Friday, November 14, 2008

Code Green, Psych E.R.... Code Green, Psych E.R...

Call to the local police station to pick up a 5150. Patient is a 71 year old male, diagnosed with psychosis, delusions, auditory hallucinations.... etc, etc...
We get him out of the "drunk tank" the cops have stuck him in, and he seems pretty polite, pleasant. He's following directions, acting pretty normal....The drive to the hospital is uneventful as well, he makes small talk with my partner and everything seems just fine.
Then...
(DUH DUH DUHHHHHHH!!!)
He starts hyperventilating as soon as we pull into the ambulance bay. He wont respond to my partner's persistent question of "Are you having trouble breathing, sir?"
We assume he's just doing it just... to do it. He almost sounds like he's growling, and it's starting to creep me out. My partner slips away to use the restroom, and the minute she's gone, all hell breaks loose.
He starts screaming, at the TOP of his lungs...:
"HELP ME! HELP ME! PSYCHIATRIC EMERGENCY SERVICES! HELP ME, THEY'S TRYIN' TO KILL ME! I'M JOE SMITH, THEY'S TRYIN' TO KILL ME, PSYCHIATRIC EMERGENCY SERVICES!"
(And mind you, the 'psychiatric emergency services' part sounds more like 'sykatrik merge 'n see services')
I try to calm him down, the cops try to calm him down.. Hell, everyone who walked by him tried to calm him down, and he's not having it. He's been screaming nonstop for almost 20 minutes now, and he's way past the point of disturbing everyone in the hospital. He's now to the point where all the E.R. docs are ready to shoot him with a tranquilizer gun. This particular Psych E.R. is a county facility, and they have a tendency to take about 6 years to admit a patient, (which, they only admit ONE patient at a time...)
THANKFULLY, an E.R. doc walked up, and when SHE couldn't calm our patient down, she threatened to call a "Code Green" unless the Psych E.R. let us in. They, of course, stood around staring at each other.
So, here we go.
"CODE GREEN, PSYCH E.R....CODE GREEN, PSYCH E.R......CODE GREEN, PSYCH E.R...."
A "Code Green" is a psychiatric emergency. Meaning someone is going crazy enough for the nurses to be afraid for their own safety. Watching a Code Green go down is pretty hilarious, because out of nowhere, 20 police officers show up and tackle the patient. They disappear as quickly as they came, and the patient is too terrified to pull any more sh*t.
As soon as the code is called, the Psych doors open up and we're let in. He calms down, but only for a minute. Then, he refuses to get off the gurney....then refuses to sit in a chair.... then refuses to stand up...
THEN HE STARTS YELLING AGAIN.
The nurses give him about 2 seconds to calm down before he's given Ativan.
ZONK! He's out.


Lucky bastards. If only I was allowed to give Ativan, but then, of course... This blog wouldn't exist.

Over and out-
the PSYCH wrangler

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Silly questions I have been asked...

All completely true. Things people have asked me while on duty. If you are guilty, just blush and put your head down. Be ashamed.

1) Is that a REAL ambulance?
-No, it's fake. Gee, you caught me. The uniforms are rented, too. We just drive around picking up sick people for fun.

2) Can you refill my prescription?
-WOW, you know I completely forgot that the Greek translation for 'ambulance' is 'pharmacy.' No, I cannot refill your prescription. I can, however, punch you in the face for being a moron.

3) Do you get paid well to do this?
-Not exactly a silly question, but everyone asks. The answer is NO, we get paid horribly, but most of us do it because we love it. So be nice.

4) Can I smoke in here?
-Yea, I don't see a problem with that. Except for that big bottle of flammable oxygen right behind you.

5) Can I smoke before we leave?
-Really? If you have the energy to stand outside my ambulance and have a cigarette before we take you to the E.R., you should probably drive yourself.

6) Can we stop and get something to eat really quick?
-No. Seriously? No.

7) Are you the fire department?
-Yep. We hide the hoses and ladders to trick people. Shhhh! Don't tell anyone!

8) Can you turn the lights and sirens on?
-Again, not such a silly question. But if you're able to sit up and ask me, then no, we can't turn them on. You're fine.

9) Can you hear the sirens inside the ambulance?
-(This wasn't asked to me, but I heard about it and cried I was laughing so hard.)
No, YOU can hear them 3 miles away, but I can't hear them when they're going off 3 ft. away from my face.

10) (Asked by a passerby while I was at station)
What is it, exactly, that you guys do here?
-(I turn around, staring at the 10 AMBULANCES parked in the parking lot, look down at myself in my uniform that has 'EMT' in big red letters on the back...)
Ice cream trucks. Are you that retarded?

Monday, November 10, 2008

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's a..... blowdryer?

"BEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEP! UNIT 88, EIGHT-EIGHT ON COMMAND 4, 3RD ATTEMPT!"
Oops.. I awake groggily from the bench seat in the back of the rig and wriggle up to the front, grabbing the radio. "This is 88, go ahead.."
"88, please landline dispatch."
"88, copy. Standby for landline."
I grab the phone and dread calling in.
"Dispatch, this is Jess."
"Hey Jess, it's 88, what's up?"
"Hey, where have you guys been?! I've been calling you on the rad for like 10 minutes!"
"Sorry, we fell asleep, I didn't hear it."
"Ok, well I have a call for you guys. 5150, female attendant required. Coming out of a residence in Crackside, going to Gotham City Medical."
"Alrighty, show us enroute."
We arrive on scene to a small apartment complex in a not-so-nice part of town. We start walking down a small sidewalk through the complex, and as we approach the door to the apartment we're looking for, a county health worker runs out, covering her head and screeches past us and down the street.
Uh-oh.
Just then, out of the same door, a table lamp flies out and crashes against the wall opposite the apartment. I notice there's already a dining room chair lying against the same wall.
Hmmm.....
We back down the sidewalk and out to the street, find the county health worker cowering near the corner of the building and ask her what's going on.
"She just went ballistic! We told her she needed to go to the hospital and she went crazy on us. She punched my partner!"
"Have you called the police for backup?"
"Over an hour ago! They still haven't responded."
Now, I'm not trying to diss the police, they are amazing and have certainly saved my ass several times in situations similar to this one. You have to understand, they often recieve these calls the same way we do-with minimal information, and are told it's no emergency. (Because in reality, it isn't.) They are probably across town, stuck in traffic, with no idea what's going on here.
We coax the county health worker and her partner back to the apartment. We approach it with caution, and I peek my head in. The woman spots me immediately, and I duck just as a blowdryer whizzes past my head. Surprisingly, the woman is probably in her 70s, maybe 5 ft. on a good day, and probably about 100 lbs. soaking wet. She's screaming at us now, "You're not taking me anywhere you filthy bastards! I can't believe this!" We back out again, my partner looks at me and says, "F**k this.. I'm out."
"No, no wait, we can handle this."
"No way! I'm not a cop, they can handle this, let's get out of here."
"No, no. The cops are gonna take too long, let's at least try."
The county people step slowly inside the apartment and try to reason with her. She's run out of ammo, the rest of the stuff in the room is too big for her to throw. One of the county ladies comes out and says, "I think she's small enough for us to pick her up and put her on the gurney ourselves, but we need your help..."
My partner fights it, insisting that we aren't allowed to do that, bla bla.. Truth is, I know we can't use excessive force, but if this lady is getting violent, we gotta get her out of here somehow. I can lead the patient out of the apartment, but I can't really wrestle with her unless she starts getting aggressive with me. We all go in, county health workers each grab an arm, my partner and I each have a leg and we literally DRAG her kicking and screaming out the door. We plop her on the gurney, start to strap her down, when I get a lovely view of the woman's...er...crotch. She was wearing a nice flowery moo-moo and (apparently) no panties. I got flashed quite a few more times until we got her feet restrained.
Then, the cops pull up.. Lucky, they got to just take some names and leave since we already had it under control. Nice timing, guys.
The woman continues to scream, ramble, etc. We load her in the back, and she suddenly stops, turns to me and asks very calmly "Did you bring my purse?"
"Errmm.. Yea, it's right here." I pick it up and wave it in front of her, just in case she didn't believe me.
"Oh, ok thanks."
She then settles back, and proceeds to have a normal, calm conversation with me. Turns out, she has a pretty long psych history, and has run out of her meds. County health workers were called when a neighbor saw her wandering around the apartment complex in her undies. We delivered to Gotham City Medical, a calm, collected, seemingly sweet old lady.. Little did they know..
I will forever have burned in my brain, the image of random pieces of furniture/appliances flying out the door of that woman's apartment.
And I will always laugh hysterically about it.

Over and out-
the PSYCH wrangler

That'll do pig.... that'll do..

"Unit 88, eight-eight, I have a call coming out of a residence in Richy-Rich Town for ya. Going to Grapevine Psych E.R., how do you copy?"
"88, copy, send it over the MDT and show us enroute"
I look down at the MDT. Patient is an 11-year old male, danger to self. We arrive on scene and are greeted by a county health worker. "What do ya got for me?" I ask. I recognize the guy, I've taken a few other patients for him in the past. "Oh, hey! How are ya? This one should be fun for you. 11-year old, threatened to kill himself after mommy wouldn't let him play his video games. Here's the deal, this isn't the first time the kid's done this. I put him on the 5150 thinking maybe he'd realize he cant threaten to off himself every time he doesn't get his way. I want you to make this experience as unpleasant as possible for him. Hopefully, we wont ever hear from the kid again."
My partner chuckles, gestures towards me and says "Well, you called the right place! She's our reigning bi*ch supreme."
I laugh and playfully punch him in the shoulder. The front door of the house opens, and out skips our patient, suitcase in hand.
"COOOOOL!! I get to ride in an AMBULANCE!!"
"Hey buddy!" my partner says, "Go ahead and jump up on this bed, we'll put your seatbelts on and get going in a minute."
At this point in time, it was not required for us to restrain all psych patients. It has become a company policy since, due to some..ahem.. mishaps. But back then, it was up to the attending to decide whether or not to restrain the patient. I, of course, winking at my partner, whisper "4-point." Meaning, I wanted the kids arms and legs tied down. My partner smiles and says "You got it, girl!"
The kid looks up at me, a little confused, and I explain.."We do it for everyone. Just a precaution, no worries." He nods, kisses mommy and little sister goodbye, and we put him in the back. I jump in, sit down, and start the party.
"So, where am I going? The doctor?"
"Doctor? No, you're going to a psychiatric facility."
"You mean like a crazy house?"
"No.. well, yeah, I guess."
"Oh... for how long?"
"72 hours. Do you know how long that is? It's 3 days."
"Cool, that means I get out of school! No homework!"
"Heh, well I'd rather go to school than go to Grapevine. It kinda sucks, they lock you in a room with a T.V. You aren't allowed outside, and you can't have your stuff. It gets pretty boring, plus there's usually a bunch of weirdos in there..."
"Really? Oh...ok.. So I can't have my gameboy?"
"Nope. Not even your clothes, you have to wear a hospital gown."
The kid starts squirming a little. I silently high-five myself.
I know what you're thinking, I'm so cruel, such a jerk, no compassion, bla bla. But here's the thing- the kid is obviously spoiled rotten. And when I was his age, if I had said the things he said about his mother (and even TO his mother), I would have been spanked within an inch of my life with a wooden spoon or hairbrush (bristles down!). I ask the kid why he threatened to kill himself, and he says "I dunno. I hate school, I hate homework. I hate my mom, she never lets me do anything." I tell him scoldingly that homework and school is something everyone's gotta deal with, and it's no reason to throw a tantrum. By the time we get to Grapevine, I can tell he's a little worried. I try to calm him down by telling him it will be fine, it's only 3 days. He nervously gulps and nods, and we bring him in. Grapevine happens to be a county hospital-the perfect place to teach this kid a lesson. County hospitals are notorious for having the weirdest, kookiest and wackiest psych patients running around, and we were lucky to score a perfect time to come in, for there she was. The wackiest, weirdest and MEANEST psych patient I have ever come across in my career.
In all her glory, she was strapped into leather restraints on a chair in the waiting room, with her 2 EMTs sitting nearby. The kid immediately starts freaking out, because the lady has just let out the longest stream of obscenities I've ever heard. He looks at me, wide-eyed and absolutely terrified, and I say, "Don't worry. Look, she's tied down. We wont let her do anything."
--Just for kicks, let me give you a description of what this lady looks like. She's probably in her 80s, with wiry, crazy grey hair literally sticking STRAIGHT up off her head. She's wearing a potato sack, (literally) and has an incredibly grotesque looking smushed up face, almost like a witch.
Ok, so the lady is cursing like a drunk sailor, and one of her EMT attendings yells at her, saying there's a little kid in the room, he doesn't need to hear that kind of language.
Wait for it.... Ok, here it comes..
The lady whips her head around, looks MY patient straight in the eye and goes "WHY THE HELL DOES IT MATTER?! He's just gonna get baby-raped like the rest of 'em. YOU HEAR ME, LITTLE BOY?!"
The kid bursts into tears, literally crawling out of the gurney and pleading with me to take him home. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'll never do it again please just take me HOME!"
I calm him down and whisk him through the doors of the psych E.R., away from the crazy woman. I think he's had enough. I pull the doc aside, explain what the county worker told me, and the doc walks over to the kid.
"Hey man, so what happened?"
"I just wanna go home, I was mean to my mom and told her I wanted to kill myself but I don't, I don't I just didn't wanna do my homework! I'm sorry!"
"Hey, it's ok. Guess you'll be careful about what you say next time, wont you? Homework is no reason to kill yourself buddy. We still have to keep you here for an evaluation but I'll see if we can get you home tonight or tomorrow morning."
"Ok, ok just please don't let that crazy old lady near me she's really scary!"
The doc gives me a puzzled look and I say "Oh, yea, you got a real winner in the waiting room."
Right on cue, the other crew brings the lady through the door, and she's still screaming obscenities. The doc is trying really hard to keep a straight face, and tells the kid he'll keep her away from him. We hand over paperwork and walk out.
We laughed the whole way back to station, and when we got there, I called my mom and told her I loved her. When she asked why, I told her that I hoped I wasn't too much of a pain in the ass when I was a kid, and I just wanted to tell her how much I appreciate her. She seemed a little confused, said "Love you too, sweetie. Have a good day at work." and hung up.
Oh yea, it's been a good day at work alright.

Over and out-
the PSYCH wrangler

Not for the faint of heart.

I'm on our CCT rig one night. I like working CCT because the calls are more like 911, our nurse is pretty cool and teaches us alot and we get to hang at station instead of sitting in the hot rig at some post. It's late, and we get woken up to go to a city pretty far from our station. Dispatch informs us that the CCT unit from that area is down, so we'll have to cover their calls.
The page comes in- Picking up from a rehab center and going to the nearest hospital. Code 3 (using lights and sirens)
Diagnosis: Nosebleed.
Wait, what?! A nosebleed? Hmm.. Ok, whatever. Light 'em up, head out. We arrive on scene and we're greeted by a security guard who opens the gate for us. He tells us there is a doctor waiting at the front door for us, and lo and behold, there is! He looks pretty young, maybe late 20's, and he's pretty freaked out.
"He's been bleeding since 10 p.m. We've tried everything, it just wont stop."
10 p.m.? It's 3 in the morning! This is beginning to sound interesting. The patient is trach'd. (Hole in the throat, you know, where the lady from the anti-smoking ads smokes from.)
We walk into the patients room, which looks like some gory scene from a horror flick. Blood is literally everywhere-covering the floors, the walls, the bed, and the patient. There are about 7 nurses in the room, all in full hazmat gear; gowns, gloves, masks, shoe covers...The works.
We gown up and walk in. The guy is fairly young, probably late 30s, early 40s. He's awake, alert, with sweat pouring off of his face. There appears to be a makeshift tampon stuffed in his nose, we learn later that it's actually a huge blood clot. He tries pulling it out, and we discourage him, telling him it's the only thing that's slowing the bleeding down. We frantically load him up and get him out to the rig. The nurse Jorge and I jump in the back, our driver gets in the front and quickly tries to figure out where the hospital is. (We were about an hour and a half from home, so we're pretty unfamiliar with the area)
The patient seems to be doing alright, his vitals are fairly stable but if he continues to bleed so much he's going to go downhill pretty quickly. I flip through his paperwork and find out he's at the rehab center as a recovering alcoholic. Makes sense, it's probably why the blood wont clot. I'm trying to make sure he doesn't pull the 'tampon' out, I tell him that I understand it's bugging him, but he has to leave it in. He nods in understanding and settles down, still sweating profusely. Jorge pokes his head through to the front to give our driver directions. I'm stuck watching this guy bleed, when he suddenly grabs my arm. Looking up, I realize he looks extremely worried. Because of the trach, he's unable to talk, so I try to figure out what he's freaking out about. I ask him, "Are you having trouble breathing?" thinking that maybe his trach had gotten blocked by fluids or something. He shakes his head no, and I continue the game of 20 questions. He looks really pale, so I ask "Are you feeling sick?"
YES! He nods excitedly, yes, that's it.
"Do you think you're going to throw up?" He nods again, so I grab an emesis basin (fancy word for 'puke bucket') and stick it in his lap. I try to tell him to relax, I know he must be so uncomfortable but we'll be at the hospital soon. I look at him, waiting for him to throw up, and he holds up his index finger, as if to say "Hold on..."
Blood starts dribbling out of his mouth, down his chin. Before I can even process what's going on and grab Jorge to help, IT comes out.
Now kids, this is for real. I'm not exaggerating, and yes this really CAN happen, and it did.
IT is a blood clot, the size of a grapefruit. It pours out of his mouth in one huge 'plop' and spills into the emesis basin. Wide-eyed, I grab Jorge's arm, shouting his name repeatedly. He finally turns around from navigating the driver in an angry "WHAT?!," looks at the patient and goes "OH sh*t!"
Another clot spills out of his mouth, smaller, then the guy seems to relax a little. I look at Jorge with my "What the f**k?!" face, and he explains: "Since his nose is plugged with the other clot, the blood is dripping back down into his stomach. Obviously he's been bleeding for awhile, and his stomach is full, so it's gotta come out some way."
The patient nods in agreement, then holds up his hands, signaling the number 6. It takes me a minute before I figure it out...
"This is the 6th one you've thrown up?!" The guy gives me a half smile and sheepish nod. "Alright man, well we're almost there so just hang tight." We get to the hospital, leap out and run up to the E.R. door. We don't know the combo to get in, so we knock furiously, trying to get the nurses' attention. One finally looks up, and lazily walks over and opens the door. She turns to walk away when Jorge grabs her and says, "This guy is coming from the rehab center. Nosebleed for 5 hours, it's pretty bad, he's lost alot of blood." The nurse looks confused and asks "Why didn't 911 bring him?" Jorge explains that this patient had to be with a nurse on a CCT unit, and the local 911 company didn't have one available. She replies "That's odd.. I thought they had one on for the night...." Jorge tries to get her to understand the severity of the situation. "Ok, well they don't, so we brought him. Can you get us a bed?" She looks around the empty E.R. and says "Yeah, I guess. They DO have a CCT on tonight, I'm sure of it." She's still standing, dumbfounded in front of us, completely unconcerned about the guy on the gurney covered in blood. She points to a bed on the other side of the room, and we rush past her. She continues to walk slowly around the E.R., getting a monitor, a blanket, some suction supplies, all the while still mumbling to herself about why the patient wasn't brought in by 911. I'm thinking "Who the hell cares? He's here now, and he needs medical care, so shut up and help him out!" 6 or 7 other nurses and a doc come over and start assessing the patient. We get him into the hospital bed and take the gurney out to be cleaned. I grab the bucket 'o blood, and shove it into the rude nurse's hands. "Here ya go!..." I smile, and walk away. I catch her eyes widen, finally realizing that the guy is in trouble. Jorge starts giving a report, and my driver and I head out to clean up the gurney. The doc calls out after us, "Wait! He's trying to say something!" I turn and catch the patient's eye, who is frantically signaling for me to walk back over to him. A nurse hands him a piece of paper and a pen, he writes something down and hands it back to her, gesturing for her to give it to me. I look down. It reads "Thank you so much."
"Of course, sir. We hope you feel better soon." He nods again, smiles, and goes back to listening to the nurses.
We clean up the gurney and monitor, head back to station and crash into bed.
I kept thinking.. You know when you're a little kid and your mom tells you, "Don't make that face, it'll stick that way forever..."
I'm gonna tell my kids, "Don't drink alcohol. Your nose will bleed forever."

Over and out-
the NURSE wrangler

Do you want fries with that?

The page comes in late at night. One of our favorite calls, picking up out of the county jail, lovingly nicknamed 'Jurassic Park' because of the huge gates that open up to let us in. We pick up from there pretty often, usually people being released and who need to get a medical clearance before they are set free into the world again.
This, however, is a psych call.
We drive through the gates, park, and enter into the 'mantrap.' A small room, with locked steel doors on either end. The first door opens, you enter, then it closes. As soon as you hear it click, the door into the facility opens, and we walk through and up to the release center. Give the deputy the booking number, and we wait at the desk between 2 cell blocks. I'm never really afraid of these calls, even though you may think I should be. Most of the guys we pick up from here are ok-no violent crimes, murder suspects. Usually, they're homeless people who were caught trespassing, maybe theft or drug charges.
The deputy walks back out, our patient trailing enthusiastically behind him. I ask him to wait near our gurney while I get the rest of the paperwork. I look over in time to see him standing on a bench, attempting to jump on our gurney (we haven't lowered it yet). My partner looks over and says, "Woah, woah, just relax. We'll bring it down for you so you can just sit on it. Just hang on a minute, ok?" The prisoner smiles, nods, and waits patiently for us to give him the go-ahead.
We load him up and start taking him back down the ramp and out to the rig. He looks over at me and asks "Hey, I'm real hungry. I could really go for some beef tacos right now, d'ya think we could stop for some?"
"No, sorry sir. I'll let the nurses at the hospital know you're hungry but we can't let you eat in the back of the ambulance."
"Oh, ok...."
We put him in the back, and leave the jail. I start taking his vitals, and writing down some info on the paperwork.
"What's your full name, sir?"
"Sidney... Sidney Coffee."
(The paperwork says 'Sidney Jones'.........but ok...)
"Ok, sir. Are you allergic to anything?"
"Yea, cheeseburgers."
(I look over to see if he's smiling, maybe a feeble attempt at a joke? No, he's straight-faced.)
"Um, alright sir.. Anything else?"
"HOW ABOUT THEM BEEF TACOS?!! BEEEEF TACOSSS!!??"
He yells this pretty suddenly, then bursts into hysterical laughter. I decide to leave him alone for the rest of the ride, I think he's totally lost it. He continues rambling about food, randomly yelling "BEEF TACOS!" and then laughing again. We arrive at Grapevine Medical Center, and take him into the psych E.R. where a nurse begins to take the report. I realize she must be new, because she's asking the patient for his information instead of asking me. (Taking a report from a psych patient isn't the best idea sometimes... You usually don't get the whole story)
The conversation between the green nurse and Mr. Coffee goes something like this....:
"Hi, sir. What's your name?"
"Sidney Coffee."
"Ok, Sidney.. What's your date of birth?"
"January 7th, 1962."
"Alright, and how old are you?"
"58.."
Now all you math whizzes out there have probably already figured out that a birthday in '62 does not make you 58.. It makes you 46.
He's actually 52. And I have no idea where he's pulling this crap from, because his birthday is in March. I giggle to myself and let the nurse continue her report, knowing I'll have to pull her aside later and give her the REAL info.
"Sir, what is your mother's maiden name?"
"Barbara."
"Oh, no, I meant her last name. Her maiden last name."
"It's Barbara."
"Um..Ok.. And her first name?"
"Barbara."
"So your mother's name is Barbara Barbara?"
"Yep."
"Uh.. alright. How do you spell that?"
"W-X-K-Y."
Finally! The nurse realizes that the guy is not making sense. She mumbles something about that being "all for now.." and lets us into the psych ward. A doc approaches our patient, and starts the usual round of questions.
"Do you have any allergies, sir?"
"Yea, cheeseburgers."
"Ok, anything else?"
"Uh, yea I got this hernia......"
"Oh, no sir I meant allergies, do you have any more allergies?"
"Yea, this hernia.. I got this hernia, right here.."
"Ok, but no other allergies?"
"My hernia, it's right here..."
"Yea, ok sir I got that, you have a hernia."
"Hey, y'all got any beef tacos in this joint?"
The doc sighs, puts his clipboard down and walks over to us. At this point we were standing in the corner with a couple of cops who happened to be in there, all of us giggling like schoolgirls.
"Lemme guess, you found this one at the county jail?"
"Yep, sorry doc!"
"Heh, it's alright. You got a medical history on him?"
"Yea, here you go. Medical history, no allergies, except for the cheeseburgers of course."
"HA! Yea, I got that. Alright, thanks guys. Have a good night."
We walk out, shaking our heads and chuckling to ourselves. On the drive back to station, my partner looks over to me and shouts "BEEEEF TACOSS!"
I almost peed my pants laughing.

Over and out-
the PSYCH wrangler

Que?

First off, let me apologize. I have alot of catching up to do on posting these stories. They are in no particular order at this point, because I am simply writing them as I remember them.

One of our most dreaded calls is paged out as '*****FEM ATT REQ*****'
Female attendant required. In the county where I work, it is protocol that for every female psychiatric patient, there be at least one female in the back to make sure no hanky panky goes on. This of course, does not mean that any WOULD go on if I wasn't there, but it's just to protect us as well as the patient from silly lawsuits. In an attorney's eyes, a female who is 'not in the right state of mind' might allow a male EMT to do unthinkable things to her, though in most cases, it's the patients who try to get busy with us.

On with the story.
"Unit 88, eight-eight. I have a call coming out of Moneybags Hospital, _______ city. Female 5150 DTS (Danger To Self) in the E.R. going to Moneybags Mental Health in (different) city. How do you copy?"
"Unit 88 copy, show us enroute."
At this point, I've got a good 3-4 months experience under my belt and fly through the preliminary paperwork before we even arrive. We walk into the E.R., find the bed and walk in. The patient presents, calm, sitting cross-legged on her bed in a hospital gown.
"Hey Gwen, my name is Alexis. I'm here to take you over to the other facility. I'm gonna get some paperwork from your nurse, so just sit tight for a few minutes and we'll be on our way."
She smiles and nods, and as I'm walking out of the room asks "Is it ok if I have my clothes?"
Now, normal hospital policy is that all patients be gowned upon admittance, to easier identify them as a patient amongst other things. For psych patients, the nurses usually try to remove all personal belongings, including clothing, from the patient to assure they don't have anything they may hurt themselves or others with. When we arrive, we usually try to keep the belongings from them and hand them off to the nurse at the recieving facility to hand back to the patient as deemed safe.
"I'm sorry, Gwen, but we can't give you your stuff just yet. There are some items that are contraband in the facility you're going to, and the nurses there need to make sure you don't have any of those items in your bag."
"But I just want my clothes.. Why can't I have them?"
"I understand. They're going to make you change back into a hospital gown once we get there anyway, we will take your stuff with us but you can't have it just yet, I'm sorry."
Here's where it gets exciting. She leaps out of bed, rips off her hospital gown and runs into the hall, completely naked. She stands there, lifts her hands into the air and starts to type on an imaginary keyboard. She's saying as she's typing, in a very serious tone of voice...
"The paramedics are here. Kunte-Kinte. They said I cannot have my things.. Uno mas, piquito."
Mind you, this woman is of African-American descent. I highly doubt she speaks spanish, plus, the spanish that she attempts makes no sense. (One more, a little?)
She then turns to me and says, "They said I can have my things.."
"Who said?"
"THEY said."
"Ok, well they are wrong, you can't."
At this point, 3 female security guards from the hospital have shown up to usher her back into her room and put her clothing back on. She manages to get her own clothes back, but after a quick frisk from a security guard, I'm told she has nothing dangerous on her and throw my hands up in the air and give up. We put her on the gurney and restrain her, while she's scratching at my wrists furiously and now speaking in complete gibberish. When I ask what language she's babbling in, she tells me it's Russian...
Yea... OK.
As we walk out, the nurse whispers, "I gave her some Ativan before you guys got here. Should kick in soon."
I say a silent prayer as my partner winks at me and shuts the back door to the rig.
I settle in, trying to ignore her rambling and focus on finishing up the paperwork. She keeps grabbing my wrist, looking at me wide eyed and exclaiming, "MARIA! If you are not loyal to me, you will die. I can already see the blood."
Creepy, right? It gets better.
"MARIA, you must listen, you must be loyal to me. In 2 hours, EXACTLY 2 hours, an atomic bomb will drop and we will all be killed. If you are loyal you will be spared."
(She starts typing on that imaginary keyboard in the air again)
"The paramedics have me, they are shooting me with their invisibility guns, I have several wounds. Maria is not loyal, she cannot be trusted."
The typing stops, and she again turns to me and says, "They are shooting you too. With their invisibility guns, I can see the blood running down your face, you've been shot in the forehead. 2 hours, 2 hours til the bomb drops and we all die. Please, Maria."
She's really starting to freak me out now. I mean, come on. You gotta wonder sometimes, maybe they know something we don't. Highly unlikely, but not impossible. I try to ignore her and continue my paperwork. It takes me a few seconds to realize I don't hear the psycho-babble anymore. I look up, and my heart stops for a second.
SHE'S DEAD!
No, wait, she's not dead.. She has a pulse, she's breathing... Whew.. What happened, why isn't she talking anymore?
Then, the voice of an angel echoes in my head..
"Gave her some Ativan.....Should kick in soon.."
I look to the sky and thank God and the nurse, for I have been saved. We deliver a slightly groggy patient to the psych facility, give a report to the doc who chuckles and says "Kids, this is your brain on crack..."
I hope the woman has been since rehabilitated and sent back out into the world. Then again, maybe it's best she stay in that facility where not everyone looks at her like she's nuts.
Oh, well, guess I'll never know.
Over and out
MARIA, the PSYCH wrangler

Sunday, November 9, 2008

The exorcism...

My first day, I was put on with Randy and Blake. No, those aren't their real names. We usually don't run 3 people on a BLS rig, but I was training for the next week or so with them. The day went by, for the most part, uneventfully. On about our 3rd or 4th run, I get my first psych call. "Unit 88, I have a call coming out of Elmhurst Elementary School in_______(city.) Patient is a 9-year old male, school counselors state he's on a 5150 for DTO (Danger To Others.) How do you copy?"
"88 copy, show us enroute."
The whole drive there, I'm thinking "how the hell is a 9 year old a danger to others? I mean, shit, he's 9, how much damage could he do?"
We arrive on scene, and are sent to the counseling office, a trailer near the playground. We are greeted by a whole team of school officials, and the kid's mom. As we jump out of the rig and go to grab the gurney in the back, a counselor approaches us.
"Do you have restraints?"
"Uhh yea... Do we need them?"
"Well, he's asleep right now. He's locked in a room by himself, and you're going to have to get him on the gurney and restrained pretty quickly, before he figures out what's going on.."
"Ummm... Ok.. Lead the way."
She leads us into the office, and we're shushed by everyone as we approach the door to the room this kid's locked in. They quietly open the door to an angelic looking 9 year old, asleep on the floor with a pillow.. I thought "Come on, this is nuts. This kid looks fine!"
And then....I looked around...
I realized, stepping into the room, that other than the pillow and the kid, the room was COMPLETELY empty. On further observation, I also realize that all the wallpaper, from about 3 ft. from the floor all the way down has been ripped off the walls, and what appear to be fingernail scratches cover every wall..
The boy's mother walks over to him, and gently wakes him up.
"Jimmy... Jimmy sweetheart.. These nice people are going to take you to the doctor, ok?"
"Huh? What? WHAT?!?! WHAT THE F**K?!?" (Yea, this is the kid)
"Honey, calm down, everything is ok..."
The boy jumps up, starts flailing around and screaming every obscenity you've ever heard, and even some you haven't. He's beet red, and really pissed. He starts hitting everyone, spitting, and basically throwing the biggest tantrum I've ever seen. We rush the gurney in, while 6, yes 6 of us attempt to pick him up, plop him on the bed and tie him down. The kid is going completely apesh*t. I couldn't believe it! It took basically everyone in the room to hold him down, and in doing so Randy and Blake both manage to get bitten, punched, and kicked several times. I, on the other hand, the terrified rookie, had backed myself into a corner (literally) and just stared, slack jawed at the scene playing out in front of me until Blake yelled "Get over here, hold his head down!" Which, miraculously, snapped me out of my terror. I'm holding the kid's head in C-spine (meaning completely immoblizing his cervical spine, a maneuver most often used for patients with suspected spinal trauma, or in this case, psychotic grade-schoolers) and the entire time, the boy is looking me square in the eye screaming "YOU F**KING C*NT!! LET GO OF ME YOU STUPID B**CH!!" During this outburst, the mother turns to me, and in a sweet, quiet voice says "I'm sorry, he can be such a potty mouth sometimes.."
POTTY MOUTH? Are you KIDDING? I don't even talk like that, and I'm a grown woman!
We wrangle the kid into the restraints, and whisk him into the back of the rig, close the doors and take off. On the ride to the hospital, Randy looks at the kid and says "Look, here's the thing. I don't have the energy to sit here and hold you down the entire drive, so just chill out man. We're taking you to the doctor whether you like it or not, and really, it's not so bad. A 3-day vacation from school and your mom, all you gotta do is talk to the doc and tell him what's going on."
Surprisingly, the kid ACTUALLY calmed down. He ended up relaxing enough for us to take him out of restraints, and we find out he's a pretty decent kid. Likes to ride dirtbikes, actually doing pretty good in school too. Just a classic case of a kid diagnosed with ADHD and severely overmedicated. We arrive at the hospital with a calm, quiet 9 year old, and hand him over to the doctor there. When we explain what had happened, he looked at us like WE were the ones who needed to be admitted, but said no more and accepted him.
We had a few other calls, but nothing too exciting. When we got back to station that night, we told the story of what we now called "The Exorcist Child" and everyone got a chuckle out of it.
Truth be told, as sad as these types of situations are, we HAVE to laugh at them. I know it sounds cruel, but if you don't find some humor in the situation, you end up depressed and feeling helpless against all the horrible things that make people "ill" physically, or even mentally. In short, don't let the crazies make you crazy. It made for an interesting and educational first shift, that's for certain.
Over and out-
the PSYCH wrangler