Thursday, August 11, 2011

A day in the life...

What follows will be a shift log of sorts. I've not worked with this
fellow yet. By all reports he's pretty cool. We'll see I guess. Sadly
he has more time at the agency but much less time as a provider than
I, so he's in charge. Oh boy.
Start he day the usual way, checking the truck, and meet my partner du
jur. A grumpy cuss with a whole 8 years of EMS under his salty belt,
bitching up a storm because there weren't any blankets. Blankets. In
late June in North Carolina in the middle of a 90 degree day. Ya.
That's the first thing on my mind. 
And when I say bitching up a storm I mean screaming, shouting, slamming doors, and mother F-ing everybody who has been on the rig this week.
Check on duty for a 1015 start, bitch because dispatch wants to know
why we're late checking on.
Hold on for dear life as grumpy drives us at mach 3 to the hospital
with a low priority attention seeker.
Bitch the whole way. Listen to talk radio at a volume slightly below deafening.
Disappear at the hospital so as to screw a good drop time.
Return to the truck with food from the cafeteria. I'm fine thanks, I
didn't want anything.
Get a post. Bitch about it.
Get a call. Bitch about it.
Oh wait! Signs of personality..... Uh. No. Bitching about the nursing
home and staff
My call, he does my assessment for me then doesn't tell me what he
found. When asked uses *that* tone of voice to indicate how much he
disdains me for being new here.
My face melts off from the slipstream this rig is making. So thats
what a sonic boom sounds like... Oh wait, nope, it was just my head
hitting the opposite wall from high G turns and stops. The patient
looks like the kid who doesn't want to be on the roller coaster any
He finds a friendly nurse to chat up. Finally... The aggression is
starting to get better. Maybe.
Now he is giving unsolicited advice on how to survive in this company.
Granted, some of that may come in handy.
Holy moly, some common ground. There may be some hope yet.
Uh... No I won't tell the patient that WE decide which hospital to go to. Oh.... I guess you do make that decision even though its not in the patient's best interest.
I get to drive? Really? Wow.
Oh... I get to drive so you can look at the rig line up and bitch about how everyone else gets better rigs.
Final call. Thank goodness. Moderate trauma, fat man laid his Harley down at 65 MPH. Leather coat's been sanded off, road rash everywhere. Lets take control of the scene, do a very poor job of managing it, then abruptly take the Pt to the ambulance without telling anyone want you are doing. Bitch because no one's helping you load Fat Road Rash Man in to the rig. Spend another ten minutes on scene attempting IV's with the Trauma Canter five minutes away.
End of Shift. Sure I'll wash and mop the truck while you hang out with the guys and bitch about being stuck with a new guy. No... no I don't want any help. (In my mind as he didn't offer)

All this was a few months ago. Sadly its all true.  Thankfully he no longer works in EMS.