assault against him in addition to God knows what other charges. I’m sure they’re racking up.

The patient is restrained. Finally. The cops are still taunting him. I have very little tolerance for stupidity, and getting hammered and then fighting with MY PARTNER AND THE POLICE definitely qualifies as stupidity. But going out of your way to rile the guy up once he’s restrained and about to be transported WITH ME IN THE BACK does not get you brownie points in my book. I look at the baby faced officer and inform him that he’ll be riding along with us. He’s not thrilled about it. He takes the captain’s seat at the head of the cot.

I climb back in and start to talk to the patient. I’m a mother, a wife, and a woman. Sometimes having these things in your favor can help calm folks down. In this case it worked miracles. The patient is reduced from insane-fighting-drunk to crying depressed drunk. At least he isn’t fighting anymore.

Of course he’s now handcuffed to the cot and restrained with straps, being escorted to the local ER by a Police Officer, but still.

Pseudo Dad seems to have a problem with me handling patient care. While I appreciate his concern I tell him in no uncertain terms that myself and my patient are both fine. My patient tells him in no uncertain terms to “Go to Hell”.

The transport to the hospital is uneventful. My patient has a broken heart, which is, unfortunately, nothing I can fix. He’s got problems bigger than his broken heart once he sobers up. We get to the hospital, he’s still calm. As soon as Pseudo Dad appears “Angry-pissed-off-drunk” patient returns. Security comes running, cops are there once again. It was absolutely insane and exhausting.

It took a few hours to get our patient off of our cot thanks to the handcuff situation; apparently the ER didn’t have any restraints that would hold him. Eventually we donated our leathers.
Around four in the morning, I stumbled outside in an effort to stay awake and upright and saw our patient being arrested.

That wasn’t a huge shock.

*RIIIIING*

Why am I always the one sitting next to the phone? It rings loud enough to wake the dead and typically makes me jump clear out of my skin.

EpiJunky: The Closet
Dispatch: Got a County Run for you, They’re at the Dollar Store at the local strip mall around the corner. Code 3.
EpiJunky: Copy that. We’re heading out.

I relay the information to Pseudo Dad who is already ahead of me on the way out to the squad. He jumps in the drivers seat.

EpiJunky: I never get to drive code 3. *pout*
PseudoDad: That’s what you get for pawning that last call off on me. *grin*
Pseudo Dad puts us enroute and flips the lights and sirens on.

We arrive at the Dollar Store one minute later. The local Fire Department waves us into the store.

Sitting on a chair is my very pale patient, getting some oxygen through a non-rebreather. Sitting on the floor next to my patient is a LifePak 12. Sitting next to the LifePak is the BIGGEST HAIRIEST dog I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s her service dog. One of the firefighters is giving the dog some water.

I get the rundown from the Medic on scene who has decided that ALS is not needed, the patient had a near syncopal episode. It’s 105 degrees outside, and she walked with her service dog close to two miles to shop. She’s had a 12 lead, which was unremarkable, all of her vitals are stable, she’s feeling much better on the O2, and has had a bottle of water. She wants to go back to the Local ER, it’s only a two minute transport.

EpiJunky: And I can only assume that we’re taking her service dog as well?
Firefighter: *Looking at me funny* Well, yeah… Got any dog treats in there? He looks hungry.
EpiJunky: I don’t know, Pseudo Dad, you have any biscuits on you? Pseudo Dad rolls his eyes at me.
Firefighter: Tell me you’ve never transported a pooch before…

I haven’t. There’s barely enough room for me and a patient let alone me a patient and a 150 pound dog. It’s a beautiful friendly dog, but still.

Firefighter: *Looking at Pseudo Dad* Your partner owes you an ice cream.

(Little sidenote: There’s a tradition in the Fire Department where you have to buy ice cream for your coworkers the first time you do something. I’m pretty new, and I’m the number of ice cream cones I owe Pseudo Dad is skyrocketing.)

Pseudo Dad: I think she owes ALL of us ice cream. *grin*
EpiJunky: I think you’re a pain in the butt.

Our patient perks up. “You boys be nice to that girl”. I decide I love my patient and her dog.

We load the patient and her dog into the back. I climb over the dog a few times to get my vital signs done. The dog doesn’t have any idea what’s going on, and really doesn’t want to sit down.
The patient has a condition called cardiogenic syncope, and that’s why she has the service animal. She’s feeling considerably better now, the color is coming back to her face, her vitals are all normal. The transport was over before it started.

I was able to check in on her later and she was getting ready to be discharged. The ER staff had fallen in love with her dog.

Oh yes… I also managed to park at St. Holy Hospital that night, with some guidance from Pseudo Dad. That would be ice cream number 2 for the night.

EMT Laws

(Shamelessly stolen from someone who stole it from someone who stole it from someone…)

Air goes in and out, blood goes round and round, any variation on this is bad.

Try not to discuss “your day” at the family dinner table.

You may not install a “car catcher” on the front of the ambulance.

The more equipment you see on a EMT’s belt, the newer they are.

Examine all chest clutchers first, bleeders next, then the rest of the whiners.

When dealing with citizens, if it felt good saying it, it was wrong.

All bleeding stops… eventually.

You can’t cure stupid.

If it’s wet and sticky and not yours — LEAVE IT ALONE!!!

“Riding shotgun” does not mean you shoot the tires of non-yielding vehicles.

If at all possible, avoid any edible item that fire fighters prepare.

EMS is extended periods of boredom, interrupted by moments of sheer terror.

Every emergency has three phases: PANIC… FEAR… REMORSE.

A good tape job will fix almost anything.

Yuppies involved in accidents complain how bumpy the ambulance ride is.

It’s not a compliment when Policemen say you’re crude, crass & cynical.

The severity of the injury is directly proportional to the weight of the patient.

Turret mounted machine guns usually work better than lights and sirens.

Schedule your days off to avoid working during full phases of the Moon.

There is no such thing as a “textbook case”.

Never refer to someone in respiratory distress as a “Smurf”.

Automatically multiply by 3 the number of drinks they claim to have had.

Your social skills will be lacking, if all your anecdotes deal with blood.

Assume every female between 6 and 106 is pregnant until proven otherwise.

Get very, very scared when a child is too quiet.

Don’t place bets on the glucose level of an unresponsive patient.

You cannot institute a surcharge for unruly or surly patients.

It is not necessary to have a pet name for your cardiac monitor. (Sparky?)

As long as stupidity remains epidemic in the US, you have job security.

Don’t worry about the gunshot wound as much as dealing with the family.

All emergency calls will wait until you begin to eat, regardless of the time.

Corollary 1: Fewer accidents would occur if EMS personnel would never eat.
Corollary 2: Always order food “to go”.

The Paramedical Laws of Time: There is absolutely no relationship between the time at which you are supposed to get off shift and the time at which you will get off shift. Given the following equation: T 1 Minute = Relief Time, “T” will always be the time of the last call of your shift. E.g., If you are supposed to get off shift at 08:00, your last run will come in at 07:59. (Or if you have early relief coming in you will see you relief sitting at the first stop light from the station, waving!)

The Paramedical Law of Gravity: Any instrument, when dropped, will always come to rest in the least accessible place possible.

The Paramedical Law of Time And Distance: The distance of the call from the Hospital increases as the time to shift change decreases.
Corollary 1: The shortest distance between the station and the scene is under construction.

The Paramedical Rule of Random Synchronicity: Emergency calls will randomly come in all at once.

The Rule of Respiratory Arrest: All patients who are vomiting and must be intubated will have just completed a large meal of Barbecue and Onions, Garlic Pizza, and Pickled Herring, all of which was washed down with at least three cans of Beer.

The Basic Principle For Dispatchers: Assume that all field personnel are idiots until their actions prove your assumption.

The Basic Principle For Field Personnel: Assume that all dispatchers are idiots until their actions prove your assumption.

The Axiom of Late-Night Runs: If you respond to any Motor Vehicle Accident call after Midnight and do not find a drunk on the scene, keep looking: somebody is still missing.

The Law of Options: Any patient, when given the option of either going to Jail or going to the Hospital by a Police Officer, will always be inside the Ambulance before you are.
Corollary 1: Any patient who chooses to go to Jail instead of the Hospital has probably been in my rig in the past.

The First Rule of Equipment: Any piece of Life-saving Equipment will never malfunction or fail until:
a)You need it to save a life, or
b)The salesman leaves.

The Second Rule of Equipment:Interchangeable parts don’t, leak proof seals will, and self-starters won’t.

The First Law of Ambulance Operation: No matter how fast you drive the Ambulance when responding to a call, it will never be fast enough, until you pass a Police Cruiser, at which point it will be entirely too fast. Unless you are responding to an “Officer Down” call then it is physically impossible to be traveling fast enough!

Paramedical Rules of The Bathroom: If a call is received between 0500 and 0700, the location of the call will always be in a Bathroom. If you have just gone to the Bathroom, no call will be received. If you have not just gone to the Bathroom, you will soon regret it. The probability of receiving a run increases proportionally to the time elapsed since last going to the Bathroom.

Basic Assumption About Dispatchers:Given the opportunity, any Dispatcher will be only too happy to tell you where to go, regardless of whether or not (s)he actually knows where that may be.
Corollary 1: The existence or non-existence of any given location is of only minor importance to a Dispatcher.
Corollary 2: Any street designated as a “Cross-street” by a Dispatcher probably isn’t.
Corollary 3: If a street name can be mispronounced, a Dispatcher will mispronounce it.
Corollary 4: If a street name cannot be mispronounced, a Dispatcher will mispronounce it.
Corollary 5: A Dispatcher will always refer to a given location in the most obscure manner as possible. E.g., “Stumpy Brown’s Cabbage Field” is now covered by a shopping center.

The First Principle of Triage: In any accident, the degree of injury suffered by a patient is inversely proportional to the amount and volume of agonized screaming produced by that patient.

The Gross Injury Rule: Any injury, the sight of which makes you want to puke, should immediately be covered by 4×4′s and Kerlix.

The First Law of EMS Supervisors: Given the equation: X – Y = Quality of Care where “X” is the care that you render and “Y” is the assistance supplied by any Supervisor. If you can eliminate “Y” from the equation, the Quality of Care will improve by “X”.
Corollary 1: Generally, Field Supervisors have no business in the Field.
Corollary 2: The level of technical competence is inversely proportional to the level of management.
Corollary 3: Technology is dominated by those who manage what they do not understand.

The Law of Protocol Directives: The simplest Protocol Directive will be worded in the most obscure and complicated manner possible. Speeds, for example, will be expressed as “Furlongs per Fortnight” and flow rates as “Hogsheads per Hour”.
Corollary 1: If you don’t understand it, it must be intuitively obvious.
Corollary 2: If you can understand it, you probably don’t.

The Law of EMS Educators: Those who can’t do, teach.
The Law of EMS Evaluators: Those who can neither do nor teach, evaluate.

The Paramedical Law of Light: As the seriousness of any given injury increases, the availability of light to examine that injury decreases.

The Paramedical Law of Space: The amount of space which is needed to work on a patient varies inversely with the amount of space which is av
ai
lable to work on that patient.

The Paramedical Theory of Relativity: The number of distraught and uncooperative relatives surrounding any given patient varies exponentially with the seriousness of the patient’s illness or injury.

The Paramedical Theory of Weight: The weight of the patient that you are about to transport increases by the square of the sum of the number of floors which must be ascended to reach the patient plus the number of floors which must be descended while carrying the patient.
Corollary 1: Very heavy patients tend to gravitate toward locations which are furthest from mean sea level.
Corollary 2: If the patient is heavy, the elevator is broken, and the lights in the stairwell are out.

The Rules of Non-Transport: A Life-or-Death situation will immediately be created by driving away from the home of patient who has just thrown you out of their house. The seriousness of this situation will increase as the date of your trial approaches. By the time your ex-patient reaches the witness stand, the Jury will wonder how patient in such terrible condition could have possibly walked to the door and greeted you with a large suitcase in each hand.

The First Rule of Bystanders: Any bystander who offers you help will give you none.
The Second Rule of Bystanders: Always assume that any Physician found at the scene of an emergency is a Gynecologist, until proven otherwise.
Corollary 1:Never turn your back on a Proctologist.

The Rule of Warning Devices: Any Ambulance, whether it is responding to a call or traveling to a Hospital, with Lights and Siren, will be totally ignored by all motorists, pedestrians, and dogs which may be found in or near the roads along its route.
Corollary 1: Ambulance Sirens can cause acute and total, but transient, deafness.
Corollary 2: Ambulance Lights can cause acute and total, but transient, blindness.
Note: This Rule does not apply in California, where all pedestrians and motorists are apparently oblivious to any and all traffic laws.

The Law of Show-And-Tell: A virtually infinite number of wide-eyed and inquisitive school-aged children can climb into the back of any Ambulance, and, given the opportunity, invariably will.
Corollary 1: No emergency run will come in until they are all inside the Ambulance and playing with the equipment.
Corollary 2: It will take at least four times as long to get them all out as it took to get them in.
Corollary 3: A vital piece of equipment will be missing.

The Rule of Rookies: The true value of any rookie EMT, when expressed numerically, will always be a negative number. The value of this number may be found by simply having the rookie grade his or her ability on a scale from 1 to 10.For rookie EMT’s medical skill: 1 = Certified Health Hazard, 10 = Jonny or Roy.
For rookie EMT’s behind the wheel: 1 = Obstruction to Navigation, 10 = Mario Andretti.
The true value of the rookie is then found by simply negating the rookie’s self-assigned value.
Corollary 1: Treat any rookie assigned to your Unit as you would a Bystander. (See The First Rule of Bystanders, above.)

The Rule of Rules: As soon as an EMS Rule is accepted as absolute, an exception to that Rule will immediately occur.

I’m just not sure what to do with myself today. I need to get my head on straight. It feels like I can’t do anything right. I’m grateful that for the most part it’s nothing major, but yikes. Maybe my B-12 is low again.

Let me start by running down how last night went.

EpiJunky LOVES her some fireworks. I’m like a five year old. I get goosebumps watching them. I *HEART* fireworks. Tonight they’re shooting a rather large display off from a huge suspension bridge. I spent the first half hour of the shift trying to figure out how we could end up over on that side of town.

Pseudo Dad managed to pull it off. That’s why I love having him as a partner. I still don’t know how we managed it, but at 21:55 we were pulling into the gas station RIGHT NEXT TO the bridge where they were shooting off the display. God love that man. Of course we had to report to dispatch that we were “blocked in” at the gas station.

I should be ashamed of myself, I know.

We weren’t terribly busy the rest of the night. We can blame this on a real nice little car accident with multiple patients, two of them in the back of our lil “van”bulance… Did I mention the fact that I got us a bit lost on the way to the call? Just a little bit. Added a minute on to our arrival time. Long story short it was an old map. Yeah, that’s what I’m blaming it on. Old map.

We get to Local ER, deliver our patients, yes, that’s two, did I mention in the back of our van we had TWO patients? Yes, I’m babbling. It’s just that this van is tiny enough. PseudoDad is close to 6’4” and I’m 6’0”, and it’s kind of cramped under normal situations. Anyway, I digress. Both patients were delivered safely and without incident.

We go out to start the rig up, we’re both cold, soaking wet from being out in the rain… And lo and behold, the rig does NOT start. No, I did not leave the lights on, no I did not leave the battery on…

There’s nothing more humiliating more than having the local competition (who coincidentally has SIGNIFICANTLY newer and nicer rigs) laugh and offer to jump your ambulance.
An hour and a half and several jump attempts later… It starts. We take the rig directly down to The Little Private Service that Could’s HQ, switch rigs (oh yeah, not only was the rig battery obviously having issues, but our “angry horn” wasn’t working.) and head back to The Closet.
So now it’s practically three am. We’re both still wet. We’re both cold. We’re both tired, yet not tired. But tired.

After maybe three and a half hours of sleep I wake up, stumble out to the car, drive home, pick up milk, drive out to my 0815 physical therapy appointment, and find out that it’s actually at 1715 as opposed to 815, tomorrow it’s at 815…. *cries*

And it gets better still, most of the rest is revolving around whether or not I, EpiJunky, EMT-B wants to become EpiJunky, Paramedic, instead. I want it so much I can hardly stand it… It just looks like it might take a hell of a toll on my kids, my husband, my marriage, my sanity etc… I’d need some significant babysitting help from my family, and it just doesn’t look like it’s going be able to happen. It seems as if everything I do is wrong right now, but it’s not enough to deter me. I want to learn more.