Like a page from a book, dispatch sends us code 3 for a finger amputation. Grumbling as I roll out of bed while dispatch updates us–a 27 year old female at one of the local state-run group homes who intentionally put her hand in a garbage disposal. The grumbling increases. The staff at these facilities leave something to be desired and the patients usually are fine. This has to be an overreaction, doesn’t it?

As we round the corner inside the door, the scene is as expected–practically empty.  One staff member sits with our wheelchair bound patient, everyone else seems to be missing, despite it being meal time. A quick once over leads me to believe there is no amputation, the annoyance sets in.

So I ask my patient “whats going on tonight? How come you did this?” I am completely unprepared for the answers that follow. My patient–a 27 year old paraplegic female who suffers from Bipolar disorder, severe depression, and a gamut of other psychological issues–literally just came from our Behavioral Hospital. The very behavioral hospital she has requested to be transported to several times over the last few weeks due to depression and serious thoughts of suicide.

The story goes like this… as a child she was sexually abused by her father, her brothers, and her uncles. Her father pushed her down a set of stairs leading to a mild Traumatic Brain Injury and complete paralysis from the belly button down.

The state put her back in this home where these ingrates continued to sexually assault, mentally abuse, and psychologically destroy her for the next 9 years.  Finally the father is arrested for assaulting a neighbor’s daughter–when the story comes out again and the state takes her into their custody–only to be bounced from group home to group home, from one mental facility to another and back to the group homes. She has literally begged to be given inpatient treatment and the physicians say she just needs long term counseling. She is unable to do anything for herself–she cannot function without someone pushing her along. Not because she is physically weak, but because she is mentally broken.

She hurts because she has to actually hurt herself to get anyone to listen. I tell her we’ll get her help but she knows what that means. I will take her to yet another hospital where yet another doctor will push her back into the care of undereducated and overworked group home staff. All she wants is to feel safe. She wants to know that she can’t get out and THEY can’t get in–but no one will give this to her.

By the time we arrive at the hospital I know her story. I know enough to know that she needs this help. She knows what she needs, but doesn’t have the resources to do it herself.  As I transfer care I take the doc aside and give him the story. I tell him how I think she is a genuine threat to herself and that her mental anguish is real–not like so many of the calls we go on–the ones that made me grumble as I rolled out of bed. This is the real deal.

– — –

Two months later the tones startle me awake. Code 4, Any unit in position, Cardiac Arrest to an address I am all too familiar with. Dispatch updates with a 28 year old female, unconscious, not breathing, her throat is cut.

My foot reaches the floor. My knuckles are white on the wheel. My partner looks at me and asks me if I’m O.K.  I just drive faster. I walk in, the same deserted scene. The same deafening silence. I look down and know we’re too late. I let out a sigh, turn around and make the call.

I hurt because we failed.

I didn’t get a post up this year, so here is this:

And my post from last year: Remember The Fallen

Living days while working nights has proven to be a challenge. It seems as though every night I fall asleep with little effort, but wake up every night between 2 and 3 am–like clockwork–and just can’t seem to fall back asleep.

Tonight I woke up and it was like a switch had been clicked. Wide awake. I hate it. I want to sleep when I’m home, and want to be able to function during the day when possible. Honestly, I wish when I woke up NORMALLY it was that quick.

I am sure part of this is from getting up with Asher for soooooo many nights at nearly that exact time, but I know most of it is from my Night work schedule. It has proven to be a challenge I didn’t expect.

I know that the final key to the puzzle is a little anxiety. Honestly, we’re just skating by financially and have been going through several other medical issues between Mrs Medicthree, Asher, and myself. Asher’s Kidney draining issue is still undiagnosed, despite nearly 30,000 dollars in tests and doctor visits. Mrs. MedicThree’s problems seem to be in the clear, but will require frequent monitoring to be sure. As for myself, I am scheduled for Nissen Fundoplication surgery on Tuesday for my Acid Reflux/Gerd and I am rather anxious to get it over with. I have such frequent reflux that it is a serious burden on our lives. I’m also hesitant because of some of the terror stories out there about the side effects, but I feel as though I have no choice at this point.

Anyways, I plan on fininshing up a few posts in the making this morning/tonight, so please keep coming back to see what I’ve got.

Godspeed, Friends.

On December 7th, 2008 I took a job with a little ambulance service in my hometown. The town where I grew up–where my parents still live. My wife and I moved back home this spring.

The Little Ambulance that Couldn’t has one hell of a reputation. When I was hired on I thought most of it was BS. I was HOPING it was all BS. They said the owner was crazy. They said he was unprofessional, unqualified, unstable…. They said the medics were out of practice, that they were just stretcher jockies.

I tried. I really, honestly tried to make the best of it. I needed an out, and this was it. I took what I had and ran with it… But the breaking point was always on the horizon.

Every time someone went wrong at the Little Ambulance that Couldn’t it was always the end of the world. Out of soap… the sky is falling. Missed an IV… the apocalypse is near! Had a patient get pissed…. OMG… The dinosaurs are coming!!!

The LCTCn’t was more concerned with LOOKING like a real ambulance service than BEING a real ambulance service. We spent more time sweeping, washing trucks, and mopping floors than we did running calls. Since January 1st I was ON 46 calls. I was lead on 26. On 12 of those calls there were 3 or more staff members on the call(any time we had an “exciting” call, every damn staff member in town showed up cause they thought we NEEDED the help. I’m sorry, but I don’t need 27 people vying for control of MY call.).

The owner at the LCTCn’t had a hair trigger. Any time something tiny happened he went off half cocked. When business was bad he wouldn’t hesitate to let us all know how we were all replaceable and he was willing to work 24/7(I raise you this and challenge you to actually do this now!).

I am a paramedic. I want to run calls, restock my truck, and run some more. I’ll wash my rig when it is dirty. I’ll mop a floor when it NEEDS it. I won’t do busy work for the sake of doing busy work. I’ll also take a nap when time permits.

When you treat me like I am disposable, I will do everything my power to prove you otherwise. Step one, walk out. Step two, fight back. Step three…. Win.

Do not try to intimidate me with reminder mailings of my confidentiality agreement. My complaint with the department of labor is well within my rights. You have failed to realize everything I did for you during the last 7 months. I wrote your protocols, designed your website(which you are now unable to update without me), implemented your EPCR program(which you are clueless on) and set up and maintained your internal network. You have no one who can do these tasks. Enjoy finding a medic/maid/IT guy to replace me.

When you are working back to back to back 24 hr shifts with your medics who can’t even spell succinocholine let alone provide you dosages. Enjoy your CPAP device I researched that you aren’t even sure when to use. Enjoy back to back 8 hour transfers. Enjoy continuous turnover because you aren’t willing to take the tools we gave you to succeed.

You’ve proven all you care about is LOOKING like a real ambulance service. When you’re ready to BE a real ambulance service… don’t call me. I have moved on. Gone. Done. Finished.

Good Bye.

a2a_linkname=”Medic Three”;a2a_linkurl=”www.medicthree.com”;

a2a_linkname=”Medic Three”;a2a_linkurl=”www.medicthree.com”;a2a_show_title=1;a2a_hide_embeds=0;a2a_num_services=16;a2a_linkname=”Medic Three”;a2a_linkurl=”www.medicthree.com”;

Just how hard being away from my baby would be. Tonight is my first shift away from home–away from my little boy.

With Ninja Medic. Then Epi followed suit. 

Like death… 

Sick day numero uno. 

Ps, figuring out which stroller/car seat/etc to go with sucks… Being who I am–it is likely to be the most expensive one there is…

Today is a solemn day of remembrance. Today, September 11th, 2008 is the 7 year “anniversary” of one of the most infamous days in American history.

For my family and I today is more. Sept. 11th, 2001 was also the day we burried my grandfather. 

I remember everything about this day. I remember waking up to the phone in our hotel ringing–my grandmother telling us to turn the TV on. I remember watching the second tower fall–and I remember praying for all involved–especially those who ran IN despite the impending danger.

I also remember the tears in the eyes of the VFD members who came to mourn my grandfather–undoubtedly more to those tears than our day of mourning…

I remember the vintage fire engine that lead our way–not knowing who would be left to maintain it now that grandpa was gone.

I remember everything. I think about these things every day. 

You are not forgotten Grandpa… None of you are. 

May God have Mercy on your Souls.