Southernese In A Northern State

I work with a Southerner transplanted to the Pacific Northwest.  He ‘s a hoot on scene, as he brings a different perspective to things.

I knew we’d bet along just fine on our first call together.  We were outside next to the rig when we looked at each other and simultaneously blurted out “What.  The. Fuck.  Over.”   It was spontaneous and set the tone for our working relationship.

So we found ourselves on another call recently.  The trailer was not the cleanest in the world, and we were treading in some feline feces.

So Southern Boy turned to the occupant, and in his normal loud, boistrous voice, pronounced that there was ‘cat poop’ on the floor.

Damned if he didn’t hear him the first time.

Southern Boy hitched up his pants and said even louder:

“CAT POO-OOP!”

It was all I could do not to snicker out loud.  Thank heavens I had a patient to attend to.

It was just that I’d never heard the word ‘poop’ said so loud or in two syllables! 

Now, I am not totally ignorant of the genteel southern ways.  I’m a big fan of sweet tea.  I love Waffle House.

And I’ve definitely heard the other term for feces, and it was most certainly said using two very clear and distinct syllables. 

“Shee-It”

 I was in tears retelling the story to Hilda later that evening.  Southern Boy has just got to come up for some adult beverages in the Tiki Lounge…

 

Old-School EMS

I worked an extra shift recently, a night shift with my last full-time partner.
It was a typical shift, full of run-of-the-mill calls, including a
‘decent’ car crash.
I was transporting one of the passengers for belly pain, and he started complaining about glass in his eyes.
So I whipped together my handy-dandy eye irrigator, which is a bag of saline with IV tubing, plugged into a nasal cannula. You place the prongs over the bridge of the patient’s nose & let the fluids run. It’s quick, easy, and it works.
They just have to remember one thing. Blink.
As the medic, you just have to remember one thing. Saline – no D5W…

So we bring the guy in to the E.D., who had never seen the set-up, and did their oohing & aahing.
As we pulled away, another job well done, my partner asked me where I’d learned that trick.
It took me a second to bring that particular memory out of the cellar, but it did come.
“Well, young man, I saw it…”
And had to stop and laugh a bit before continuing.
“It must have been out of a magazine, because it was ‘BEFORE THE INTERNET’…”
And that, boys and girls, is old. Especially in EMS years.

In Italy, They Call It An Innuendo

Dr. Obi-Wan Kenobi, Proctologist. Newest physician in the offices of Ben, Dover & Whu.

HEAR Report, Limerick Form

92 year old lady, coming from Assisted Living
Says her foot hurts, that’s about all she’s giving
Vitals are just dandy
No line, no meds, not even candy
5 out, no thinners, so we’re just cruising

Yet Another Pun

Limericks at 0400

Medic 2 inbound in 5 with the real scoop
92 year old lady who says she can’t poop
Vitals are fine
I even started a line
Any changes I’ll call & keep you in the loop

At The Somali National Employment Office…

Overheard:

“OK, so you get seasick easily… Hmmm, kinda crosses Pirate off the list, right?

How do you feel about Christmas Trees? Never heard of them, huh? Yeah, me neither until recently. OK then…

Call center experience? You’d have to relocate to New Dehli… No.

How’s your experience with Playstation? Actual RPGs only… Well, don’t think that fits…

Benihana’s is looking for some help. You don’t have to speak English, but must have some dexterity – oh, sorry Lefty. That wasn’t clear on your resume…”

Goin’ To The Cath Lab…

(To the tune of ‘Chapel Of Love’)

Pain is here
My skin is blue
(whoa-whoa-whoa)
Coronaries are clogged
Nothin gets through
Today’s the day
 I get reperfused
And I’ll never be hurting anymore
Because we’re

Goin’ to the cath lab and we’re
Gonna get prepped
Goin’ to the cath lab and we’re
Gonna get shaved
Gee, I really got chest pain and we’re
Gonna get flouro
Goin’ to the cath lab at last

Pain is gone
I can breathe just fine
(whoa-whoa-whoa)
My pubes will
Grow back with time
In and out in
The nick of time
No waiting for weeks and weeks
Like in Canada

Goin’ to the cath lab and we’re
Gonna get angio
Goin’ to the cath lab and we’re
Gonna get plasty
Gee, I really got chest pain and we’re
Gonna  get flouro
Goin’ to the cath lab at last

Workamyalgia?

You need DISABILACILLIN!

H/T to Dr. Edwin Leap

Also in Aisle 5:  Fukitoll

Drill, Baby, Drill!

“Can you work extra tomorrow?”

I’d just arrived for a 24-hour shift, and got hit up for some extra time while still checking out the ride for the day.

They needed a crew for a (apparently) long-planned disaster drill.

If you look in the dictionary, you’ll find:  Disaster Drill [dih-zas-ter dril] – noun 
     1)  An exercise designed to test the capabilities of one or more public safety agencies presented with multiple patients,
     2)  A completely unrealistic scenario established to create confusion, agitation, and hostility among participants,
     3)  Something to avoid at all costs.

But knowing this pay period is a little lean, I agreed to stay over past my shift that I knew would likely keep me busy for the entire 24 hours.

Surprisingly, we actually managed some sleep overnight.  Things were looking up!

Following a slightly early crew change, I met up with my partner for the day, and headed out to the drill grounds.

Via Starbucks for some breakfast.

Before long, we found ourselves in line, waiting for the kick-off.

After recounting the events from our shifts (my partner had also worked the day before), the smoke bombs went off, tones sounded, and we were underway.

We made 2 trips to the hospital with 3 patients, putting in 4 simulated large-bore IV’s and decompressing one simulated tension pneumo.

Man, you should have seen the look in that kids eyes when I unsheathed the 12-gauge in front of him…  Tee Hee

But the best part of the day was the radio traffic.

“All of the black people have been released to go to the bathroom.”

No, that’s not racist.  It referred to the ‘victims’ who’d been tagged ‘black’ or dead, by the triage team.

“Do we have an actual, physical, real person to drive the bus to the hospital?” 

Seems the bus filled full of the green, or ‘walking wounded’ actually needed a real, non-simulated driver.

And the best:  “The blacks (here we go again) have been moved to the zombie bus and are headed back to Station 6.”

And we were done several hours before I expected.  After a quick lunch supplied by the Salvation Army, we were cut loose, escaping the misery of missing out on the debriefing and getting to head home for a shower and a nap.

Oh, and an image from yesterday. 

After being dispatched, I checked the screen of the computer aided dispatch (CAD) system and saw this:

9,620 years old.  Damn, that’s old.  Ancient.  Uber Geriatric. 

The oldest person I’d seen so far on a CAD screen was a 189 year old who was in her 4th trimester.

Thankfully, neither typo proved to be true.

And all was good.