Don’t stop, don’t call

“Medic Sixtynine, respond to reports of an accident with possible injuries, Goofball Highway at Old Booger Hill Road.  Passerby advises there are 4 cars involved, unsure of any injuries.”

Great.  This call sounds F-U-N.  And it’s raining.  And Old Booger Hill Road crosses Goofball Highway at least 4 separate times within 6 miles.  In two distinct fire districts, covered by three different engine companies.

Lets run down why this call sucks:

1. Day after a holiday, at 8:30am.
2. In the rain
3. An unknown location
4. Some cellphone warrior was worried enough to call, but not enough to stop, and actually roll down the damned window and shout “Hey, y’all’rite?”
5. I haven’t had my breakfast yet
6. I haven’t had my nap yet
7 I haven’t even put on my socks yet

We literally drive in circles looking for this wreck.  This cellphone warrior was kind enough to call 911, but couldn’t give a description of the cars.  Fan-freaking-tastic.

We find a wreck.  A red SUV and a white Ram Truck. 

Not the wreck.  Fire says it “uppathattaway” about half a mile. 

Dark SUV, grey BMW, white sedan. 

Wrong wreck.  Turn around again, check another intersection of Goofball Highway and Old Booger Hill.

Find a wreck.  PD is on scene.  Eating a biscuit in his car.  (I am NOT kidding.)

“Hey, where y’all been?  We been waitin’ on y’all for a while now.”

“Shut up, Munch*.  Who’s hurt?”

“Oh, ain’t nobody hurt.  I done cancelled y’all ’bout five minutes ago.”

I hate cellphone warriors.  And missing breakfast.

I put my socks on, and go in service.

Take the bag!

My service has a policy which requires the crew to take in the stretcher, cardiac monitor, and jump bag to every patient.  I have been in the habit of taking said equipment in, even without a written policy. 

While taking a cardiac monitor in to a 10 year old with a twisted ankle may be a little over kill, that’s what the bosses want, so we do it.  Or at least I do.

It’s also a good practice.  Seriously, what are you going to do for a patient who accidentally stabbed himself in the femoral artery with a turkey baster right before Thanksgiving dinner, and now there is blood squirting every which way, in the squash casserole, and all over the turkey, and the mashed potatoes, and your jump bag is 30 yards away in the ambulance?  And when that call happens (and we all know it will happen, to someone), you just know there is going to be a doctor/nurse/paramedic/personal-injury lawyer watching your big, fat, screw-up.

“Ma’am, can I borrow a towel from you since I’m too lazy to bring in my equipment?”

Take in the damned bag.  Take in the damned monitor.  Put it on the effing stretcher so your lazy ass doesn’t hurt your lazy back carrying it.

I hate lazy people.