Our system is tiered...as are most out there. Our Sick Bus runs with 2 EMT's. All units with the city are BLS (Basic Life Support) just like us, with the exception of a few ALS rigs (Advanced Life Support) manned with 2 Medics. Other areas run with 1 EMT and 1 Medic. However, that is not the world our group of Professional People Mover's work in. There are only a few ALS units in the city. Sometimes those few leave quite a bit of "Grey Area" to us. Our bus gets lots of miles and siren strained on a daily basis treating with diesel.
A few months on shift with "Vanilla Ice", we're running non-stop like usual. We have multiple possible calls in the city, but are the "only available unit".*SIGH* Story of my life. As we sit and wait, another car clears. They get sent to the outskirts...lucky. Though we should be confused to why we aren't all now sharing in the possible fun that awaits us, we've learned to stop trying to "understand" the Voice in the Sky. Makes my brain hurt.
Vanilla Ice is a nice guy. Good sense of humor and always has a story to tell. Mid 30's, heavier set. Pointy nose, round face and saunters like nothing is ever emergent...boy does he saunter. His hair is...well, un-natural and it shows. Though there are plenty of Professional People Movers who don't quite share my perception about Vanilla Ice- I like him. He reminds me of Augustus Gloop from 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory...just as a grown-up...and no accent ;-)
He sits in the passenger seat. Staring out the open window, down the *Busy Latte Meca* street. We're talking about cars- his favorite topic. Which he is rather bright about. He talks easily over the other noise. Never minding the excess chatter over the radio. Sounds like the Voice in the Sky has their panties in a bunch, as does the unit barking back. Like a fight between rabid dogs. I turn up the stereo. Today's music choice? Techno. House with a little Trance to be exact. Brought to us in part by- Vanilla Ices' personal collection, popped in to the CD player at 0'dark 30 when we started hours ago...repeating for the 7th time. *SHRUG*
Nice day. Breeze rolling through the cab; calm. As I listen to him, and the now quieter grumbling on the air, Moby mixed with the gorgeous day makes me think about how surreal the heavy feeling in my stomach is. And about how it only shows up when bad things happen that I'm about to be a part of. In my field, this is referred to as "The Gut Feel". All the other Latte Meca go-ers, none the wiser to the unfortunate events occurring in the lives of those around them, as they stroll down the streets. Ignorance is bliss, right? I look back to the blue sky and soak in the calm before the chaos that is about to happen...
"Need you, Red! 2637 "Can't be good Dr". Apartment- "it will be obvious". Time now- 10:26". I light it up and head out. Siren slowly fading inside the rig as our slow as molasses windows race for the finish against each other. My favorite street to drive down...always busy and tons of people on the streets who have to show their distaste for our "obnoxious" siren as we blow by. *While having a seizure on the airhorn/fazer button* All about the little things! ;-P
Vanilla Ice puts us arriving. I hate this building. Nothing good ever comes from here. We look at each other. He rolls his eyes. Gurney- check. Doors shut and we head in.
You know it's bad when you get off the elevator and your nostril immediately pick up the "That's ours for sure" smell wafting down the hallway from the very exact apartment number you're looking for. *SHAKING MY HEAD* Thankfully, I'm not teching! Yay! Gonna be a "window between the front and back closed" kind of transport.
Before even walking down the hallway in to the apartment, the feeling is so bad in my stomach as I see the legs on the ground, that makes me grimace a little. There is a rocking chair over turned on the floor...I hate this feeling.
We squeeze through the hallway like a fetus refusing to be born due to stacks of randomness making it almost impassible with the gurney. *POP* We made it! Was worried for a minute ;-)
"Sooo...this guy is 87. Doesn't speak English. His son has been translating *SHIFTING MY GLANCE* for us. We cancelled the Medics 'cuz he has "stable vitals"-150/60. Pulse of 40 and irregular, but that's PROBABLY normal for him (WHAT?! He's 87! WHAT about 40 is stable?!!?) And respiration's of 18." *LOOKING AT THE BODY, LIFELESS ON THE FLOOR* I count his breath's...1...(8 seconds)...2....(12 seconds)....3....(10 seconds)...4...(25 seconds)...I know I went to public school and all, but where I learned to do math 8+12+10+25= 55 seconds and that sure 4 doesn't = 18 breaths per minute. *LOOKING BACK AT MY PARTNER* "Uuuh, So I'm gonna say we're gonna need a medic!!"
Vanilla Ice rolls his eyes a little. "He's fine". Oh...OK. I'm glad he apparently attended the same school...stellar. As I get the gurney, I look at this 87 year old man on the floor. He weighs about 85 pounds- wet and on a good day...emaciated. His gaze is fixed...hasn't blinked since we got there. His son is talking to him...asking questions for the Firefighter and my partner. He is NOT responding. His son provides an answer. Wow...they must have a super special bond because I sure can't speak to my parents telepathically. Our patient hasn't moved...period. His skin looks grey. His lips- blue like he just finished a Slurpee from 7-11.
"Vanilla Ice, we NEED a Medic on this one. No joke. Have them call them back. Why is the chair over turned?? How long has he been down? I'm not usually the one to argue, and he isn't "My" patient, but seriously...are you kidding me?!"...I stare at him, waiting for a response.
He looks at the patient, then at the wife..."Can you ask her how long he has been on the floor?". The son translates. We wait. "Uuh, she say sinz when she call me las nie. Off-tah he fall owe tuff char...he sleep in it ev-wee nie." It's 10:35 the next morning...hmm. *ROLLING EYES* "Den, she call me off tuh she twy to lif him up. I say I come in the mow-ning to help. She put blanket on him while she go to bed."...are you serious?! 9-1-1 brought to save your father? 16 hours later...
"Vanilla Ice...it's your call...but either we get a medic or we leave...NOW. Screw waiting for a report."
He squints a little...he's thinking. "I think we should just load him up 'cuz I'm sure he is fine. Thanks guys." My jaw drops. Ugh...I know I'm newer than him but gawd- I'm not stupid. "His son wants to ride with you guys to *INSERT LOCAL ER HERE*, it that okay?" Duh...we need a translator IF this Zombie of a patient starts to talk!! *SHAKING MY HEAD IN DISBELIEF*...silly, JUST silly.
Vanilla Ice gets behind the upper body, I am at the feet. We get ready to lift...he is cold. Ice cold...AND stiff. As I grab under his knees, his legs wrap around me like a snake constricting around his prey. (I don't like this, AT ALL!)
We get him secured and lift him up. As we roll down the hallway, the firefighter tells us he has to finish his report and that he will meet us down there...they were on-scene for almost 30 minutes before we even got there. Still bugs the cr*p out of me that with an on-scene time THAT long and we still have to wait for paperwork...especially when the patient is sick. Like this one!
Loaded in the back, I strap in the son. Vanilla Ice is working on Vitals. He can't get a pressure. Awesome. I tell the firefighter, who is just now starting his report- that he can meet us at the ER with it 'cuz we aren't waiting.
I hop upfront. "Show us RED to *INSERT LOCAL ER HERE*". I pass the same crowds of people as before with the disgruntled faces at my siren...jerks. We're 3 minutes out...
"Hey! "You're ride is here" (That's me)...I'm bagging. He ain't breathing...get us there...like yesterday!" .....Hello "grey area"...my name is: Treat...with...diesel......
We roll in to the ER, leave the son with the front desk. I called staff on the way. We have a room, thank god. As we race down the hall, I take over compressions...he coded just before we got on the ramp. And of course, the "Big Man on Campus" that writes my ticket is there...watching. He is the pioneer, like the "Lewis and Clark" for what and how we practice here in Latte Meca.
With every compression, I critique myself...are they deep enough?? More than 100 a minute, watch the monitor...MORE than 100 a minute. He watches..."The Big Man on Campus" checks femoral's, "We've got good pulses. Nice compressions." *PHEW* I exhale, blowing my hair out of my face that has fallen forward. I hear Vanilla Ice giving report.
2 minutes passes, we switch. I back aside and grab my gurney. The wife is outside. Social work and a translator speaking with her. All of a sudden, the "Big Man on Campus" appears directly in front of me. I stop abruptly so as to not run in to him...I like having a job! He makes eye contact, looks at my partner and does the same...then motions us aside...F...M...L...
"Where were you? Where did he come from? Who was on-scene with you? (My mind is fizzling as all the questions fire at us) Where were the Medics? Why did YOU transport? How did he come BLS? What is the story??"...I look at Vanilla Ice...I see steam coming from his ears. I start talking. Big Man listens...then says one more thing, "Thank you. You shouldn't have transported this. I wasn't your call. I will speak to the crew on-scene and the Medics that were SUPPOSED to be there. Get your rig cleaned up...NOW." He turns and starts away from us. I feel like my a** is missing from having just been chewed off...Vanilla Ice still looks dazed....Big Man stops and turns back..."Nice job you two." And then disappears. What just happened??
The patient had a stroke...the night before. According to what the translator got from the wife, He "slumped" from his chair. He was unresponsive so she called the son. The son told her was probably fine and he would come by in the morning to check on him. He wasn't fine. She called her son at 17:30 the night before. Her son called 9-1-1 and we then got to him at 10:35 the next morning...almost 20 hours later. He had a history of HYPO-tension (low BP)...and his pressure was 150/90? Abnormal? Absolutely. He also then suffered a heart block...which explained the irregular pulse in the 40's...and his body was giving out...which was why he was breathing less than the "normal" resting rate for an adult. (Normal for an adult =12-20 times a minute at rest)
He had 5 rounds of CPR after me. That's a total of approximately 12 minutes. Multiple drugs pushed to help...none did.
The only time this "Zombie" was ever "un-dead" was when he was alive- sitting down in his rocker for bed the night before.
Vanilla Ice climbs in the rig afterwards, "I will never question you again...you have that "Gut Feel". I used to, guess not anymore. You're gonna do great things." I smile a little, then say, "Thanks...we ready to for our next?"
R.I.P
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