nothing in this blog is true. . .but it's exactly how things are

which basically means that names, dates, locations, conditions, and everything else that might possibly lead to the discovery of someone's identity have been changed to protect the innocent, guilty, and terminally stupid.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

a first time for everything

RevMedic's been giving me a tough time about the whole not posting for a couple of months thing. He can do that, though, because he's the sixth god of EMS, and he can stomach my chewy coffee when others only politely choke it down. So for him, I'll make an effort to post more often. Besides, when you have a story like this one, you have to share it.

So last night, I hadn't even been at work for an hour when a truck vrooms up to the ambulance bay and stops. The driver saunters into the waiting room and informs the triage nurse that his friend in the truck isn't breathing. He doesn't seem terribly concerned about this. She asks, to clarify, "your friend is having trouble breathing?" no, the man reiterates, he's NOT breathing. At all.

Oh.

As we pull the man out of the truck, the bizarre story unfolds. The patient had been at a friend's house out in the boonies and had collapsed. The friend had loaded him into a car and driven (rather erratically, as you can imagine) not to the hospital; oh, noooooo. To another friend's house, twenty minutes away, but also in the boonies. When I say boonies, I mean boonies. As in the northwest version of Deliverance country, where the tattoo to teeth ratio is very high, and where every single-wide trailer. . .er, um. . .home. . .has its own still out in the back yard, not for selling, but for personal consumption. But. . .I digress. So that second friend loaded the (pulseless, apneic) man into his truck, and drove the 40 minutes to the Meth Central ER doors.
By this time, the guy has been dead for well over an hour, if the friend can be believed. But because the patient is young, and he died under somewhat suspicious circumstances, and the friend's IQ is about the same as the GCS of a rock, the doctor decides he wants to work the code. We cut the man's clothes, start ventilating, get the crash cart at bedside. I start CPR. We see what looks like a very fine v-fib, a shockable rhythm, on the monitor, so we charge and clear. One of the nurses drops the arm she's putting an iv in. We all step back and the doc gives the order to shock. The guy lurches- nothing abnormal there- but that loose arm swings up with the shock and smacks me in the ass.

Imagine my surprise.