Ever wonder what's written in those mysterious charts of yours while you're in the hospital? Here are some examples from myself and fellow crewmembers...
On a 5150 hold, under "Reason for hold" a single line reads, "Patient is crazy."
A report written by an E.R. Doc starts, "Patient presents 34 y/o female, naked."
A page containing the address of our call and the patient's name comes to my pager with this added note from dispatch, "Be advised patient is nuts. PD enroute."
In a progress report, between doctor's orders and vital signs, a nurse writes, "The patient kind of really smells bad, so I made her take a shower and now she smells better."
On a 5150 hold, a police officer writes, "Patient ran into the middle of the street because she is growing a penis."
On a page, the dispatcher gives the chief complaint as "Pillowfititis." (The diagnosis was actually 'pylo.')
On a typed report from the E.R., a nurse writes, "Patient is alert and oriented x 45." (You can only be alert and oriented x 4)
On a 5150 hold an officer writes "Patient called me a fu**ing ni**er, so I arrested him."
A page received by a coworker lists the chief complaint as "Some type of cancer."
On a report from an E.R. Nurse, the first line reads, "Patient presents 56 y/o male c/o vaginal bleeding."
Another page from a coworker reads, "Chief complaint: hiccups x 3 hrs.
A page received by myself: "Chief complaint: patient needs a ride."
Monday, February 9, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The importance of a good partner..
A story from my old station..
Called to a school for a 14 y/o male who is a danger to others (DTO). We are informed by dispatch that this is a special school for children with "behavioral problems." Oh, gee, awesome. A whole school filled with little hell-raisers. We arrive and are greeted outside by a counselor who tells us the young man is locked in the "quiet room" and they are waiting for police to arrive. What's a quiet room? Picture a room you might lock Hannibal Lechter in. 4 inch thick steel door with a tiny barred window and carpet-covered walls. The counselor insists we not go near the room, fearing the boy will spot us and become even more agitated. We assure her we need to take a peek inside to assess what kind of restraints we'll need, and how to handle the patient. We walk through the silent halls with curious little eyes in every window, staring at us, trying to figure out what's happened to their classmate. My partner takes a quick glance into the "quiet room," only to be startled by the patient suddenly screaming and throwing himself against a wall. We quietly go back outside and grab every restraint we have, including a backboard and spider harness, which will hopefully immobilize him. We go back inside and 7 police officers have shown up. I hear one say, "I'm too old to be wrestling this kid. If anything happens, I'm tasing him." All the cops chuckle and wait to be let into the room. The mother of the patient asks if she can be let in first, alone, to try and calm the patient down before extreme measures are taken. The burly counselor holding the door shut agrees and allows her in. Soon after, more screaming followed by a large thump come out of the room. The kid has thrown his mother against a wall and she's now crumpled in the corner, cowering. The cops go in and tackle the kid. They tase him and he doesn't even flinch. He's brought out and thrown on the gurney, as my partner and I furiously work to get him immobilized as quickly as possible. As I move up his torso, securing all the straps on the spider harness, the kid leans up, whips his head around and a huge wad of spit hits me square....in...the forehead. The cops slam his shoulders back down and slip a spit sock over his head. I remain completely still, still hunched over him with a strap in hand. My sweet, 20 year old firefighter partner gently reaches over with a gloved hand and wipes it off my face, asking, "Are you okay?" I reply "Yeah, I'm fine.." He grabs me an alcohol wipe to clean off my face and tells me he wants me to drive so I don't have to be in the back with this kid. As soon as we load him up and hit the road, I hear my partner in the back...
"Listen, you little twerp.. I can't believe you just spit in my partner's face. Not only is she a GIRL, but she didn't do anything to you. Spit on me, or the cops that tased you but not her, she didn't do shit, didn't even SAY anything to you, you jerK. There was no reason for that..."
This continues through most of the ride, and I hear the kid gradually calm down. When we get to the hospital, I open the back door and my partner looks at our patient and says, "What did I tell you, dude? Say it, and mean it." The kid looks up at me sheepishly and says "I'm sorry.... I shouldn't have spit on you..."
My partner grins triumphantly as I tell the kid its ok, no hard feelings. When we get back in the rig to clear and my partner tells me it took a lot of strength to not immediately punch the kid in the face.
Every male partner I've had has been similiar. They become extremely protective if they sense I might be in danger. I know its just how it works but its good to know that someone has your back, especially being a female in this field. Its like having a big brother to watch out for you, and I'm pretty lucky to have a whole bunch of awesome older brothers.
Over and out-
The PSYCH wrangler
Called to a school for a 14 y/o male who is a danger to others (DTO). We are informed by dispatch that this is a special school for children with "behavioral problems." Oh, gee, awesome. A whole school filled with little hell-raisers. We arrive and are greeted outside by a counselor who tells us the young man is locked in the "quiet room" and they are waiting for police to arrive. What's a quiet room? Picture a room you might lock Hannibal Lechter in. 4 inch thick steel door with a tiny barred window and carpet-covered walls. The counselor insists we not go near the room, fearing the boy will spot us and become even more agitated. We assure her we need to take a peek inside to assess what kind of restraints we'll need, and how to handle the patient. We walk through the silent halls with curious little eyes in every window, staring at us, trying to figure out what's happened to their classmate. My partner takes a quick glance into the "quiet room," only to be startled by the patient suddenly screaming and throwing himself against a wall. We quietly go back outside and grab every restraint we have, including a backboard and spider harness, which will hopefully immobilize him. We go back inside and 7 police officers have shown up. I hear one say, "I'm too old to be wrestling this kid. If anything happens, I'm tasing him." All the cops chuckle and wait to be let into the room. The mother of the patient asks if she can be let in first, alone, to try and calm the patient down before extreme measures are taken. The burly counselor holding the door shut agrees and allows her in. Soon after, more screaming followed by a large thump come out of the room. The kid has thrown his mother against a wall and she's now crumpled in the corner, cowering. The cops go in and tackle the kid. They tase him and he doesn't even flinch. He's brought out and thrown on the gurney, as my partner and I furiously work to get him immobilized as quickly as possible. As I move up his torso, securing all the straps on the spider harness, the kid leans up, whips his head around and a huge wad of spit hits me square....in...the forehead. The cops slam his shoulders back down and slip a spit sock over his head. I remain completely still, still hunched over him with a strap in hand. My sweet, 20 year old firefighter partner gently reaches over with a gloved hand and wipes it off my face, asking, "Are you okay?" I reply "Yeah, I'm fine.." He grabs me an alcohol wipe to clean off my face and tells me he wants me to drive so I don't have to be in the back with this kid. As soon as we load him up and hit the road, I hear my partner in the back...
"Listen, you little twerp.. I can't believe you just spit in my partner's face. Not only is she a GIRL, but she didn't do anything to you. Spit on me, or the cops that tased you but not her, she didn't do shit, didn't even SAY anything to you, you jerK. There was no reason for that..."
This continues through most of the ride, and I hear the kid gradually calm down. When we get to the hospital, I open the back door and my partner looks at our patient and says, "What did I tell you, dude? Say it, and mean it." The kid looks up at me sheepishly and says "I'm sorry.... I shouldn't have spit on you..."
My partner grins triumphantly as I tell the kid its ok, no hard feelings. When we get back in the rig to clear and my partner tells me it took a lot of strength to not immediately punch the kid in the face.
Every male partner I've had has been similiar. They become extremely protective if they sense I might be in danger. I know its just how it works but its good to know that someone has your back, especially being a female in this field. Its like having a big brother to watch out for you, and I'm pretty lucky to have a whole bunch of awesome older brothers.
Over and out-
The PSYCH wrangler
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