“Patient choking” reads the MDT, as we scream to an affluent section of our territory, along with a fire engine, a quick-response fire ALS unit, and an EMS supervisor.
2 million dollar home with the ever-present fanatical waver.
“He’s inside, he’s inside” screams a woman with breasts that move unnaturally, and seem too high on her chest for a woman who appears to be in her early 50s, along with a stone on her left hand that would dislocate the shoulder of many an able-bodied man.
Making entry into the palatial home, I am struck with more marble than I have seen since I was catholic, and what appears to be a very panicked, but not choking, man in his late 60s.
“I tried to swallow my vitamin, but it got stuck” he says, while drooling copiously.
Before we can lower the stretcher to evacuate this gentleman from his humble abode, he disappears into what can only be described as an “antekitchen.”
“Hey, buddy. Whars yer payshun?” asks my supervisor, who has just arrived on scene.
“He went thattaway” I reply, pointing in the direction of his flight, while looking for an appropriately comfortable seat in which to wait. The leather wing-back recliner seems acceptable.
Is this the living room, family room, smoking room, parlor, or what?
“Whale, he’ll be back, donchathink?”
“Yeah. He will be back. But let’s try to listen carefully for a thud.”
Three minutes later, our intrepid patient appears, from upstairs, and the opposite direction of his initial flight.
“Where did y’all go?”
“We’ve been waiting right here to take you to the hospital, sir.”
“Well, I threw up, and the pills came up, so I think I’m okay now.”
Another successful patient encounter.
Sounds like you were at one of Mitt Rmoney’s homes. Did you get a look at the car elevator?