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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