Low income family pulls up to the ER doors in a pick up. Driver comes in and tells Triage nurse "I think my grandpas dead" he informs us grandpa is in the truck. Go out front and sure enough, grandpa is in the bed wrapped in a picnic tablecloth. Get him into to a Cat and he is pulseless and apneic. So coroner gets called and we inform the family of the news. As the family is quietly leaving, the wife (granddaughter-in-law?) turns to the Triage nurse and asks "Can I get our tablecloth back?"
The Fall of Hospitals
- Thread starter DrJenner
- Start date
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Had a 30 something year old guy come in and was convinced he was dying as his waist, legs were blue. We asked him if he purchased new jeans.... why yes I did - the dye transferred to his skin.
You just can't make this stuff up.
You just can't make this stuff up.
I had a friend who became an anesthesiologist. His stories from ER rotation were epic.
A rather large woman and a family sized soda bottle.
Apparently the gerbil thing isn’t an urban myth.
Yes, people are that stupid!
A rather large woman and a family sized soda bottle.
Apparently the gerbil thing isn’t an urban myth.
Yes, people are that stupid!
OK . . . here is an involved--but true--story.
We had an unfortunate patient whom was badly burned in a propane accident in his trailer, and fire rescue transported him to Delray Hospital, which is a Level 1 trauma center.
The only specialty burn center that had an open bed was in Tampa, which is on the other side of the state.
They couldn't fly the patient because of technical difficulties with the helicopter, so my partner and I had to transport this patient lights and sirens across much of the state of Florida.
You can--of course--understand that our nerves were shot, so our dispatch authorized us to take our time and get something to eat before starting back.
We pulled into the first town (after taking several wrong turns) we saw, which was Gibsonton, Florida.
We pull into a conveinence store, and see that everyone in the store (customers as well as the staff) were all little people (ie: "midgets," although I usually don't use this word because it's pejorative and derogatory).
My partner and I don't say anything . . . andIwhile we're waiting in line, a tall albino man--coveredwith hundreds of tattoos--walks in, and he has all these extra fingers on his hands.
My partner and I go out of the store to sit at the picnic tables in front of the store, and I see a pedestrian walking toward the store with a vestigal, parasitic twin attached to his flank . . . and it was dressed in cheerful blue sailor suit.
While we were trying to process this, a huge, antique cadillac--with manta ray fins, gold hubcaps, and steer horns over the front grill--pulls up to the gas pumps.
The inside of the car was done up in polyester leopard skin, there was a red fur dashboard, fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror, tassels outlining the windshield, a chain sterring wheel, and--leashed up in the back seat--was a live mountain lion, whuch was staring at us.
The little person whom got out to gas up his ride had his shirt open to his waist with about five pounds of gold chains, his cowboy hat was almost as big as he was, his jeans were so tight that we could tell whether or not he was circumsized just by looking at him, his ostrich-skin cowboy boots probably set him back about $600.00 or so . . . and--to top it off--his western style belt buckle was a thing of tacky magnificence. It was richly filigreed with gold, silver, platinum, diamonds, and emeralds, and was so gaudy that I knew pimps in Miami who'd be horribly embarrassed to get caught dead with such a thing.
My partner and I were gawking, and this little person looked at us and said: "What's the matter? Ain't you two never seen no Cadillac El Dorado before?"
My partner--an intensely superstitious person--grabbed my arm and dragged me to the truck, and took off lights and sirens out of Gibsonton.
I went to take a sip of my coffee, and he snatched the coffee out of my hands.
"Are you crazy?" he asked me. "You want to drink the water from that place? Don't you want to have kids someday? We just escaped from the Twilight Zone!"
In any case, we swore each other to secrecy, since we didn't expect anyone to believe us.
The story still came out a few weeks later when we were out drinking after work, and this guy sitting next to me said: "You must have been in Gibsonton."
It turns out that Gibsonton is the off-season home for all of the people whom perform in circus sideshows. They all own homes in Gibsonton, and it's the only place in the United States where the post office had to lower the front counter to accommodate all of the little people who come in for the mail.
https://www.theguardian.com/us-news...to-gibtown-the-last-freakshow-town-in-america
We had an unfortunate patient whom was badly burned in a propane accident in his trailer, and fire rescue transported him to Delray Hospital, which is a Level 1 trauma center.
The only specialty burn center that had an open bed was in Tampa, which is on the other side of the state.
They couldn't fly the patient because of technical difficulties with the helicopter, so my partner and I had to transport this patient lights and sirens across much of the state of Florida.
You can--of course--understand that our nerves were shot, so our dispatch authorized us to take our time and get something to eat before starting back.
We pulled into the first town (after taking several wrong turns) we saw, which was Gibsonton, Florida.
We pull into a conveinence store, and see that everyone in the store (customers as well as the staff) were all little people (ie: "midgets," although I usually don't use this word because it's pejorative and derogatory).
My partner and I don't say anything . . . andIwhile we're waiting in line, a tall albino man--coveredwith hundreds of tattoos--walks in, and he has all these extra fingers on his hands.
My partner and I go out of the store to sit at the picnic tables in front of the store, and I see a pedestrian walking toward the store with a vestigal, parasitic twin attached to his flank . . . and it was dressed in cheerful blue sailor suit.
While we were trying to process this, a huge, antique cadillac--with manta ray fins, gold hubcaps, and steer horns over the front grill--pulls up to the gas pumps.
The inside of the car was done up in polyester leopard skin, there was a red fur dashboard, fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror, tassels outlining the windshield, a chain sterring wheel, and--leashed up in the back seat--was a live mountain lion, whuch was staring at us.
The little person whom got out to gas up his ride had his shirt open to his waist with about five pounds of gold chains, his cowboy hat was almost as big as he was, his jeans were so tight that we could tell whether or not he was circumsized just by looking at him, his ostrich-skin cowboy boots probably set him back about $600.00 or so . . . and--to top it off--his western style belt buckle was a thing of tacky magnificence. It was richly filigreed with gold, silver, platinum, diamonds, and emeralds, and was so gaudy that I knew pimps in Miami who'd be horribly embarrassed to get caught dead with such a thing.
My partner and I were gawking, and this little person looked at us and said: "What's the matter? Ain't you two never seen no Cadillac El Dorado before?"
My partner--an intensely superstitious person--grabbed my arm and dragged me to the truck, and took off lights and sirens out of Gibsonton.
I went to take a sip of my coffee, and he snatched the coffee out of my hands.
"Are you crazy?" he asked me. "You want to drink the water from that place? Don't you want to have kids someday? We just escaped from the Twilight Zone!"
In any case, we swore each other to secrecy, since we didn't expect anyone to believe us.
The story still came out a few weeks later when we were out drinking after work, and this guy sitting next to me said: "You must have been in Gibsonton."
It turns out that Gibsonton is the off-season home for all of the people whom perform in circus sideshows. They all own homes in Gibsonton, and it's the only place in the United States where the post office had to lower the front counter to accommodate all of the little people who come in for the mail.
https://www.theguardian.com/us-news...to-gibtown-the-last-freakshow-town-in-america
YES!
Had a patient that was high on bath salts. We managed to get him confined to a room, but he was easily 6'2" and just a huge dude. He ended up escaping 4 point restraints buck naked out the ER doors and just kept running circles around the hospital grounds, buck naked. Admin wanted to know why I didn't stop him...No thanks you do it. Looked like someone out of the walking dead.
Also had a psych guy up on the med surg floor (ended up killing himself a few months later) - came out of his room in the middle of the night with a headlamp on (red light) down a dark hallway. had his gown on backwards so the front was open and was totally naked, swinging his ding dong around in a circle by swishing his hips (have no idea how he accomplished this feat). stood in front of the nurses and just kept swinging it around. No one really knew what to do.
Also, never underestimate the power of a 92 year old 4'8" lady with dementia. Had one pull me into her bed, punch me in the head (the old Posey beds we used to zip old people up into to keep them safe) - put me in a chokehold and was out the door before you could blink. For reference I'm 5'10" and about 165 lbs. Hahah- I was definitely twice her size!
Also had a psych guy up on the med surg floor (ended up killing himself a few months later) - came out of his room in the middle of the night with a headlamp on (red light) down a dark hallway. had his gown on backwards so the front was open and was totally naked, swinging his ding dong around in a circle by swishing his hips (have no idea how he accomplished this feat). stood in front of the nurses and just kept swinging it around. No one really knew what to do.
Also, never underestimate the power of a 92 year old 4'8" lady with dementia. Had one pull me into her bed, punch me in the head (the old Posey beds we used to zip old people up into to keep them safe) - put me in a chokehold and was out the door before you could blink. For reference I'm 5'10" and about 165 lbs. Hahah- I was definitely twice her size!
Sounds like my grandmother! I had proxy and she was a handful. 
I have another true story that's even better than the Gibsonton story, if you guys are interested.
I just want to ask first because it is a long story, and don't want to push against the forum rules.
P.S. I forgot to mention that the story is about when I was on a flight assignment, and we were followed by a MiG fighter jet when we went over Cuba.
Let me know if everyone's interested.
I just want to ask first because it is a long story, and don't want to push against the forum rules.
P.S. I forgot to mention that the story is about when I was on a flight assignment, and we were followed by a MiG fighter jet when we went over Cuba.
Let me know if everyone's interested.
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go for it.
OK. I had just become a flight medic, and I was taking my very first trip to pick up a wealthy tourist who had broken her hip while dancing in a beach resort in Negril, Jamaica. We were in a Sabreliner small jet.
We were flying south when I heard the pilot say: "We have just penetrated Cuban airspace."
There was nothing for a moment, and then I hear: "They have a radar lock."
"Who has a radar lock?" I asked.
"Look out the window," said the pilot. I looked out the window and--sure enough--we were being followed by a Mig-21 that was flying close enough for me to see some of the details on the pilot's helmet.
"Do we need to--like--put on parachutes or something?" I asked.
"It can't hurt," said the pilot. "And it may save your life if they try to shoot at us."
So, I started buckling on the parachute, and discovered that it was dated from WWII, and parts of it were crumbling into tatters and dust from dry rot just from handling it and putting it on.
"This parachute seems defective! How could you take off with a defective parachute?" I asked the pilot.
"It was an oversight, but it's better than nothing" answered the pilot. "You'd rather jump naked?"
The MiG was still following us, and I couldn't think of anything else to do except pull the sunshade on the window down . . . like that would make a difference.
"By the way . . . did the boss give you that thing?" asked the co-pilot.
"What thing?" I asked, as parts of the parachute continued to rip apart as I tried to finish buckling it on.
He tossed me a small glass tube with a single black capsule inside, with a skull-and-crossbones label on the outside.
"You don't want to end up in Castro's prisons, as they use rat torture. So . . . that's a cyanide-based suicide tablet. The boss was supposed to give you one. You also need to put on the helmet."
"Yeah. And don't forget the flotation device," said the pilot.
My skin started to crawl for reasons besides jumping from 10,000 feet with a defective parachute, as rat torture was something that I've heard about from many Hatians whom were survivors of Papa Doc Duvalier and his Tonton Macoute.
Basically, a large number of rats are placed in a long, narrow cage that happens to be missing a side. This cage is placed flush against the victims body with the missing side against the prisoner's abdomen . . . and a fire is lit at the other end of the cage, which causes the rats to start frantically chewing their way through the victim's abdomen to escape the flames.
The MiG broke off when we exited Cuban airspace, and the pilots--no longer able to keep straight faces--began laughing so hard that I thought that they'd crash the plane out of sheer mirth at my expense.
Cuba routinely sends up planes to escort and observe any aircraft that enter their airspace, and--at no time--were we in any danger.
Our pilots were on a first-name basis with the Cuban fighter pilots, and they often talked about women, soccer, and baseball . . . sometimes even making bets on international sporting events. When circumstances permitted, they even got together in neutral countries over dominoes and Cuban cigars.
Those two a--holes had taken aspirin tablets and painted them with the secretary's black nail polish, and put them in two glass cigar tubes . . . which looked exactly like what I've seen in spy movies.
As for me, they had me wearing a dry-rotted, WWII parachute, a helmet, a flotation device, and protective goggles. The straw that broke the camel's back and caused them to lose their composure was--I believe--the military survival knife that I stuck in the top of my boot.
I was glad that they didn't have a camera to take blackmail pictures.
We were flying south when I heard the pilot say: "We have just penetrated Cuban airspace."
There was nothing for a moment, and then I hear: "They have a radar lock."
"Who has a radar lock?" I asked.
"Look out the window," said the pilot. I looked out the window and--sure enough--we were being followed by a Mig-21 that was flying close enough for me to see some of the details on the pilot's helmet.
"Do we need to--like--put on parachutes or something?" I asked.
"It can't hurt," said the pilot. "And it may save your life if they try to shoot at us."
So, I started buckling on the parachute, and discovered that it was dated from WWII, and parts of it were crumbling into tatters and dust from dry rot just from handling it and putting it on.
"This parachute seems defective! How could you take off with a defective parachute?" I asked the pilot.
"It was an oversight, but it's better than nothing" answered the pilot. "You'd rather jump naked?"
The MiG was still following us, and I couldn't think of anything else to do except pull the sunshade on the window down . . . like that would make a difference.
"By the way . . . did the boss give you that thing?" asked the co-pilot.
"What thing?" I asked, as parts of the parachute continued to rip apart as I tried to finish buckling it on.
He tossed me a small glass tube with a single black capsule inside, with a skull-and-crossbones label on the outside.
"You don't want to end up in Castro's prisons, as they use rat torture. So . . . that's a cyanide-based suicide tablet. The boss was supposed to give you one. You also need to put on the helmet."
"Yeah. And don't forget the flotation device," said the pilot.
My skin started to crawl for reasons besides jumping from 10,000 feet with a defective parachute, as rat torture was something that I've heard about from many Hatians whom were survivors of Papa Doc Duvalier and his Tonton Macoute.
Basically, a large number of rats are placed in a long, narrow cage that happens to be missing a side. This cage is placed flush against the victims body with the missing side against the prisoner's abdomen . . . and a fire is lit at the other end of the cage, which causes the rats to start frantically chewing their way through the victim's abdomen to escape the flames.
The MiG broke off when we exited Cuban airspace, and the pilots--no longer able to keep straight faces--began laughing so hard that I thought that they'd crash the plane out of sheer mirth at my expense.
Cuba routinely sends up planes to escort and observe any aircraft that enter their airspace, and--at no time--were we in any danger.
Our pilots were on a first-name basis with the Cuban fighter pilots, and they often talked about women, soccer, and baseball . . . sometimes even making bets on international sporting events. When circumstances permitted, they even got together in neutral countries over dominoes and Cuban cigars.
Those two a--holes had taken aspirin tablets and painted them with the secretary's black nail polish, and put them in two glass cigar tubes . . . which looked exactly like what I've seen in spy movies.
As for me, they had me wearing a dry-rotted, WWII parachute, a helmet, a flotation device, and protective goggles. The straw that broke the camel's back and caused them to lose their composure was--I believe--the military survival knife that I stuck in the top of my boot.
I was glad that they didn't have a camera to take blackmail pictures.
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- Joined
- Sep 7, 2013
- Messages
- 18,622
LMAO!
VFD here for 42 yrs!!!!
I love a good trauma. The on scene and ER is way more interesting than the ICU care though (which is why I wouldn’t want to work in a solely trauma ICU)- on top of the trauma surgeons thinking they are icu docs it makes for some interesting times
And then there was the time when I ran a 911 call on a local politician whom had gotten himself into an awkward situation with a dominatrix.
Is anyone interested?
Will post later today.
got a good one too if we can talk privately
Sure. But prob wont look until later tonight. Am goung to work.
My neighbor went to Urgent Care a couple of days ago. They no longer take appointments (I was told the same a couple of weeks ago at a different company), so you show up and wait. He said there was one woman working and she told him she is working 12 hour days because most people have quit over the mandate, and low staffing making matters worse.
I can easily see this spreading all over the country as the healthcare workers who have stayed become fatigued and angry.
Both of these issues are man made problems.
I can easily see this spreading all over the country as the healthcare workers who have stayed become fatigued and angry.
Both of these issues are man made problems.
@Helen Back yep most of us are fatigued and bordering on angry. The current rate we are going is completely unsustainable. I absolutely love critical care and what I do. Nothing more exhilarating than bringing someone back from the brink of death and watching them walk out of the hospital a few weeks later (or go to rehab at a long term acute care hospital and come back in a month or so) - once had a 33 year old admitted for septic shock that we had on a vent for 2 months, she was on 4 pressors - lost her legs, tip of her nose - went to rehab and wheeled in to the ICU 3 months later to thank us for saving her life. Super huge save and I always wonder if its worth it - but most are so thankful for the extra chance to live. We just aren't having that with COVID and it's damn depressing as most who come in to the ICU die. I had one lady who had COVID - in her 60's and overweight, who I was sure wasn't going to make it, she was intubated, trached and proned about 15 times or more - she made it to a long term rehab facility. Was smiling and thanking us for saving her and working so hard. At the end of the day, that's how we fill our cups, and why we do what we do.
Now, its few and far between, with people harassing us, yelling and calling everything we do into question. It's awful.
Now, its few and far between, with people harassing us, yelling and calling everything we do into question. It's awful.
Agree 100%.
There was a demonstrator at our hospital who threw a jar of blood on a pregnant RN while she was coming in to work. I am not a violent man, but I almost attacked this guy before security grabbed me.
The RN was physically fine, but refused to come back to work.
If it's any consolation, it is the government they are mad at, not you personally. People attacking you are not bright enough to understand that, and they don't know where to go to attack the "government" directly.
Also, you said "We just aren't having that with COVID". Please, remember where you work. You are seeing the very worst cases of COVID, while 99.5% of people that get it will never see an ICU. Even in America, where they are over reporting for their agenda, a tiny fraction of "daily cases" end up in your care.
Deep breaths; you are doing a great service, and most people appreciate the hell out of you.
it's hard, everything feels like a slap in the face most times.
I don't trust government either, and feel that they completely botched the whole response (both D and R).
If we had better leadership, would we be better off? I don't know that there is a great answer for that honestly, and that is what is so frustrating about all of it. NZ/Australia response was crazy with lockdowns, etc. and they are getting worse - with no end in sight and the rest of the world -with the virus raging around them. Really, to get any handle on it, there has to be a global effort, and no one can really figure that out. It's maddening.
For someone who has to deal with it, I am sure it is maddening. To me the problem is nobody in the world is willing to lay blame where it is due; China. They unleashed a virus Fauci was funding, and it has turned the world upside down. If I were in charge, I would just tell everyone to be diligent about their own safety, but under NO circumstances are we shutting the world's economy down (China's, yes). People will die, but they were going to do that anyway. It will be a rough time in human history, as were many other pandemics and plagues. That is life.
Maybe people will be more responsible for their own health decisions. Fats food should be banned. There should NEVER be sugar in milk, and everything else people consume now. GMOs would be banned. REAL food would be what people seek, under my leadership. But, this is about population control and culling the herd; trimming the fat. In another few years we will have 11 billion people, and we do not have enough food and water already, with 8 billion. There is NO doubt in my mind this is all planned.
Buckle up, Brandon's "dark Winter" is upon us...
I promised another true EMS story, so here goes:
We got a call to a large, expensive house in the suburbs for ambiguous reasons . . . which always raises red flags.
We were escorted into a dungeon by a strikingly beautiful dominatrix who was dressed (if you want to call it that) in an interesting combination of black leather, fishnet hose, high heels, and so forth . . . I'm sure you get the idea.
The patient was a nude man whom was trussed up over a saw horse with chains, manacles, a ball gag, and ropes.
"Why is he still tied up like this?" I asked, as I pulled out my EMT scissors to cut him free.
"Don't do that!" said my partner, as she eyed the dominatrix.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because of the gun," she answered, as she pointed at the revolver. It looked like a Smith and Wesson, but I couldn't be sure because the barrel was jammed up his "you-know-where."
All of a sudden . . . it dawned on me why everybody was trying to keep calm and controlled.
"That's a real gun? Not a prop?" I asked, dumbfounded. "How could you f----k up like this?" I asked. "Aren't you a professional?"
"Even monkeys fall out of trees," she answered. "I keep a gun because it's a necessity in my line of work," she answered. "I got my prop gun mixed up with my real gun in the heat of the moment."
It's a truism that every time I think I've seen the utter limits of human depravity in my EMS job, something else comes along to show me that there are even greater depths.
"Did you see who he is?" asked my partner.
"Councilman Suarez?" I asked (not his real name) when I recognized him after I removed his ball gag. "Something like this must be a real pain in the a---," I commented, as I pulled my partner off the the side for a professional conference.
"Did you ever get anything like this before?" I asked her.
"Yeah . . . all the time," she answered.
"You and your girlfriend go shooting all the time, so you know guns better than I do," I answered. "I want suggestions right now, and I don't care if they sound stupid, because I want everything on the table. You worked in the ER before, so what would they do there?"
"I have an idea," answered my partner. She sent the mistress to get a rolling pin . . . and I thought that she would go to her kitchen, but she just happened to have one handy in her toy box. Why was it there? I don't know . . . and I certainly won't speculate.
My partner smashed the rolling pin against the floor until she broke off a handle, and she stuck this piece of wood in the space behind the trigger, and secured it with tape.
She then thumbed the cylinder release, and poked the cartridges out one by one with her pen until the gun was empty.
"Pretty slick. I'm buying you lunch wherever you want," I said, as I pecked her check. I meant it too, as I don't believe I would have thought of such a solution.
I squirted KY jelly around the barrel, and slowly pulled the revolver straight out with a spray of blood.
The patient signed a refusal of treatment and transport form with an scribbled signature that could have been anything, and my partner handed him a sanitary napkin while I got the evil eye for asking him if he preferred a tampon instead.
I saw him on TV a few weeks later proclaiming the evils of anti-Christian homosexuals, and how there was a gay agenda to deliberately spread AIDS through the national blood supply . . . and I proceded to get very drunk.
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Working in the medical field can be tough emotionally on the staff. Especially in the ER/trauma. Many of the staff developed weird behaviors or sense of humor as a way of coping with the stresses. We had one guy take an amputated leg that was in a clear bag, stood it up in the corner of the elevator and sent it to the lobby…. Another time a baby was born stillborn. The family was about to come into the room and the doctor said to hide the deceased baby to not upset the family or mother. So the nurse took the baby and put it in one of the empty boxes under the Christmas tree. Later they had to go through all the boxes to find which had the baby. Many would be troubled by these things, but I’ve heard these and other stories told over and over by stressed medical personnel that laughed hysterically as a way to blow off steam. So to those that have been through this craziness and have done their best to help others, I can’t thank you enough.
