Adventures in Not-So-Critical-Care

Television and cinema would have you believe that literally every encounter with an emergency medical professional is a OH-MY-GOD-THAT-EXPLOSION-ALMOST-KILLED-US-ALL sort of emergency that requires superhuman efforts of strength, ingenuity and dexterity to resolve. These are then typically followed by some sweet, sweet ambulance-ambiance loving. There are two real problems with this vision: 1. Ninety percent of every job in medicine, from the bottom to the top, is boring shit. By that I mean that it is both boring, and involves a large amount of feces. 2. Anyone who would ever consider copulating in the back of an ambulance hasn't spent a lot of time in one, and failed to read the first rule I just listed. In the past 36 hours of work (that's three shifts) I've been personally responsible for the care of exactly one individual who even had an IV in place. We've probably spent a cumulative 22 hours grasping desperately for entertainment at the various hospitals we frequent (you can only read a 14 month-old copy of Time Magazine so many times before you begin to fantasize about choking Joel Stein) and most of the remainder has been nursing home discharge after nursing home discharge.

Now- I theoretically work as a critical-care paramedic. This (again, theoretically) means I spend my working hours transferring acutely ill patients from a hospital that can't take care of them to one that can. This should be the domain of intra-aortic balloon pumps, vasoactive drips- propofol and inverse-ratio ventiation! And sometimes, it is... just not lately. Lately we've been taking anemiic old ladies to Skilled-Nursing Facilities and shuttling old men back and forth to cancer treatments. I tell myyself that this doesn't matter- that the scale will balance and will swing back towards me doing something that feels like it matters again, but it's hard to maintain focus when you're sitting in yet another doctor's office with no hope of so much as an IV start in your near future.

When work-karma treats us this way, we have very few options but to entertain ourselves, and this is how we find ourselves in trouble. In keeping with the Cinema theme initially presented in this post, I give you, "Adventures with the Drive-Cam" (Note- a drive cam is a camera mounted to the windshield that activates with sudden G-force changes to the ambulance- like an impact or rollover. It's possible to set off with a hard stop, or sharp turn though. When activated it records the 15 seconds prior to the activation, and the 15 seconds after.)

 The Characters: D- The Driver P- The Devastatingly Handsome Paramedic Protagonist R- The Awesome But Just-Not-As-Handsome RN Partner

Scene: After thair 3rd double BLS discharge of the day, our heroes are returning to HQ for some well-earner rest prior to the end of shift. Before disembarking from their faithful mechanical steed however, our heroes must refuel the faithful steel and aluminum beast that had so fearlessly carriied them from SNF to SNF that day. As they approach the filling station, a song wafts over the radio.

D- "Is that Journey?" *turns radio up*
P- "Shit yeah that's Journey! Crank that bitch"

All three members of the male crew proceed to sing along with the soulful stylings of Steve Perry on the perennial classic "Faithfully". There is much falsetto, and it's possible (probably even) that RN has his penlight out and is waving it slowly back forth as a poor-man's substitute Zippo. The song finishes as our crew approaches the fuel depot.

D- "Wow. That just happened."
P- "It's okay man. Everything sounds better in falsetto."
D- "We've gotta do something to de-gayify this situation." (Note- D is not homophobic, but is slightly less than politically correct.) "Let's do something DANGEROUS!"

D proceeds to jerk the wheel hard to the left, turning sharply into the fuel station, safely but dramatically in front of the pickup in the opposing lane. Simultaneously:

P- "BIG OL' BALLLLLLS!!!"

Unsure of how shouting that would "de-gayify" this situation, P looks towards his partner's in the front seats. D is now hunched towards the dash, pointing silently towards the drive cam where a green light now shines. 

P- "Oh. Oh no..."
D- "I can't. I mean- Oh my God."
R- "Fuuuuuuck"

2 minutes of nearly continuous giggling begins, punctuated by occasional outbursts:
"But- It must have caught him dancing with that fucking pen light!"
"And then you were all like 'BAAAAALLLLLSSSS!'"
"You're so fired! 'Let's do something dangerous' after you go full-homophobe on camera. Don't you know you never go full homophobe?"
"Why the fuck were we all singing? This is going to be on YouTube."
"We're all fucked."

 Now wheezing and with tear-stained cheeks and laughter-strained abdominals our heroes enter the gas station to find a cup of coffee, and plan their next adventure. SCENE

 And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the best argument I can make for keeping your paramedics busy.