A call for a “person choking” at the nursing home, in the “Memory Care Unit.”
Caring for something that isn’t there any more.
On the way in, we walk through the obligatory keyed-entry door, and Newguy points out a sign just inside the unit.
“New Memories Made Here!”
A crowd of people is gathered around an old feller in a wheelchair at a dining table. Sure enough, he’s choking. As in, not breathing. He’s blue, but looking around. Close to death.
Newguy springs into action like some sort of caped superhero, sans cape, and performs a few abdominal thrusts. Our patient becomes unresponsive, and we move him to the floor, when I swoop in like the superhero’s sidekick with my trusty laryngoscope.
“What the hell is that? Bro, hand me the forceps real quick.”
There’s something in the airway, sho’ nuff. And I’m about to get that junk out.
The forceps go in, grab the food bolus, and I withdraw it slowly. As the food comes into his mouth, the patient starts to gag, cough, and miraculously, his skin changes color. This guy might be a chameleon.
I look at Newguy. “Just who is the sidekick NOW?”
Somebody examines the food bolus, and quickly deduces that it is roughly two-thirds of a lightly chewed Nutter Butter bar.
“Who gave him the cookie?”
“His arm band says ‘Nectar-thick liquids only’.”
“Oh. I didn’t know. I don’t read English.”