Here, have a tissue

I don’t care about your feelings.

I’m here to take care of people, and to take them to the hospital.

If you get in the way of me taking care of a patient, or you try to do something stupid, or you do something or say something ignorant, I won’t hesitate to call you out.

I do not care if your sensitive little emotions get hurt.

If you are stupid and don’t know it, then that is because you have been coddled all your life.

Maybe you should read some books instead of petting your dalmatian so much.

Maybe go find a “safe space” where you can have a good cry.

Meanwhile, I’ll be over here not caring about your feelings.

Step away from the baby

Childbirth call. Some lady just delivered a baby at home.

I’m with the talkative part-timer again, who seems to be a little nervous.

But we make it to the call, and I finish my bagel without losing any cream cheese.

We encounter the first member of the fire brigade outside the well-appointed home. We can hear a baby crying, which is a good sign. At least it’s a sign that this is a legitimate call.

“Everyone’s in yonder” he says, pointing in the direction of the home.


Sure enough, there’s a baby. Umbilical cord attached, but cut, being wrapped up by another member of the fire brigade.

Mom looks alright. Considering.

Wait. What’s that? That guy is getting out the IV kit? Whoa. Hold up. That other guy, he looks like he’s cleaning the baby’s arm and feeling for a- holy shit, that’s a tourniquet! Why the hell is there a tourniquet on the baby’s arm?!

“Hey, uh, what’s going on here, what’s happening?”

“Oh, we’re just looking for a vein.”

“Mmmkay, I see that, but why are you looking for a vein?”

“Well, the baby seems kind of lethargic, and the blood sugar was kind of low, so we were going to give some D50.”

What in the actual fuck are they talking about? “Well, what were the baby’s Apgar scores?”

“The what?”



Christ on a cracker. “Okay, what was the blood sugar?”

“Uh, lemme look, it was…42.”

“The blood sugar was 42?”


“On a newborn?”


“And you were going to start an IV and give D50?”


I have now put my hands into my pockets, lest I slap a civil servant upside his head. “How much D50 were you going to give?”

“Uh, like ten ml?”

So five freaking grams of dextrose. “What’s a normal blood sugar for a newborn?”

“Uh, between 80 and 120?”

“Give me the baby.”


“Give me the baby and get out.”


I ain’t got no phone

“Med four?”

“Four, g’ahed.”

“Four, call radio please.”

Sigh. I hate talking to dispatch. “Radio, we don’t have a phone. We’ll have to find a payphone. Standby.”

“Uhh, four, switch to private.”

<boop> “Four on private.”

“Hey, we’re gonna have a call for you guys in about half an hour at the hospital up north. You can grab some breakfast if you want.”


And they wanted us to waste our time calling them for that crap?

Shut up

New guy today. He won’t shut up.

I think he’s nice, but he won’t shut his mouth, so I am hating him more with every minute that goes by.

He butts in on scenes.

This guy had diarrhea once over an hour ago. Quit asking him questions.

The homeless guy just needs a sandwich and a blanket. He doesn’t need an IV. We don’t have sandwiches. Let’s just shut up and take him to the place with free sandwiches.

Maybe I can get some crackers while we’re there.

How long have I been doing this? I start tomorrow.

Now shut the hell up.

Is this shift over yet?

Next August

We ran three legitimate calls today. In a row. All before we got a chance to get breakfast.

I get cranky if I don’t get my bagel before sunrise.

We almost didn’t know what to do with ourselves.

We never run legitimate calls.

We probably won’t get another one until next August.