Got this in an email today, and it's freakin' brilliant...
FREEWAY PATROL - EP.5 from Joe Snuffy on Vimeo.
Do yourself a favor and watch all five episodes...
Traumatic License - a peek inside the crazy world of pre-hospital medicine in Fairview, USA
Friday, September 24, 2010
Wrong place, wrong time...
Picture this:
It's a pleasant autumn evening. A crispness and freshness fills the air. It's a Thursday night, about 10ish, and most residents of Fairview are settled down for the evening and enjoying a book or some TV before bed.
Out in Centennial Park, however, trouble is brewing.
I'm cruising down Centennial Avenue with my normal partner and Robbie, a dispatcher doing his semi-annual Field Observation & Orientation ride. Yep -- FOO. As in, I pity the foo' -- at least for the dispatchers that wanna hide in the comm center for their whole career and hide their heads in the sand, pretending that the chaos they send us into on a daily basis actually happens only in Fantasyland.
Robbie is one of my favorite dispatchers -- cool under pressure, friendly, not much attitude -- and he gets major bonus points for riding with us whenever possible. He worked the field before he tweaked his back, and while he can't lift anything heavier than a cardiac monitor, his mind is as sharp as ever.
But I digress.
As we approach Flint, I notice a Mitsubishi Eclipse that's high centered up on the dividing island that separates the northbound and southbound lanes of Centennial. The Eclipse is resting up against a freshly planted tree that's maybe 2-3" in diameter. Clearly the car wasn't going fast, or it would have knocked the new tree down.
I don't see anyone around the vehicle, and we flip around at Flint to take a closer look. We stop in the fast lane of N/B (northbound) Centennial just south of the vehicle, and I advise PD of the vehicle's situation and location. Traffic is light, and blocking the lane for a minute isn't going to be a big deal. The car is mildly suspicious, but nothing too shady. Until I get out of the ambulance, that is.
As I approach the vehicle, a bystander runs up to me and says, "he got hit!"
Huh. There's no damage to the vehicle consistent with striking another vehicle or a pedestrian; in fact, there's no apparent damage at all. I update PD with the bystander's report of a possible hit and run. Still not a big deal.
I ask the bystander where the guy that got hit is at, and he tells me that he's in the passenger seat..
Huh. It's getting stranger, but still doesn't seem too hinky. The city had planted some trees all up and down Centennial to go along with the shrubs that were already there. Unfortunately, the shrubs prevent me from easily accessing the passenger side of the car without walking around the rear. As I approach the left rear quarter panel, the bystander yells, "Yo, man, look at that bullet hole!"
Huh? HUH?!? It clicks. Hit meaning hit by a bullet, not hit by a car. And even worse, my partner and I (and my dispatcher) are walking around in what has suddenly become a very large and very uncontrolled crime scene.
I advise PD that we now have a shooting scene with one victim and 20-25 bystanders threatening the integrity of the scene. Nobody seems to be anything but curious, but these people need to be removed from the equation ASAP.
God bless FPD -- less than fifteen seconds after I knew that it was a shooting and advised PD of the same I heard three different sets of sirens spool up around me. Less than 45 seconds after that, I had 3 squad cars on scene with 5 cops clearing out our scene. Impressive.
The sergeant takes a look at the car and gives us the go-ahead to make entry. He stands aside to let us work, keeping a watchful eye on the scene to note any changes our work brings about. We open the door and find a young adult male, unresponsive in the car. Robbie hands me a backboard and c-collar, and we rapidly extricate our patient. There's no apparent trauma, but as we move the kid I notice a small amount of fresh blood on the back of the seat. Interesting...
We get the collar on the kid's neck and log roll him onto his side to check his back. There's a small hole in the shirt, at around the level of the 12 rib and just to the left of the spinal column. I make sure the cop sees the hole, and then cut the shirt off, making sure to keep the scissors far from that bullet hole. Once the shirt is gone, a small caliber gunshot wound is revealed. It's not bleeding (at least externally), so I toss a petroleum gauze bandage on it and move on. We secure him to the board, and slide off his pants and leave them with the shirt.
Once we have the kid in his boxers, he starts to come around. He's understandably a little confused, and more than a little cold. The physical exam is unremarkable save for the sole entry wound, and we get him in the bus and prepare for transport. I ask the sergeant if he wants to send an officer with us, which he declines. The kid's talking now, so there'll be plenty of time to have a detective talk to him at the hospital, right?
We take off for University Medical Center and start to get the story from the kid. It's about a 15 minute ride, and there's not too much in the way of patient care to do -- oxygen, IV, EKG, pulse oximetry... Pretty simple stuff. So we talk.
The kid was at a party (on a Thursday? Craziness...) and smiled at a girl from across the room. He didn't even say a word to this girl, but her ex-boyfriend took serious offense. Unfortunately for our patient, ex is a POS gang member and would rather not be reasonable. He tells the patient not to say another word and just leave the party.
The patient says, "Hey man, I'm sorry... I'm leaving." Apparently, he truly shouldn't have said a word because the douchebag banger pulls a pistol, yells, "I told you not to say a word" and pops off a round. The kid runs to his car to drive away, but the banger -- intent on being the big man, no doubt -- follows him to the car and fires a second round.
The round goes through the trunk, through the back seat, through the driver's seat and into the patient. He starts driving to Community Hospital, but gets dizzy as he approaches Flint. He steers up onto the island, and tries to get out the passenger door. He doesn't remember a thing until we have him out of the car in his underwear.
So basically this kid smiled at the wrong girl, and some waste of oxygen lights him up. Lovely.
I make contact with U-Med and let them know what we've got, and the kid's level of consciousness starts to deteriorate. He starts to get pale, and becomes increasingly hard to rouse. By the time we pull up at the trauma bay, he's completely unresponsive again. We hurry him inside and turn him over to the trauma team. I give a quick report, and we get out of the way. As the team wheels him into the ER, he stops breathing.
They end up terminating resuscitation efforts ten minutes into emergency surgery.
We walk outside and get the rig put back together. A squad car rolls up, and the semi-bored looking street cop is shocked to hear that his aggravated assault victim is now a homicide victim. We talk for a few minutes, as Robbie and I have heard the poor kid's dying declaration.
Fortunately, the cops already had a few leads, and the minimal information we had seemed to match up with witness reports from the scene.
I really hope they catch the kid's killer... Who shoots someone for smiling at their ex? I mean, even OJ was better than that...
It's a pleasant autumn evening. A crispness and freshness fills the air. It's a Thursday night, about 10ish, and most residents of Fairview are settled down for the evening and enjoying a book or some TV before bed.
Out in Centennial Park, however, trouble is brewing.
I'm cruising down Centennial Avenue with my normal partner and Robbie, a dispatcher doing his semi-annual Field Observation & Orientation ride. Yep -- FOO. As in, I pity the foo' -- at least for the dispatchers that wanna hide in the comm center for their whole career and hide their heads in the sand, pretending that the chaos they send us into on a daily basis actually happens only in Fantasyland.
Robbie is one of my favorite dispatchers -- cool under pressure, friendly, not much attitude -- and he gets major bonus points for riding with us whenever possible. He worked the field before he tweaked his back, and while he can't lift anything heavier than a cardiac monitor, his mind is as sharp as ever.
But I digress.
As we approach Flint, I notice a Mitsubishi Eclipse that's high centered up on the dividing island that separates the northbound and southbound lanes of Centennial. The Eclipse is resting up against a freshly planted tree that's maybe 2-3" in diameter. Clearly the car wasn't going fast, or it would have knocked the new tree down.
I don't see anyone around the vehicle, and we flip around at Flint to take a closer look. We stop in the fast lane of N/B (northbound) Centennial just south of the vehicle, and I advise PD of the vehicle's situation and location. Traffic is light, and blocking the lane for a minute isn't going to be a big deal. The car is mildly suspicious, but nothing too shady. Until I get out of the ambulance, that is.
As I approach the vehicle, a bystander runs up to me and says, "he got hit!"
Huh. There's no damage to the vehicle consistent with striking another vehicle or a pedestrian; in fact, there's no apparent damage at all. I update PD with the bystander's report of a possible hit and run. Still not a big deal.
I ask the bystander where the guy that got hit is at, and he tells me that he's in the passenger seat..
Huh. It's getting stranger, but still doesn't seem too hinky. The city had planted some trees all up and down Centennial to go along with the shrubs that were already there. Unfortunately, the shrubs prevent me from easily accessing the passenger side of the car without walking around the rear. As I approach the left rear quarter panel, the bystander yells, "Yo, man, look at that bullet hole!"
Huh? HUH?!? It clicks. Hit meaning hit by a bullet, not hit by a car. And even worse, my partner and I (and my dispatcher) are walking around in what has suddenly become a very large and very uncontrolled crime scene.
I advise PD that we now have a shooting scene with one victim and 20-25 bystanders threatening the integrity of the scene. Nobody seems to be anything but curious, but these people need to be removed from the equation ASAP.
God bless FPD -- less than fifteen seconds after I knew that it was a shooting and advised PD of the same I heard three different sets of sirens spool up around me. Less than 45 seconds after that, I had 3 squad cars on scene with 5 cops clearing out our scene. Impressive.
The sergeant takes a look at the car and gives us the go-ahead to make entry. He stands aside to let us work, keeping a watchful eye on the scene to note any changes our work brings about. We open the door and find a young adult male, unresponsive in the car. Robbie hands me a backboard and c-collar, and we rapidly extricate our patient. There's no apparent trauma, but as we move the kid I notice a small amount of fresh blood on the back of the seat. Interesting...
We get the collar on the kid's neck and log roll him onto his side to check his back. There's a small hole in the shirt, at around the level of the 12 rib and just to the left of the spinal column. I make sure the cop sees the hole, and then cut the shirt off, making sure to keep the scissors far from that bullet hole. Once the shirt is gone, a small caliber gunshot wound is revealed. It's not bleeding (at least externally), so I toss a petroleum gauze bandage on it and move on. We secure him to the board, and slide off his pants and leave them with the shirt.
Once we have the kid in his boxers, he starts to come around. He's understandably a little confused, and more than a little cold. The physical exam is unremarkable save for the sole entry wound, and we get him in the bus and prepare for transport. I ask the sergeant if he wants to send an officer with us, which he declines. The kid's talking now, so there'll be plenty of time to have a detective talk to him at the hospital, right?
We take off for University Medical Center and start to get the story from the kid. It's about a 15 minute ride, and there's not too much in the way of patient care to do -- oxygen, IV, EKG, pulse oximetry... Pretty simple stuff. So we talk.
The kid was at a party (on a Thursday? Craziness...) and smiled at a girl from across the room. He didn't even say a word to this girl, but her ex-boyfriend took serious offense. Unfortunately for our patient, ex is a POS gang member and would rather not be reasonable. He tells the patient not to say another word and just leave the party.
The patient says, "Hey man, I'm sorry... I'm leaving." Apparently, he truly shouldn't have said a word because the douchebag banger pulls a pistol, yells, "I told you not to say a word" and pops off a round. The kid runs to his car to drive away, but the banger -- intent on being the big man, no doubt -- follows him to the car and fires a second round.
The round goes through the trunk, through the back seat, through the driver's seat and into the patient. He starts driving to Community Hospital, but gets dizzy as he approaches Flint. He steers up onto the island, and tries to get out the passenger door. He doesn't remember a thing until we have him out of the car in his underwear.
So basically this kid smiled at the wrong girl, and some waste of oxygen lights him up. Lovely.
I make contact with U-Med and let them know what we've got, and the kid's level of consciousness starts to deteriorate. He starts to get pale, and becomes increasingly hard to rouse. By the time we pull up at the trauma bay, he's completely unresponsive again. We hurry him inside and turn him over to the trauma team. I give a quick report, and we get out of the way. As the team wheels him into the ER, he stops breathing.
They end up terminating resuscitation efforts ten minutes into emergency surgery.
We walk outside and get the rig put back together. A squad car rolls up, and the semi-bored looking street cop is shocked to hear that his aggravated assault victim is now a homicide victim. We talk for a few minutes, as Robbie and I have heard the poor kid's dying declaration.
Fortunately, the cops already had a few leads, and the minimal information we had seemed to match up with witness reports from the scene.
I really hope they catch the kid's killer... Who shoots someone for smiling at their ex? I mean, even OJ was better than that...
Monday, September 20, 2010
With a Friend Like This Guy...
So I'm sitting there, minding my own business, wrapping up a run report at the hospital and looking at the clock.
0200ish. WAY past my bedtime. I finalize narrative on my report and pick up the radio mic to advise that we're back in service, but my partner asks me to wait a second so he can get a bottle of water before we clear.
It was a quiet night, and the only radio chatter was Fairview PD's gang unit running a surveillance detail. Waiting to clear for an extra minute wasn't gonna be a big deal.
Or so I thought.
As he gets back in the car, FPD requests an ambulance for a TC -- traffic collision -- as the result of a pursuit. The stated location is a whopping 3/4 of a mile from Fairview Memorial Hospital, and the nearest station is a couple miles away. There's no mistaking it -- we're gonna be up for a while longer.
I go to advise dispatch that we can handle the TC, but my partner stops me, saying, "Man, don't clear. They only want a tow truck, not an ambulance."
This is what gets frustrating about using esoteric codes on the air. The cops used their standard 10 code for an ambulance, but my partner was sure that they used the tow truck code. I was willing to bet my next paycheck that PD wanted us, but my partner swore he was right. We made the standard bet -- a bottle of water -- and I cleared us from the hospital. Turns out I was right and they wanted an ambulance.
Sure enough, as soon as we clear, we get the TC.
Being so close, we smoke FFD getting on scene. Our total response time, from the moment that PD requested us, was about 70 seconds. We arrive to find an unmarked FPD gang unit and a marked cruiser parked haphazardly, doing their best to block Fairview Boulevard and preserve the integrity of their crime scene.
We see a typical G-ride -- old Buick with a sound system worth far more than the car itself, sporting the finest hydraulics money can buy, complete with 22 inch spinners and a ridiculous paint job -- that has crashed into a pole. The vehicle impacted at high speed, with the impact point at the right front of the car. The engine had torn loose from the vehicle and flew more than 50 yards before embedding itself into the front of a business down the street. The speed limit on that stretch of the Boulevard is 40 mph, and these jokers were clearly not too concerned about shattering that limit.
I get out of the ambulance and walk up to one of the gang unit guys, who reports that the vehicle was going in excess of 80 and running from the cops at the time of the wreck. He adds that these guys are known gang members, and the driver is very likely under the influence of drugs and alcohol.
So I approach the car and note three occupants that all appear to be pinned in and unresponsive.
I check the pulse on the driver, and it's strong and regular. There's no obvious trauma, and no passenger space intrusion to the driver's part of the passenger compartment. His breathing is normal, and he is completely unresponsive.
I check the left rear passenger. The force of the impact buckled the roof, forcing it into the kid's head. His neck is bent at an unnatural angle, with his head resting against his shoulder. I check the pulse, and it's strong but very irregular. Like, 30 beats per minute and slowing quickly.
I walk around the back of the car to check out who appears to be the right rear passenger. No pulse, and no visible trauma. Interesting, but I don't have time to really think about it right now. I'll find out later that he had actually been the front seat passenger, but the impact was so severe that most of him ended up coming to rest in the back seat. Yikes.
I return to the left rear passenger, and check his pulse again. LUB-DUB. Longish pause. Lub. Dub. Even longer pause. lub dub. And no more.
I advise fire that we have two black tags (dead) and a red tag (critical) and let the cops know that it's at least a double fatal.
The engine and truck arrive and extricate our driver. We package him up, start an IV and beat feet toward University Medical Center. He was protecting his airway really well, but I brought a fireman just in case he needed to be intubated. It turned out that intubation wasn't necessary, as the patient woke up halfway through the transport. He got really combative and belligerent and was just a general pain. He was fully alert and oriented, and his combativeness had nothing to do with a head injury and everything to do with him being a knucklehead -- and his drug use.
He finally got around to asking us about his friends, and the fireman mustered all his tact and professionalism and blurted out the unvarnished truth: "You killed both of them in the car crash."
Not the best death notification I've ever witnessed, but certainly not the worst. The patient got even more combative and had to be restrained. He ended up having no medical issues aside from intoxication and ended up being cut loose from the trauma ward before dawn. FPD took him directly to jail on the vehicular manslaughter charges, and I filled out my paperwork and went to bed.
The next weekend, FPD got together with FCSO, Fairview Heights PD and Fairmont PD to do a massive warrant sweep at the memorial service for the two dead guys. A number of gang members went to jail on outstanding warrants, and more than two dozen weapons were recovered from the bushes at one of our local gang parks.
What a waste. Nocturnal Urban Pharmaceutical Sales won't typical end up with the sales associates being dead, but it's a definite hazard of the job. Maybe they shouldn't have run. Or maybe they shouldn't have been cruising with their lit buddy. Or both.
At the end of the day, though, the good guys were all safe. No innocent bystanders were taken out, and the pole the car hit wasn't damaged enough to warrant replacement.
0200ish. WAY past my bedtime. I finalize narrative on my report and pick up the radio mic to advise that we're back in service, but my partner asks me to wait a second so he can get a bottle of water before we clear.
It was a quiet night, and the only radio chatter was Fairview PD's gang unit running a surveillance detail. Waiting to clear for an extra minute wasn't gonna be a big deal.
Or so I thought.
As he gets back in the car, FPD requests an ambulance for a TC -- traffic collision -- as the result of a pursuit. The stated location is a whopping 3/4 of a mile from Fairview Memorial Hospital, and the nearest station is a couple miles away. There's no mistaking it -- we're gonna be up for a while longer.
I go to advise dispatch that we can handle the TC, but my partner stops me, saying, "Man, don't clear. They only want a tow truck, not an ambulance."
This is what gets frustrating about using esoteric codes on the air. The cops used their standard 10 code for an ambulance, but my partner was sure that they used the tow truck code. I was willing to bet my next paycheck that PD wanted us, but my partner swore he was right. We made the standard bet -- a bottle of water -- and I cleared us from the hospital. Turns out I was right and they wanted an ambulance.
Sure enough, as soon as we clear, we get the TC.
Being so close, we smoke FFD getting on scene. Our total response time, from the moment that PD requested us, was about 70 seconds. We arrive to find an unmarked FPD gang unit and a marked cruiser parked haphazardly, doing their best to block Fairview Boulevard and preserve the integrity of their crime scene.
We see a typical G-ride -- old Buick with a sound system worth far more than the car itself, sporting the finest hydraulics money can buy, complete with 22 inch spinners and a ridiculous paint job -- that has crashed into a pole. The vehicle impacted at high speed, with the impact point at the right front of the car. The engine had torn loose from the vehicle and flew more than 50 yards before embedding itself into the front of a business down the street. The speed limit on that stretch of the Boulevard is 40 mph, and these jokers were clearly not too concerned about shattering that limit.
I get out of the ambulance and walk up to one of the gang unit guys, who reports that the vehicle was going in excess of 80 and running from the cops at the time of the wreck. He adds that these guys are known gang members, and the driver is very likely under the influence of drugs and alcohol.
So I approach the car and note three occupants that all appear to be pinned in and unresponsive.
I check the pulse on the driver, and it's strong and regular. There's no obvious trauma, and no passenger space intrusion to the driver's part of the passenger compartment. His breathing is normal, and he is completely unresponsive.
I check the left rear passenger. The force of the impact buckled the roof, forcing it into the kid's head. His neck is bent at an unnatural angle, with his head resting against his shoulder. I check the pulse, and it's strong but very irregular. Like, 30 beats per minute and slowing quickly.
I walk around the back of the car to check out who appears to be the right rear passenger. No pulse, and no visible trauma. Interesting, but I don't have time to really think about it right now. I'll find out later that he had actually been the front seat passenger, but the impact was so severe that most of him ended up coming to rest in the back seat. Yikes.
I return to the left rear passenger, and check his pulse again. LUB-DUB. Longish pause. Lub. Dub. Even longer pause. lub dub. And no more.
I advise fire that we have two black tags (dead) and a red tag (critical) and let the cops know that it's at least a double fatal.
The engine and truck arrive and extricate our driver. We package him up, start an IV and beat feet toward University Medical Center. He was protecting his airway really well, but I brought a fireman just in case he needed to be intubated. It turned out that intubation wasn't necessary, as the patient woke up halfway through the transport. He got really combative and belligerent and was just a general pain. He was fully alert and oriented, and his combativeness had nothing to do with a head injury and everything to do with him being a knucklehead -- and his drug use.
He finally got around to asking us about his friends, and the fireman mustered all his tact and professionalism and blurted out the unvarnished truth: "You killed both of them in the car crash."
Not the best death notification I've ever witnessed, but certainly not the worst. The patient got even more combative and had to be restrained. He ended up having no medical issues aside from intoxication and ended up being cut loose from the trauma ward before dawn. FPD took him directly to jail on the vehicular manslaughter charges, and I filled out my paperwork and went to bed.
The next weekend, FPD got together with FCSO, Fairview Heights PD and Fairmont PD to do a massive warrant sweep at the memorial service for the two dead guys. A number of gang members went to jail on outstanding warrants, and more than two dozen weapons were recovered from the bushes at one of our local gang parks.
What a waste. Nocturnal Urban Pharmaceutical Sales won't typical end up with the sales associates being dead, but it's a definite hazard of the job. Maybe they shouldn't have run. Or maybe they shouldn't have been cruising with their lit buddy. Or both.
At the end of the day, though, the good guys were all safe. No innocent bystanders were taken out, and the pole the car hit wasn't damaged enough to warrant replacement.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Allied Agencies
Just a quick note about the agencies that frequently respond on our runs. I'll probably use the acronyms more often than typing the whole thing out, so to alleviate some confusion (especially for those outside the US or civilians that might not get it...) here is a list:
FEMS - Fairview Emergency Medical Services - my agency
FFD - Fairview (City) Fire Department
FCFD - Fairview County Fire Department
FPD - Fairview Police Department
FCSO - Fairview County Sheriff's Office
SHP - State Highway Patrol
We also have other adjacent municipalities that respond with us on occasion, and I'll do my best to follow the same format:
FD - Fire Department (Typically a city)
CFD - County Fire Department
PD - Police Department
SO - Sheriff's Office
SD - Sheriff's Department
That being said, I am fortunate to respond with a great group. Our firemen come with us on almost every call, and our cops are typically very good about doing everything they can to help us when we need it.
FEMS - Fairview Emergency Medical Services - my agency
FFD - Fairview (City) Fire Department
FCFD - Fairview County Fire Department
FPD - Fairview Police Department
FCSO - Fairview County Sheriff's Office
SHP - State Highway Patrol
We also have other adjacent municipalities that respond with us on occasion, and I'll do my best to follow the same format:
FD - Fire Department (Typically a city)
CFD - County Fire Department
PD - Police Department
SO - Sheriff's Office
SD - Sheriff's Department
That being said, I am fortunate to respond with a great group. Our firemen come with us on almost every call, and our cops are typically very good about doing everything they can to help us when we need it.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Involuntary Psychiatric Holds
Involuntary psychiatric holds. Everyone's heard about these. Everyone calls 'em something different. We call them IPHs, and they frequently start out as as general "psychiatric emergency" calls. Out in California they're called 5150s, and down in Florida they use the Baker Act. Here we just call them what they are. Maybe that makes us weird.
Anyway, while statutes vary across the country, these holds generally allow law enforcement officers and qualified medical responders to involuntarily hold a patient for a specified amount of time (typically 3 days) for a mental health evaluation. This is most commonly done for someone who is a grave danger to themselves (suicidal) or others (homicidal), and our goal is to get the patient into a mental health facility and get them the treatment they need.
So my partner and I respond to a busy downtown intersection to assist Fairview PD with a delusional subject. We arrive to find a homeless 50 year old woman crying for help finding "Rebecca." The officers reported that the woman had been walking aimlessly in traffic lanes, looking for her daughter. They knew the patient from prior contacts, and knew that her daughter had been struck and killed by a drunk driver in the area some years before. While the woman had been jaywalking and inciting gridlock, she obviously didn't need a ticket for that. She needed some psychiatric help. She had become an alcoholic after her daughter's death, and eventually lost her home. While she had been homeless for some time, she never caused any trouble, and the delusions and/or desperation were new.
We make patient contact, and explain that the officers wanted her to get the help she needed. As a diabetic alcoholic, she needed medical clearance prior to getting psychiatric help. We explained that we were there to help, and she agreed to go with us. The woman admitted to suicidal tendencies, and the officers handed us the IPH form.
As we loaded her up, she became hysterical and resumed yelling for Rebecca. We applied soft restraints to keep her from flailing around too much. While she wasn't intentionally violent, that's no small consolation when you get accidentally smacked all the way to the hospital. We talked her down a bit and addressed her concerns about the IPH to her satisfaction, and she rested comfortably as we initiated transport to the hospital.
I asked her if I could get her ID out of her bag, and she gave me permission to rummage through the large backpack that contained most of her earthly possessions.
"Just don't steal my $15,000 dollars," she added.
Right. $15,000?
So I started going through her backpack, and couldn't find the ID. When I asked her where it was, she said it was in a manila envelope with her money. I quickly located the manila envelope and undid the clasp.
Sure enough, there was her ID.
Right on top of a large quantity of cash.
Now, I'm no banker, but I'd bet a good chunk of my next paycheck that it was right around fifteen grand. This poor lady had lost her daughter to a drunk, and then her job, her house, and almost everything else she had to her own alcoholism. But she had it together enough to carefully manage and account for 15Gs in cash as she slowly drank away what was left of her former life.
We dropped her off at the hospital fifteen minutes later, and she thanked us profusely for helping her. She offered my partner and I some money for helping her, which we politely but firmly refused. She was pretty pushy about it, but in the end seemed satisfied that we wouldn't take a penny from her for doing our jobs.
We never saw her again, and I really hope that the psych unit was a good place for her to get some help. It still amazes me that this woman had more money in one envelope than I've ever had in my bank account at one time.
No matter how many calls I run, I never cease to be amazed by what I see...
Anyway, while statutes vary across the country, these holds generally allow law enforcement officers and qualified medical responders to involuntarily hold a patient for a specified amount of time (typically 3 days) for a mental health evaluation. This is most commonly done for someone who is a grave danger to themselves (suicidal) or others (homicidal), and our goal is to get the patient into a mental health facility and get them the treatment they need.
So my partner and I respond to a busy downtown intersection to assist Fairview PD with a delusional subject. We arrive to find a homeless 50 year old woman crying for help finding "Rebecca." The officers reported that the woman had been walking aimlessly in traffic lanes, looking for her daughter. They knew the patient from prior contacts, and knew that her daughter had been struck and killed by a drunk driver in the area some years before. While the woman had been jaywalking and inciting gridlock, she obviously didn't need a ticket for that. She needed some psychiatric help. She had become an alcoholic after her daughter's death, and eventually lost her home. While she had been homeless for some time, she never caused any trouble, and the delusions and/or desperation were new.
We make patient contact, and explain that the officers wanted her to get the help she needed. As a diabetic alcoholic, she needed medical clearance prior to getting psychiatric help. We explained that we were there to help, and she agreed to go with us. The woman admitted to suicidal tendencies, and the officers handed us the IPH form.
As we loaded her up, she became hysterical and resumed yelling for Rebecca. We applied soft restraints to keep her from flailing around too much. While she wasn't intentionally violent, that's no small consolation when you get accidentally smacked all the way to the hospital. We talked her down a bit and addressed her concerns about the IPH to her satisfaction, and she rested comfortably as we initiated transport to the hospital.
I asked her if I could get her ID out of her bag, and she gave me permission to rummage through the large backpack that contained most of her earthly possessions.
"Just don't steal my $15,000 dollars," she added.
Right. $15,000?
So I started going through her backpack, and couldn't find the ID. When I asked her where it was, she said it was in a manila envelope with her money. I quickly located the manila envelope and undid the clasp.
Sure enough, there was her ID.
Right on top of a large quantity of cash.
Now, I'm no banker, but I'd bet a good chunk of my next paycheck that it was right around fifteen grand. This poor lady had lost her daughter to a drunk, and then her job, her house, and almost everything else she had to her own alcoholism. But she had it together enough to carefully manage and account for 15Gs in cash as she slowly drank away what was left of her former life.
We dropped her off at the hospital fifteen minutes later, and she thanked us profusely for helping her. She offered my partner and I some money for helping her, which we politely but firmly refused. She was pretty pushy about it, but in the end seemed satisfied that we wouldn't take a penny from her for doing our jobs.
We never saw her again, and I really hope that the psych unit was a good place for her to get some help. It still amazes me that this woman had more money in one envelope than I've ever had in my bank account at one time.
No matter how many calls I run, I never cease to be amazed by what I see...
Welcome!
Hi! Welcome to Traumatic License.
If you're here, you probably either work in or have some interest in Emergency Services and the public safety sector. Or you clicked on some link from the Oil Minister of Nigeria offering you millions of dollars for helping him smuggle money out of Africa.
Either way, now that you're here you'll probably find some war stories, as well as my thoughts on the Good, Bad & Ugly of Fire Protection, Emergency Medical Services and Law Enforcement.
I proudly serve in Fairview, USA. My response area changes by the day, and includes everything from the inner-city urban environment to the very rural suburbs. Fairview County covers a couple thousand square miles and more than a million people, so the opportunities for variety are many. I've gone days without a run, and run more than 25 calls in 24 hours.
I'm always open to constructive criticism and comments of all kinds. I welcome dissenting opinions, and I don't have any problems with the occasional healthy debate. However, there are a few ground rules: Keep it civil, keep it reasonably intelligent, and divorce yourself from emotion long enough to completely read and attempt to understand what I've written. While you're free to post whatever you'd like in the comments section, don't be surprised if I delete a comment that doesn't follow the rules.
Also, this whole operation is quasi-anonymous, and with good reason. I won't identify patients, and certain identifying details will be changed to protect their privacy. I also won't post photos that in any way violate anyone's privacy, and I won't identify myself, my agency or my coworkers.
That's the way the brass wants it, and that's the way I'll run it. To paraphrase the immortal Calvin, you cannot trace me. You cannot find me. Sincerely, Fairview Medic.
If you're here, you probably either work in or have some interest in Emergency Services and the public safety sector. Or you clicked on some link from the Oil Minister of Nigeria offering you millions of dollars for helping him smuggle money out of Africa.
Either way, now that you're here you'll probably find some war stories, as well as my thoughts on the Good, Bad & Ugly of Fire Protection, Emergency Medical Services and Law Enforcement.
I proudly serve in Fairview, USA. My response area changes by the day, and includes everything from the inner-city urban environment to the very rural suburbs. Fairview County covers a couple thousand square miles and more than a million people, so the opportunities for variety are many. I've gone days without a run, and run more than 25 calls in 24 hours.
I'm always open to constructive criticism and comments of all kinds. I welcome dissenting opinions, and I don't have any problems with the occasional healthy debate. However, there are a few ground rules: Keep it civil, keep it reasonably intelligent, and divorce yourself from emotion long enough to completely read and attempt to understand what I've written. While you're free to post whatever you'd like in the comments section, don't be surprised if I delete a comment that doesn't follow the rules.
Also, this whole operation is quasi-anonymous, and with good reason. I won't identify patients, and certain identifying details will be changed to protect their privacy. I also won't post photos that in any way violate anyone's privacy, and I won't identify myself, my agency or my coworkers.
That's the way the brass wants it, and that's the way I'll run it. To paraphrase the immortal Calvin, you cannot trace me. You cannot find me. Sincerely, Fairview Medic.
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