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Yup. I’m still alive, just in a perpetual state of writer’s block. You might have noticed my twitter updates are a bit slim too. Since starting the new job, stress is better, but still there. The Mrs and I have kind of a lot going on. I’m trying to get the go ahead to do nissen fundoplication for acid reflux, Asher is still batteling his kidney issues and the Mrs has a few medical issues going on too.
Hope to be back at it soon, but just wanted to let you all know i’m still alive.
Head over to Happy Medic Head Quarters to see just what is wrong with our healthcare system. God I hate this crap.
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Thanks!
2 grams of Coke, plus a dash of PCP will make you f’ing nuts. Psycho Nuts.
It might just make you so nuts that you decide that your Super 8 motel room is the set of the next episode of The Detonators.
Step one. Ingest Coke, plus PCP. Step two: Freak the F out! You can ALWAYS identify a PCP high when they have destroyed the porcelain god! Always.
We wondered in through shards of drywall and porcelain, mixed with cheesy drywall and some shards of mirror to find 6 police officers with their knees on the back of a 165 lb man who was all but throwing them around. He had been shot 8 times by less than lethal rounds, OC’d twice, and was now restrained but by no means controlled.
Law Enforcement didn’t know what to do at this point, and honestly, we really didn’t either. While he may have taken that much Cocaine, the PCP has altered that reaction from what would be barely breathing to going nuts. Way nuts. We improvised and chose a less than perfect solution: face down backboarding with hand and leg irons in place. There was no doubt his airway was intact based on the repeated “I’ma fuck you up!” followed by the incoherent screams and spitting. During transport and IV was established and but narcan was NOT given, as symptoms did not match that of a narcotic overdose.
Once we got to the hospital the irons were replaced with leathers, and he was able to be restrained facing supine, but the battle still raged. During the 20 minutes we were there, they gave him 40 mg Valium and 20 mg of Ativan–enough to require you breathe for me–and he still lerched his back and gave the trademark PSYCHO look.
Before we departed they ended up RSI’ing the young fella for both his and his providers safety. His thrashing had caused him multiple cuts and it was only a matter of time before one of the people trying to care for him would be taken out too.
Bad.
I should clarify. The SERVICE at HuHot sucks. I love the food, but I do damn near all of the work, so I SHOULD love it. I get the bowl, pick the meat and noodles, grab the veggies and mix the sauce. What do they do? Take entirely to long to put it on the “grill” and push it around for a while. Only to hand me back my plate without so much as an “enjoy your meal”.
Yup. Service at HuHot sucks. Seriously, every time we go to HuHot we think this. Well, HuHot. I’m done with you. I’m breaking off this on again/off again relationship. I’m sick of waiting 10 minutes for my soda refill(especially since I used entirely too much Kung Pao…Yow!). What is so god forsakenly hard about bringing me a bowl of rice and keeping my god damn soda full? I can get better service from Dairy Queen. I’m sorry, but your food is NOT so good that it makes up for exceptionally crappy service. To make matters worse, this visit was at 2:30 in the afternoon. There were a measly 21 people in the restraunt. There were no less than 7 employees present. 3:1 ratio and you still can’t do your job?
I don’t get it. So… I’m done with you. I’m done with your crappy servers who can’t figure out that their job is sooooo simple. Greet me. Ask if I have been here before. Ask if I’d like to try an over priced appetizer. Bring me rice. Bring me soda. Keep soda full. Bring me Check. Cash in. That is IT! You might wonder why you never get tips? Well… this is why.
Goodbye, HuHot. I hate you.
kthxbai.
Finally started P90X today. Ouch.
I never could have imagined that a video workout program could make your body feel this way. It hurts in a… “ow… but damn that was good” kind of way. Expect a weekly update of my progress.
Because I’m out of shape like there is no tomorrow I’m easing into it. Wish me luck.
Day 1: 189.2 pounds
I’m taking progress pics, but don’t know if I have to guts to post my Day 1 shot.
Called at 0700 for a a Man Down. As we near the scene the update indicates it is a 93 year old woman in her driveway, confused and cold. I honestly expected the typical fall, and, it being 60 degrees out, she was likely a bit chilly….
What I FOUND was actually much more serious. We found a woman, lying on the driveway, wet clothes, and COLD. Very cold. No longer shivering cold. Cardiac dysrhythmia cold. She could tell me her name, and that was it. Neighbors had found her while out walking, and told me she lived alone in this huge old house in the old money neighborhood of little big town.
She was cold. Seriously cold. It is August, we’re not supposed to have hypothermia cases… but a few things left her little chance… She weighed… soaking wet, might you say… 80 pounds. I suspect that even without the dampness she would be damn cold. I suspect she has been down a long time. She has abrasions on her hips and shoulders from dong what some call the “crappie flop”. Further, at 0700, it is rare to find an elderly fall victim fully dressed. She had jeans, blouse, and shoes on. Most of our early morning fall victims have their pajamas on still.
What got me was that she was wet. Not damp, but soaked. No sprinklers near, no pool. I KNEW she had been out since 10pm last night… in the middle of a 3/4 inch downpoor. Poor thing had laid in her driveway, alone and affraid in the middle of a god damn thunderstorm. Then laid out all night, till a passerby noticed her–and I don’t know how they did! She lives on a secluded street up a bendy driveway. Lucky, if you can call her that.
In the field we can do little for cases like this. Warmed IV fluid, blankets, and heat packs in the arm pits is all I had. Fortunately it is a short jaunt to the ED.
Guess her core temp….
84.7 degrees. Yup. Thats cold. Beyond Stage 3 hypothermia. She was in V-Tach(which we did NOT treat due to temp), respiration of 9, but her eyes were open, almost as if they were trying to say something to me….
I’m not sure if she survived. Often times Stage 3 Hypothermia ends in Organ Failure and cell death. This call just goes to show you that you can’t walk into a call close minded. It is flipping August and I just ran a severe hypothermia call.
