EMTLife Contest - A Patient or Moment in EMS that Changed Your Life

[MMiz]

EMTLife Community Leader firetender has worn many hats in his lifetime; paramedic, artist, tour guide, and more recently published author and blogger.

You can enter to win a free copy of Russ' book, Moments in the Death of a Flesh Mechanic ... a healer's rebirth, by posting about a patient or moment in EMS that has changed your life.

Russ will select five of the most enthralling posts to win a free copy of his book, and one lucky member will receive:

• $25 Amazon.com Gift Certificate
• A copy of Russ' book, Moments in the Death of a Flesh Mechanic ... a healer's rebirth
• EMTLife stickers

Rules:

• Only posts submitted after July 2nd 2012 and before July, 13th 2012 at 11:59 PM EST will be considered for this contest. A winner will be announced by July 18, 2012.
• Your reply must be your work alone, not from another source.

 

[DesertMedic66]

At the age of 14/15 when I had my first DOA. It was a head on car accident with 2 DOAs. One was a female that was 20 y/o. The other was a 90 y/o woman.

It wasn't a single patient that changed me. It was the whole call combined. It made me realize just how quickly life can end. You don't even have to be sick to die.

The 20 y/o female patient was sitting in the car and just looked like she was sleeping. There where no visable injuries. Her husband was in pretty bad shape but he was with it enough to know is wife was gone. Hearing his cry and screams from the pain he was in and about losing his wife was beyond me.

No matter who you are and what you do, no one is safe from dying. You take a 15 year old who is in high school, who's friends are doing the typical high school stuff, and put him having to see and help with this problem was extreme.

I learned alot about life that day and now 5 years later, now that I'm 20, it is still teaching me and making me change the way I am. I used to be the shy guy in the corner of the room before this call. Afterwards I am the guy in the middle of the room who is probably making a fool of himself but having fun while doing it.

 

[mm505]

In 1980, my partner and I worked a car vs bridge embuttment. The driver, a rising high school soccer star was trapped up under the dash. It was 90+ and it started to rain and made everything steamy hot! Took about 1 1/2 hours to remove the dash from him (he was wedged up under it) and we got him out and off to the hospital. He seemed like a nice kid, so we stopped in a couple times just to check in on him. He told us his soccer career was over due to the bad knee injury.

A year plus went by, and my last day at the service (it was absorbed by the FD), a brand new rookie EMT came walking in to relieve me. He asked me if I remembered a car wreck in the middle of the past summer where it rained on the EMTs while trying to get the patient out. I told him "I sure do, the guy never did thank me for helping him!" He reached his hand out to me and shook mine and said "Thank you". He went on to be a full Paramedic with the FD and I believe he is still there!

I still get goosebumps every time I think about him on the day he relieved me!

 

[bigbaldguy]

I'm not eligible for the prize but I thought I'd take this contest as an excuse to work on something. A few of you might recognize this story from one I posted a while ago. I had a few requests to clean it up and maybe rewrite it using "sentences and paragraphs and stuff" maybe even some punctuation. It's still pretty rough as I'm not much for grammar.

My first "bad" call happened after I'd been in EMS maybe a year or so. It was a freeway speed motorcycle accident involving a young male with no helmet. Initially I stayed in the back of the truck to clear the stretcher because we saw it was a bad scene and knew scene time would be minimal. We had 4 on crew so figured I wouldn't be needed outside. While getting the suction ready the medic calls for me and I jump out of the truck. Outside the patient is up and ambulatory after hitting the back of a car at 100 mph. He's combative and agitated and has no idea how bad he's hurt. The kid has a big chunk of skull missing with visable grey matter although we don't realize this till he's in the truck. What we do see is multiple extremity fractures so he looks like a puppet with his strings cut and doesn't want to stay still. It takes all of us plus a good samaritan (a nurse I think) to get him to stop moving. We get him partially immobilized and strapped but he becomes combative again just as we manage to get him loaded.

The guys fighting us in the ambulance, he's trying to pull his C collar off but can't get a hold of it because his wrists are flopping around like, well like two shattered wrists. He's talking to us like he knows us, and calls us by other peoples names. He tells us and asks us things like he's replaying scenes from memories in his head. He pleads with us to drop him off so he can get in line to use his ATM card then tells us to leave him alone cuz he just wants to play with his train on the porch. Yells at one of the medics who he thinks is his sister and tells her to leave him alone or he'll tell mom on her. Calls for his mommy and asks if he's going to die. It starts out making a kind of weird situational sense but then fades to completely random stuff as his brain injury sets in, you could actually see the memories firing off as his brain swelled and died. Just before the RSI drugs took full effect he wasn't saying words anymore just strings of syllables that almost sounded like they might make sense if you could interpret them. He's still wrestling with us as we drive and I'm trying to hold him down as gently as possible but I can feel the shattered bones grating under my hands. I'm the only basic in the back (1 supervisor 1 medic 1 medic student) and I've never felt more useless. I'm just pure brute labor as I straddle the guys thighs and try to keep his flopping arms still enough for them to start a line. At one point he gets an arm free from me and reaches up and palms the medics face covering it in blood. We have no time to clean it off as it's still chaos in the truck and she was so focused I don't think she even knew it had happened.

At one point I start to lose it, just kind of start to shut down but I look up and the student medic makes eye contact with me and says "you're doing good just focus" and that was enough to snap me out of it. They finally get the guy RSI'd and we get to the ER. I'm 2nd off the truck so I'm at the head of the stretcher as we roll in to the level 1 trauma. Blood is just pouring put the back of the guys head and onto the ground leaving a trail so I grab a folded sheet we keep on the stretcher and hold it kind of cupped so that it's catching the blood like a bowl because all i can think is someone will have to clean that up. We hit the ER doors and it's the only time I've ever felt like I was actually in a tv style EMS show. A line of people waiting lining the corridors all in gowns with no one saying a word just weird expectant silence. Then the medic barking her report as we roll in. Someone calls out "shock room one!" and we roll down the hallway with a swarm of people following us. No one is touching the patient yet because he's still ours, this is how I was thinking of him "our patient, not yours" almost in an angry possessive way. When someone veered to close as we rolled down the hall I felt like baring my teeth like an overprotective dog. We had poured all this raw emotional energy into him and it made us feel like we had bizarre ownership of the guy. Someone, a blur in scrubs we pass asks "what happened" and I snap "motorcycle no helmet" then we're past them. No time to say anything else to him and I wouldn't have anyway because he wasn't part of this, he was an outsider, he was a non stretcher bearer. He wasn't in the truck, he wasn't at the scene he was nothing just a blur, barely worthy of 3 sneered words. He's a non person in that place and at that time.

We roll into the room and there's even more people that rush the stretcher. My desire to own the patient evaporates and suddenly all i want is to let him be taken from me. I'm stuck because I'm hemmed in by a tide of people in gowns and masks. They swarm around me like fish. I help them move the guy to the bed while they switch him from the portable respirator to the hospital one then someone hands me the portable respirator but I can't step back from the bed because the damn thing is wrapped up in the arm of the bed. I've never even seen a portable respirator. I have to fumble around until I find a fitting and unscrew the tube then finally manage to get out of the mob. Suddenly I'm standing with the rest of the crew watching as they work on keeping this kid alive.

Just like that I went from being inside looking out to outside looking in. I was the outsider now, I was the non person at that place in that time. I remember a line of nursing students with their mouths open and they're looking at us not the patient and I don't know why. I notice the two medics and I are standing in a little empty space that just kind of formed around us. No one seems to want to stand near us like we're ghosts or unclean. Even their eyes seem to slide off of us without seeing us. Then I focus on the medic students white shirt and it has blood all over it and I look at my boots and they have blood all over them, and I've left big ugly lug soled crimson footprints behind and around me. The ER tech comes up to us and puts a wadded up sheet on the stretcher as a makeshift dam because the blood on the stretcher was slowly dripping off the side and is pooling on the speckled linoleum floor. He gives me a look, kind of locks eyes with me for a sec and we both nod because he is one of us, he's not an outsider he's not a non person in that place and at that time. I see something in his eyes that makes me know this instinctively and much later I wonder if he saw that same thing in my eyes. If he did then he was the first person to ever see it because before that night it wasn't there.

We grab the stretcher and roll and roll back out to the bay where the supervisor who stayed behind is already cleaning the truck. It's decided the truck needs to be pulled forward into the bay so the back can just be hosed out. Somebody says the stretcher needs to be cleaned and I hear myself volunteer and the driver who has been next to me since we hit the ER doors but who I only now notice is there says he'll help. So we're left in the bay and we find a hose and we start spraying down the stretcher and taking it apart and talking to each other saying things like "wow that was crazy" and "did you see his brain" and basically acting like junkies because the adrenaline is burning off and our bodies and brains are crashing. Our hands are shaking and we pretend not to notice it in each other because we want to look like tough :censored::censored::censored::censored::censored::censored::censored:s even though inside all I feel is numbness. We get the stretcher clean and the driver says he needs a soda so he goes inside and I'm drying the stretcher off and notice that the towel is coming off with blood on it because we missed a big puddle somehow. I'm wiping it up and I see a car come around and whip into a spot not far from us and I'm standing there and I get this sick feeling and this guy gets out with a beard. He walks up to me and asks if we just brought in a guy on a motorcycle and I say "yes sir". He asks "how bad was it" and I just look at him and say "pretty bad" but in my head I'm saying "he's already dead his body just doesn't know it yet". I think the guy reads in my eyes what I was thinking because his face just goes blank and he just zombie walks towards the ER doors. I realize I'm standing with a bloody towel in my hand and there's bloody water running off the cement onto the blacktop and down to the street where it's puddling. The rest of the crew is in the back of the ambulance laughing and chatting and acting just like the driver and I were a few minutes earlier and I still have blood on my boots and there are piles of blood soaked towels and wipes we've been using lying on the ground like a pile of forgotten laundry. I look back up and the guy is standing in front of the ER doors but they aren't opening. He starts pushing through the bushes and landscaping to the right of the door I guess looking for a way in. So I run after him and I yell "sir sir" and he doesn't hear me even though he's only 20 feet away, he just keeps pushing through the bushes and crap in the flower bed until I get right on top of him and tap him with the back of my hand. He turns and looks at me and his eyes are just glazed and full of fear and panic. I say "I'll let you in" and we go to the doors and he goes inside and there's a line of blood that leads from the doors all the way back to the room the kid is in and I think to myself "Jesus I hope he doesn't look down" and then I realize I have no idea what I did with the sheet I had been using to catch all the blood with when we rolled the kid in. I look up to take the man to his son but he's already being led off by somebody else so I turn around and walk back out to the bay.

I go back and finish cleaning the stretcher. Then we all load back up into the truck and go back to the nearest supply station and kind of all sit around for a few minutes. The paid guys do their paperwork and the student does his report and I'm out in the truck putting the new seat belts on the stretcher because the others have to be washed. I walk out into the night and look up expecting to see stars but all I see is the glow from the city and I'm still trying to remember what I did with that sheet with all the guys blood on it. I can't figure out where I left it and I'm starting to get upset and tears start to well up in my eyes because I'm angry at myself for thinking about something so stupid as maybe dropping a bloody sheet on the floor. I hear voices behind me and it's the rest of the crew and just like that the moment passes and i go get in the truck with everyone else. Everyone is quiet as we take the supervisor back to his truck which he left at a gas station when he ran up to jump in our truck.

My shift was over 4 hours ago and there's another volunteer at the station that has been waiting so they run me to the station and swap me out for him and then leave because they want to get dinner before they catch another call. So i jump out and tell the guy to jump in and the ambulance goes off back into the streets like a big dumb dog that doesn't care what's happened or is going to happen but just lives in the moment. I'm left standing there in the parking lot of the station as they drive off feeling kinda lost and weirdly lonely. I go inside the station and I wash my hands and look in the mirror and I see I've gotten my shirt wet then I realize it's blood and it's on my pants too and it's all over my watch. So I take my watch off and I put it in my pocket and I get my iPad and my half empty Gatorade from the fridge and I get in my car and I go home. When I get to my condo I take off all my clothes and my boots and I leave them outside my door because I don't want my dog jumping on my nasty uniform plus the smell of the uniform is really making me sick. I think the smell was mostly in my head though if that makes any sense. I walk into my condo in my underwear and tshirt and brace myself for my dog but my sister has her so she's not there. I take a shower and I go to bed.

The next morning I wake up thinking about the guy so I make a coffee and I sit down in front of the computer and I pull up the news and there's one tiny mention of the accident in the news. So I punch the guys name in and I click on a couple links and then suddenly I'm looking at a picture of the guys face on a social network site. I sit there for a minute just looking at this kids picture and debating on whether to click on his info and I decide not to because it's all getting way too real.

About a week later I check the state obits for the guys name and I don't see it so I check a few days later and I still don't see it. I've probably checked the obits every week or so for nearly 2 years watching for that name. I could follow up through management I'm sure and see exactly what happens but I don't really want to. Not knowing makes it all kind of a Schrödinger's cat situation. As long as I don't know if he's alive or dead or paralyzed or hooked up to a machine somewhere being pumped full of air and food and drugs then he's in a kind of limbo, a halfway place in my mind where maybe he's playing with his train on the porch.

 

[bigbaldguy]

In 1980, my partner and I worked a car vs bridge embuttment. The driver, a rising high school soccer star was trapped up under the dash. It was 90+ and it started to rain and made everything steamy hot! Took about 1 1/2 hours to remove the dash from him (he was wedged up under it) and we got him out and off to the hospital. He seemed like a nice kid, so we stopped in a couple times just to check in on him. He told us his soccer career was over due to the bad knee injury.

A year plus went by, and my last day at the service (it was absorbed by the FD), a brand new rookie EMT came walking in to relieve me. He asked me if I remembered a car wreck in the middle of the past summer where it rained on the EMTs while trying to get the patient out. I told him "I sure do, the guy never did thank me for helping him!" He reached his hand out to me and shook mine and said "Thank you". He went on to be a full Paramedic with the FD and I believe he is still there!

I still get goosebumps every time I think about him on the day he relieved me!

That is awesome.

 

[DPM]

And everything went like clockwork. The new HLS was secured pretty quickly and I met up with the section performing the casevac to lend them some man power to help them get there. And don't get me wrong, it was a really bad day for the 3 Afghan lads, but I got a great sense of pride out of ordeal. The low level first aid drills carried out by his friends, the speed at which they were packaged up, the efficiency in which the HLS was secured and protected, and then the reassuring sound of two Apaches circling angrily overhead while the big RAF Chinook helicopter touched down with the Medical Emergency Response Team on board, it all ran like clockwork. One of the Medics ran over to me, I briefed him on the casualties, he gave them a quick once over and then got them loaded up, all within a few minutes. And as quickly as it all started, they were off, in a dust cloud that signaled their departure to the best trauma center in the world.

 

[Anjel]

Wow BBG. That was intense. Definitely life changing.

Mine wasn't drastic. It didn't happen on just one shift. But I swear to the day I die I'll never forget this patient.

She was in her late 70s. I was a brand new basic. We took her to dialysis. She started off in a nursing home. 3times a week we would take her to and from. 3 times a week her husband would be at her bed side. He was the same age and could barly walk. But he would follow us to the truck. Get in his car and meet us at dialysis. He sat with her through the entire tx. He would make sure there was a pillow in the chair, he would guide her feet. And hold her hand. Every day.

After a long time she got to go home. So we started picking her up there. She was different though. She acquired a disease causing her to have uncontrollable and painful bowel movements. She was so embarrassed, and didn't want any one around her. She started loosing her hair. But her husband took care of her. He had her up and dressed and in a wheel chair on the poarch. Every day we went he was right there with her just like before .

She was so mean to him. Well not really mean, but bossy, and demanding. But he just smiled and would do what she wanted.

I asked him one day how he does it. How does he take care of her by himself, and handle her the way she talked to him. He just smiled and said. "That's my baby. When something you love is broken. You don't just throw it away. You fix it."

That really stuck with me. They were married for 62 years.

All of a sudden on day she got a sore on her side. It necrotic and spread across her entire side within 2 days. We took her to the ER on the 3rd day and she died a week later. It was a complication from dialysis.

I stopped by to see her husband a few days later. He had the entire house packed up and was going to live with his daughter. He died the next day. They died 6 days apart. He had no health issues, besides arthritis. And hearing loss.

He couldn't live without her.

I will always remember them. I will always remember what he said. When something you love is broken. You don't throw it away.

 

[abckidsmom]

That's beautiful, Anjel.

 

[bigbaldguy]

I asked him one day how he does it. How does he take care of her by himself, and handle her the way she talked to him. He just smiled and said. "That's my baby. When something you love is broken. You don't just throw it away. You fix it."

That really stuck with me. They were married for 62 years.

That may be the most beautiful thing I've ever read. Thank you Anjel

 

[DPM]

My 2nd time in Afghanistan. This time round I'm in charge of my little J2/ISTAR/Fires team and we're out on the ground supporting an OMLT. The OMLT (or omelet) is the Operational Liaison and Mentoring Team. In this case it was a team of about 15 British Infantry types that were embedded with an Infantry company from the Afghan National Army. OMLT is a rewarding job, though it can be dangerous, and the adage "You can't make a good omelet without breaking a few eggs" was especially true for these guys.

The day stated like any other. We'd been on the ground for a few days, working our way through the green zone, wading through waste deep irrigation ditches and inching through Ten foot high fields of corn. This was really close country, and on my last tour a patrol I was on literally bumped into a group of Taliban fighters while going through terrain like this. All eyes and ears were strained and bayonets were fitted, ready to meet the enemy at close quarters.

One of our objectives was now only a few hundred meters away to our front, but it could have been a mile, all we could see was the 2 feet in front of us. My radio crackled in my ear, one of the Apache helicopters overhead had it's optics trained on the compound we were approaching and they were giving us a play by play. They saw no movement or any signs of life and we continued on. Soon we were right on top of it, the corn field ran right up to the compound wall and we practically walked into it. The Afghan troops that would be clearing the compound moved passed us, their metal detectors at the ready, to begin the laborious task of checking the ground for IEDs. This part of the country was littered with them. Recently a USMC patrol operating about 5 or 6 Km to our north encountered nearly 30 in one 2 mile stretch of road, IED alley was living up to it's name.

I watched as the Afghans slowly moved away and inched their way around the corner of the compound wall. Slowly checking everything with meticulous sweeps of the detector head. The equipment was good, getting it too close to your boots would set all the alarms off, but the Taliban knew this too so their devices were using less and less metal. It was these deeply buried 'low metal content' devices that we worried about, and it was one of them that we found that day.

The air was split with a deafening explosion. It kicked up a huge cloud of dust and right away I could smell the dirty, acrid smoke from what was probably a few kilos of ANFO. I was under no illusions as to what had just happened, and with in seconds my radio was alive.

"Zero, this is Adviser 33 Alpha, contact IED. Wait out".

Then the shouting started. The Afghans started, the OMLT tried to get them to shut up, it seemed like everyone was yelling something. Through the commotion I heard the voice of the young Cpl who was with the clearance team as he took control of their situation. I moved over to him, still in the corn and with the compound wall to my left, and asked him if he needed any help. He had the man power and he was dealing with it, and at the moment I felt proud to be in that Man's army. He probably 21 or 22 years old, he was in the most dangerous part of the most dangerous country on the planet, and he was getting the job done. So I started to busy myself with the task I knew I'd be getting soon. A helicopter Medevac would be launched in a few minutes and they would need a secured Helicopter Landing sight or HLS.

A scan of my map showed me that our best bet was a plowed field that we had moved through about 45 minutes ago, and an abandoned compound on it's Southern end was still occupied by one of our OMLT teams. I got on the radio and told the OMLT commander, he agreed, and between us we hatched a plan to secure our new HLS and evacuate our casualties back to it. We decided to split up my guys, I would leave five of my guys with the casualties as some extra man power and protection while I headed to the HLS with the other for. And off we went, back through the corn maze, and this time there was only five of us! I knew we were covered, we had troops guarding the flanks but what nasty things could be hiding in this corn with us? We didn't hang around and soon we cleared the vegetation. I could see our HLS, and I checked in with the troops there to find them already cracking on with securing and clearing it.

Things were running well, the HLS would be secured shortly, the casualties were on their way back, and so far there was no sign of a Taliban counter attack. The hospital at Camp Bastion was a 20 minute flight away and some quick math told me that the Big RAF Chinook would only be about five or six minutes away. And that's when the wounded arrived.

One of the five men I had detached was a trained combat medic. He'd double checked the treatment that the Afghans had received and had overseen their evacuation this far. They weren't in a good way. One of the Afghans had blood soaked bandages covering the stumps of his legs, with two tourniquets applied just below the knees. Another bandage covered his right hand and arm, with a fourth covering most of his face. The two others weren't much better. One had a wound high up on his thigh, with the empty 'celox gauze' packaging tucked under the bandages to remind the medics that the wound had been packed with the powerful hemostatic agent. The final casualty was sat, leaning forward, holding a dressing to his mouth and trying to support his clearly smashed jaw, while blood and saliva leaked out of the hole in his cheek. I was about to check my watch when my radio crackled in my ear once again.

"Witchcraft 11 this is Ugly 50, Morphine is 3 minutes out."

British Apache attack helicopters all have 'Ugly' call signs, and today I had Ugly 50 and 51 overhead with a Chinook, call sign Morphine, on it's way in. I held the Apaches circling a few thousand feet above us to clear the airspace so the Medevac could come in low and fast, telling them to look out for the blue smoke. With three aircraft in the air and just as many wounded on the ground, I wanted to keep the helicopters separated as a mid-air collision would make me very unpopular. I pulled the pin on my smoke canister and tossed it into the HLS. In order to throw off any Taliban that may be lurking to get a shot off at our Chinook, other call signs threw a red and an orange smoke into some nearby fields. With the Medevac knowing to look for the blue, the other colors would keep any bad guys guessing.

In it came, the twin rotors beating the air into submission and thoroughly sandblasting every exposed piece of skin I had. The aircraft settled with it's nose into the wind pretty much right on top of us. One of the Medics ran off the ramp, with a few of their own 'force protection' troops and they headed over to me. Without a word (it would be impossible to talk anyway with two jet turbines screaming away only a few feet away!) I pointed to our casualties, who were lined up and ready to go. After a quick check of their dressings the Medic gave the signal and we picked up our guys and headed to the helicopter with him, the most serious casualty first. On board the helicopter would be another Paramedic, a Senior ER nurse and a Doctor, who would no doubt be dealing with our amputee. It was over in a few minutes, Chinooks mate big targets so they don't ever want to hang around. The last casualty was on board, I counted my guys off, and with a thumbs up to the Air Crewman on the ramp we turned and hunkered down as the helicopter lifted off again. For the third time that day I was surrounded dust. 30 minutes before it signaled the horrific injuries that those three young men received, this time it signaled their departure to the best trauma center in the world.

A later found that it was 28 minutes from the first contact report coming in to wheels down for the Medevac. That was impressive, and exactly how things should have gone. I was happy with myself that I'd done my job well, but I was more proud of my men and especially the young Cpl from the OMLT. That morning could have been a total sh*t show but it wasn't, and that was due entirely to the leadership shown by the Junior NCOs and to the training that all these men received. 28 minutes from wounding to MERT, I kept saying that to myself. And it was reassuring to the lads, to know that if the balloon went up we could get help to them quickly.

That wasn't my first casualty, or my last for that tour, but it's the one that's stuck with me the most.

 

[Tigger]

It took me all of about three months to have my perspective on EMS fundamentally adjusted, and it was the result of a fairly unremarkable call during my last shift of the summer before heading back to Colorado.

We had spent the last three hours in a Dunkin Donuts parking in Lower Mills (southern part of Boston) which gave me a chance to reread much of The House of God, the book that is eternally in my work bag since it never gets old. My partner, who'd I never worked with before, was growling on about how it was time for dispatch to call us back to base when they instead asked us to head to down to a very large assisted living complex several towns south of Boston. I was none to pleased about this either, as we were looking at least a 15 minute response time even with lights and sirens. In any case I put the book down and copied the information and we were off with a tirade of angry verbiage from my partner about having to go so far from base right at quitting time. Naturally, we immediately hit traffic on the expressway despite it being a weekend afternoon.

Eventually we arrived at the gate and the security guard/EMT handed over a sheet with the call details, all which pointed towards and 82 year old female with a UTI. Per usual, we immediately got lost in the labyrinth of roads that make up this complex which did nothing for my partner's mood and further reinforced my notion that no late call will ever go to plan. Finally we found the right building after being given an escort by a staff member. Throwing the AED and bag onto the cot, I listened as another security guard gave my partner a quick report. The patient's vitals were crap, and the guard looked a bit uncomfortable.

As soon as I walked through the front door, I was met by more security/EMT folk who also bore uncomfortable looks on their faces. Before I could even ask "so whadawegot?" one of them looked at me and sighed, "finally you guys are here." I looked down at the patient, who was sprawled in a recliner and was barely responsive. Eyes closed and face a mask of agony, she could barely speak and could not even tell me her a name. My partner looked around the room and inquired what the staff had done for treatment. Everyone just looked at us blankly so we went back to our assessment which confirmed that this patient was in fact as sick as she looked and likely septic. With help, we picked her up and moved her as gently as possible to the cot. The room was silent save the patient's persistent and agonizing moans. I considered calling for medics but we were only 12 minutes from the ED and the medics would be at least as far.

I got in back and called in to the hospital while my partner got us underway. I'll never forget that ride to South Shore, I've never felt so useless in my entire life. Here I was with a truly sick patient in need of care that I just couldn't come close to providing. This woman was in more pain than anyone I've ever seen, more than the femur fractures I've dealt with, and I could do almost nothing for her. My partner avoided every bump and I gave her all the pillows and rolled up blankets I could find, but in the end all I could do was hold her hand and tell her everything would be ok.

At about the five minute mark I did another assessment and realized I was full of it. I had no idea if everything was going to be ok, because I flat out had no idea what was really going on with this patient besides the fact that she was quite sick. It dawned on me that I just should not be in this position. My patient can't form a cohesive sentence, but her face tells all. She wants help and she is not getting it. After another agonizing five minutes we were finally in the ER and the triage staff took pity on us and let us go straight to a room as the patient was now vomiting profusely. As a team of nurses descended, I helped cut off the now sweat and urine covered nightgown that the patient had spent the ride clutching with her other hand. The patient howled as we slipped the nightgown off and another RN started a line on her hand. I asked if the nurses needed anything else and then leaned in and squeezed the woman's hand. All I could come up with was "please feel better, I'm sorry we couldn't do more." The nurses looked at me quizzically as I left the room to go write my report.

Once clear we were given the ok to head back to base and that's when things changed for me. The entire system had failed this woman, and I was key player in that failure. It took us forever to get to a call that the local ambulance, prohibited by regulation to respond, could have gotten to in five. The complex's staff did nothing for the patient but stare at her, and no one thought of calling for medics that were coming from the hospital we would pass while responding and eventually transport to. But most of all, I was angry with myself. I had done everything I was trained to do, but it made no difference in the patient's outcome and often only served to cause her further pain. It was at this point I vowed to myself to start down a path that would make sure that I rarely find myself in this position again. I went home and changed my school schedule to load up on health-care prerequisite courses so down the line, I'll be able to get a true medical education and make sure that when a patient truly needs my help, I'll be able to, you know, help them.

I still work as a basic for the same company. I'm still not satisfied with sick patients being seen only by EMTs and not getting the help they need out of hospital. The system remains broken, and I remain a part of it. I only wrote this all down after reading the last line of Anjel's story. "If you love something, you don't throw it away, you try and fix it." I love EMS and I will keep trying to fix it in whatever capacity that I can. This patient of mine will always be my reminder to keep trying to be better.

 

[bigbaldguy]

Tigger that was awesome! Very well written.

 

[EMT91]

Since I have only had clinical round experience, I am somewhat limited in this- but one thing does stand out. While I was in Basic school, we had to do two ER shifts at different hospitals. The second one was better, at least for me, as it taught me many things. Being that I had never performed CPR before, other than on the practice dummies/manikins, I was eager that if someone did need CPR, that I hoped I was there to help out. (I had to explain this concept to my non ems friends and family, I am sure you all understand). After four or so hours of working, a code was called and I ran up and helped work it. After a few minutes, the patient regained a pulse (I had been doing compressions) and the doctor told me to stop. I had worked my very first code...and it was a code save. My heart was racing and I felt great. (As far as I know, the patient is still alive.) Later that day though, something happened that will forever stay with me. I was just coming back from a short break, feeling great still, walking down the hall when a CNA grabbed my arm and pulled me into a room with at least 10 people in it- a large man was in cardiac arrest and CPR was being performed. I took my turn doing compressions, and then switched off, only to do it again a few moments later. The man was nude, he had a cath, an IV, and a needle decompression in his chest...after a bit, the doctor called time of death. The man had been down for nearly 45 minutes I was told, before being brought in. Now, I have seen dead people before, on medical shows like Dr. G and I have seen cadavers. I have seen dead people with makeup on for the funeral. But until that moment, I had never been near someone who was, for want of a better word, freshly dead. It was very surreal, part of me knew there was no way to bring him back, that he was gone before I even started compressions, but another part of me wanted to scream in contest, wanted to beg that something could be done...a small part of me that is. I was about to leave the room when the two CNAs told me to help them clean the man up so his father could say goodbye. Apparently they thought I looked like I was gonna pass out on them so they told me to go get some juice and wash my face with some water. When I came back, they made sure I was alright and explained to me what I already knew- we cannot stop a lot of things from happening, we are not Gods, we can only do so much and then its done. The doctor later came and talked with me, reiterating the same thoughts. I knew them. I knew and know we are not as some people think we are- we are not all powerful, we cannot save everyone. However, knowing something and being in a situation where you have to accept something are different. Being in the room when his time of death was called has helped me to accept that I, and everyone else in EMS will lose patients, we will not always be able to fix whatever it is that ails them. Learning such a valuable experience early on and in that setting, with supportive CNAs, RNs, and a doctor really helped me to grow and accept what my head already knew. I will forever remember that moment.

 

[bigbaldguy]

EMT91 it sounds like you had some awesome people around you for your clinical. I bet they would be very proud of you if they were to read this.

 

[EMT91]

I am honored to work with them, and to have you say such. I admit, my first ER clinical was....I found out I am really good at cleaning hospital beds and putting fresh sheets on them.

 

[bigbaldguy]

I am honored to work with them, and to have you say such. I admit, my first ER clinical was....I found out I am really good at cleaning hospital beds and putting fresh sheets on them.

Cleaning while not the most glamorous part of our job is probably the most important and at the same time least practiced skill we have.

 

[Sandog]

Not all calls are bad

Hope I did not miss the theme or idea of this post because my post is not full of excitement like a CVA or anything, but here goes.


A standard IFT call, nursing facility reports a elderly woman with poor vitals. Well yeah, her vitals were poor as told by nursing staff, heart rate of 50 and a systolic not much higher. Albeit I could give in-depth detail of her assessment and vitals but, that is not the story. Inter facility transfer work is oftentimes a smattering of boredom betwixt and between a modicum of the mundane, but every so often, we are introduced to something worth writing home about.

Back to the story; as we get patient information, we were told that the patient was born in 1910. I quickly did a Scoobedoo double take as I quickly realized, internalizing this in my brain, “Damn... This is one ol lady”. As I stood using my phalange-computing device against my thigh, I realized this woman was over a hundred years old. Wow, I say to myself as images of horse and buggy were conjured up in my head. These images were quickly followed up by WWI, prohibition, the depression, WWII, and countless presidents she must have seen come and go in her lifetime.

What a rarity and a privilege to care for a part of our history, and such a responsibility to ensure this woman make it safely to her destination. As we loaded her onto the gurney I could see she was frightened, and this saddened me as I knew uncertainty and strangers was a scary place. I held her hand, told her not to be afraid because I was not driving (my strange wit). She seemed at ease after that, and we strolled her outside to the truck. After she was loaded up in the back, I jumped in and held her hand trying to be as reassuring as I could (for what its worth).

A sense of comfort came over her as she and I spoke; she began to tell me stories of her old glory days of cutting a rug and being wild. She told me she was quite a looker in her day and had many a gentlemen caller, she went on about dancing the jitterbug, sneaking into speakeasies despite her mothers warnings, and on and on, and I don’t mean that as if she was rambling as she had me listening intently. We were up to the dust storms of the Midwest when I saw we had arrived at the hospital ER. I was saddened again, but not like before, rather because the trip had ended and I enjoyed the stories so much.

This was the part of my job I hated; I had to leave this sweet woman in the hands of another, as my part was done, and it was time to move on. In the short time I knew her, I felt like I had met my great grandmother, and I felt that she endeared my life in some way. To this day I often am reminded of her and wonder how she is, or if she is still with us.

The bad calls I can forget and rather not remember, but memories like this one is what keeps me getting up each day to do it again.

 

[abckidsmom]

It's not my contest, but I'd say you caught the drift. We lose treasures every day, but you found one and have her a spin around the block one time.

You very beautifully nailed one of the coolest parts of the job. When you acknowledge and respect old people, you stand to get very rich.

 

[bigbaldguy]

Hope I did not miss the theme or idea of this post because my post is not full of excitement like a CVA or anything, but here goes.


A standard IFT call, nursing facility reports a elderly woman with poor vitals. Well yeah, her vitals were poor as told by nursing staff, heart rate of 50 and a systolic not much higher. Albeit I could give in-depth detail of her assessment and vitals but, that is not the story. Inter facility transfer work is oftentimes a smattering of boredom betwixt and between a modicum of the mundane, but every so often, we are introduced to something worth writing home about.

Back to the story; as we get patient information, we were told that the patient was born in 1910. I quickly did a Scoobedoo double take as I quickly realized, internalizing this in my brain, “Damn... This is one ol lady”. As I stood using my phalange-computing device against my thigh, I realized this woman was over a hundred years old. Wow, I say to myself as images of horse and buggy were conjured up in my head. These images were quickly followed up by WWI, prohibition, the depression, WWII, and countless presidents she must have seen come and go in her lifetime.

What a rarity and a privilege to care for a part of our history, and such a responsibility to ensure this woman make it safely to her destination. As we loaded her onto the gurney I could see she was frightened, and this saddened me as I knew uncertainty and strangers was a scary place. I held her hand, told her not to be afraid because I was not driving (my strange wit). She seemed at ease after that, and we strolled her outside to the truck. After she was loaded up in the back, I jumped in and held her hand trying to be as reassuring as I could (for what its worth).

A sense of comfort came over her as she and I spoke; she began to tell me stories of her old glory days of cutting a rug and being wild. She told me she was quite a looker in her day and had many a gentlemen caller, she went on about dancing the jitterbug, sneaking into speakeasies despite her mothers warnings, and on and on, and I don’t mean that as if she was rambling as she had me listening intently. We were up to the dust storms of the Midwest when I saw we had arrived at the hospital ER. I was saddened again, but not like before, rather because the trip had ended and I enjoyed the stories so much.

This was the part of my job I hated; I had to leave this sweet woman in the hands of another, as my part was done, and it was time to move on. In the short time I knew her, I felt like I had met my great grandmother, and I felt that she endeared my life in some way. To this day I often am reminded of her and wonder how she is, or if she is still with us.

The bad calls I can forget and rather not remember, but memories like this one is what keeps me getting up each day to do it again.

This was a wonderful story and thank you for sharing.

 

[EpiEMS]

The bad calls I can forget and rather not remember, but memories like this one is what keeps me getting up each day to do it again.

These are some of the best calls (while I don't do IFTs, I've had the privilege to talk to some lovely elderly patients who have terrific stories), wonderfully written!