A call at one of the local high schools. “15YOF PASSED OUT” says the MDT.
“Yeah, sure” says Slimm.
Sure enough, there is a young female lying on the floor of a classroom. I’m looking around, figuring this is a World History class, with all the flags and stuff on the wall. One glance at the chick lying on the floor, and it’s pretty obvious: ain’t nothing wrong with her.
Anxiety attack 101 is being taught in this classroom today.
“Hey, your American flag is backwards.”
“Really, I thought the stars went on the right.”
“They go on the flag’s right, which is the viewer’s left.”
Meanwhile, the fireputterouters are scrambling to get an IV on this chick. I don’t know why. Her eyelashes are fluttering, she is making obvious cringing faces when they poke her with the needles, and I watch her protect her face as our third rider does the arm drop thingie. (Is there a name for that?)
These guys are sweating up a storm, frantically hoping for flash in the chamber. Meanwhile, their blood pressure cuff, glucometer, stethoscope, and everything else needed to actually perform a patient assessment remains in their bags.
“Maybe we should just go ahead and get her out of here?”
“Umm, sure. That sounds like a good idea.” I’m not really in a hurry, but I am excited to get back to that grilled chicken salad I have in the ambulance.
The next thing I know, these guys pick this chick up, and rush to get the seat belts on her. Then they take off down the hallway with my patient, on my stretcher.
I look over at Slimm. “Maybe we should follow them?”
“Yeah, probably. I locked the ambulance, so they are going to have trouble loading her.”