The doorstep where Jeanette was found

By Rory Reynolds

A GRANDMOTHER was fighting for her life in hospital last night after becoming locked out of her home for seven hours in sub-zero temperatures.

Jeanette Wright was discovered “frozen in a ball” by a 17-year-old neighbour after spending the night out in the open as blizzards raged.

Neighbours said the 60-year-old pharmacy assistant from Gorebridge, Midlothian, is thought to have put the wrong key into her own lock by accident after returning from a Christmas party in the early hours of Sunday morning.

The temperature dropped so low that Jeanette’s heart stopped with paramedics battling to save her at the scene.

She was rushed to Edinburgh Royal Infirmary shortly after she was discovered at 9am.

“Really shocked”

Her son John was by her bedside yesterday as she fought to overcome the affects of being exposed to temperatures which forecasters said could have plunged to below minus four degrees in what had been heavy snowfall.

The incident has left the close-knit community shocked and saddened with neighbours and customers describing Jeanette as a well-known and popular figure.

One neighbour, who asked not to be named, said: “Everyone’s really shocked. She works in the chemist down the road and everyone knows her.

“She was found by the girl across the road who is just a teenager and so pretty shaken up after finding her like that.

“The paramedics came, there were two of them as well as the police.

“I didn’t see her lying on the ground, but saw them carrying her on a stretcher and she was curled up.

“I don’t think they had been able to stretch her out – she must have been frozen like a ball.

“It’s really awful to think I was lying in bed that night right next to where they found her. It really makes you think. I haven’t slept since.

“Everyone round here is shocked and saddened. We all hope she’s okay.”

“Didn’t hear a thing”

Staff at the pharmacy where she works said she was a valued colleague.

Caroline Wells, Area Manager for Lloydspharmacy said: “Our thoughts are with our much loved and valued colleague and their family at this difficult time, and we wish them a full and speedy recovery.”

Yesterday a line of blue and white police tape still cordoned off the immediate area outside the pebble dashed semi-detached four in a block home in a quiet side road.

It was thought she was found on steps outside the front door after problems with her keys.

A neighbour said: “I heard that she tried to put the wrong key in the lock. We didn’t hear a thing.”

A spokesman for the Met office said: “I can tell you that on Saturday night into Sunday morning the temperature was as low as minus 4.1 degrees.

“That was for Edinburgh City – the temperature outside of Edinburgh could have been lower.”

Serious but stable

A police spokesman said: “Lothian and Borders Police responded to an address in Jubilee Crescent, Gorebridge, Midlothian after a 60-year-old woman was found unconscious outside the property.

“She was conveyed to the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary where she remains in a serious condition.

“There are no suspicious circumstances surrounding the incident.”

A spokesman for the Scottish Ambulance Service said: “I can confirm we did attend an address at Jubilee Crescent.

“We took a female patient to the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary in a serious and potentially life threatening condition.”

Last night NHS Lothian said she was in a serious but stable condition.

See more of our videos at our dedicated channel,  Deadline TV.

I work in a large town somewhere in Suffolk. Let’s call it Utopia.

“Early weather reports are suggesting the public, particularly if you live in the East of England should prepare for snow.” – BBC Reporter, two days before.

“We have never been more prepared. We have stock piled ten times the amount of salt and grit we had this time last year. We are ready.” – Spokesman for Suffolk County Council and mirrored by another in Essex.

“The people of the east of England are today waking up to hear weather reports saying there is going to be winds blowing over from Siberia and that this will bring a lot of snow with it. I kind of doubt that, this is England. I mean… We don’t really get snow this time of year do we?!” – A member of the publics reaction to the BBC weathers ‘extremist’ reporting.

“The snow is expected to fall over night. Experts predict a fall of at least six inches.” – Local weather report on the day.

“Yes, we’ve watched the weather reports, yes as I said before we are prepared. As a matter of fact we have seventy drivers extra and they will all be reporting in at 6pm. They will be on standby from then on.” – Spokesman for Suffolk County Council. Three hours prior to the fall.

At roughly 5 pm on Thursday 17th the snow began to fall. It was earlier than expected and it caught us all by surprise. The sheer amount that fell in the first hour was more than any of us thought possible in England. Now before I go any further I don’t want you to think I am trying to make this into some tragic hollywood style story. No, I just want to get down on paper the events how I saw them as a paramedic on duty that day. I’m sure the rest of the world ground on as usual oblivious to awful cock up going on around them but hey, that’s just life isn’t it?

If you had been out had about on that day, christmas shopping or whatever, you too would have thought, ‘Gosh! That’s a fair bit of snow. I thought that wasn’t supposed to come to tonight?’ You wouldn’t be wrong for thinking that either. Hell, thats what we all thought. I mean that’s what we were told wasn’t it? Then as time dragged on and the traffic in front of you started to back up you’d likely start getting a bit concerned. You’re an hour away from home and you’ve moved maybe half a mile in the last hour. Worse still is that the snow has not stopped. If anything its coming down thicker and quicker if that seems possible. You look outside your window and see people trudging through snow thats laying on the pavement. Its at least three inches already. You notice your fuel light is going to come on if you don’t fill up soon so you make a point of pulling into the next garage you slowly approach. Oh dear, the garage has closed its doors and switched its pumps off. You sit in your car paralyzed with dread. Its getting bitterly cold out. The snow is heavier than ever, you’ve got no fuel, little Johnny and Mable are starting to get hungry and cry, your heating is not adequate and… wait, over there! Why, there’s an ambulance sitting next to one of the pumps. One of the paramedics is walking over right now in his hi-vis jacket. You wind the window down.

‘You need to turn around miss. The fuel station is closed,’ I say.

You look at me gob smacked. Your eyes are brimming with tears and you wince as your children scream.

‘Why?’ you ask as I move to walk away. I shout over my shoulder to busy and caught up in what the hell I and my colleagues are going to do to notice how cold and uninterested the words that come out are.

‘There’s no bloody grit. Chief in there can’t keep the forecourt open if its covered in ice,’ I say gesturing to a man in the forecourt shop sitting behind his till all nice and warm. And with that I’m gone.

I walked away from that car without a seconds thought. The sounds of the screaming children abruptly muffled by the stressed out mum closing her window.

My colleague was actually filling up at the time I had that brief conversation. We’re allowed you see. The petrol stations have to keep a reserve for us and allow us to fill up when we need. Incidentally had I turned up in my own car and flashed my ID I would have been able to fill up too. It’s not just the vehicles. Vehicles are useless without staff to drive them.

We finished filling and left. Anarchy had started early. We did not want to be around to watch the public shouting abuse and gesticulating mob fashion at the poor clerk indoors. It just goes to show how close to a complete break down our society is, when the most minor of things occurs. I say minor because, not 300 miles further north is Scotland. Now I’m pretty sure they won’t be acting the same way these crazed-its-the-end-of-world-nutters are acting. What about the Swiss? I’ll bet they’d be laughing their arses off. England! One little snow storm and they fall to pieces. Its true, we do fall to pieces. Then again, it doesn’t matter how minor the weather is if you’re not prepared for it.

We were most definitely not prepared.

By 8pm, Utopia was at a standstill. Literally. The major junctions and roads were gridlocked and nothing was going anywhere.

Those that tried had pretty good odds on not getting to their destination either by getting stuck which was the most likely option or by coming off the road altogether and crashing.

I lost track of the number of road traffic accidents I heard over the radio. But why? Why was this happening?

We got a red call to a woman with a broken hand up in a nearby town. Ordinarily it would take us maybe fifteen to twenty minutes to get there on blue lights from Utopia. On this occasion it took us an hour and a half. The A14 was down to somewhere in the region of 10 – 20mph for the majority of the journey. To make matters worse… it was just a bloody hand injury for crying out loud! Why the hell someone up in the control centre couldn’t have seen sense and told them to sod off I don’t know. No sooner had I got the patient aboard the husband announced matter of factly that he’d be following in his car. I gave my best sneer and evil eye and slammed the door. I think he could tell we were not impressed.

I heard a cardiac arrest (someones heart has stopped beating – this person is dead without help) go out in the immediate area and a roll over RTA (a car has rolled over, likely trapping the occupants inside) somewhere in Utopia as I rejoined the A14. My fists clenched till my knuckles cracked as I listened to the woman in the back making demands of my colleague and asking why we weren’t going faster. My colleague to his credit, kept his cool and simply grinned back. A bit of drool swung pendulum like from his gritted teeth (this is how to tell if this particular colleague is stressed out – you watch for the drool bungie) as his glared at her. It must have worked as she apparently wouldn’t dare make eye contact again for the rest of the hour long journey back in.

So, between us getting that call and finally dropping the bitch off and hospital our ambulance had been tied up for nearly three and a half hours. On any other day we should have knocked that one out in around one hour. This was happening all over the county. It didn’t take long before we had no ambulances left to send. The police were in a similar pickle, and the fire brigade I am happy to say didn’t know what had hit them. No sleep for them tonight. Gits.

A Thursday night this close to christmas is going to a busy one for everyone involved in any area of public services. The snow really couldn’t have come at a worse time. Most of the major drinking and eating establishments had some form of christmas do on and it was late night shopping.

A little before midnight, the buses decided that they were not going to play anymore. It was just too dangerous on the roads, and they couldn’t move for traffic anyway. Not half an hour after they had pulled out the taxies also decided that they had had enough. Now I am no mathematician but to my reckoning that left a few thousand people stuck with no way home either because all public transport was suspended or because they simply could not get out of Utopia with the roads in the state they were in.

So, what happens now? Well, if your not stuck freezing in your car somewhere, in a ditch upside down, getting hypothermic outside waiting for a taxi that will never arrive then your probably tucked all nice and snug indoors and completely oblivious to nightmare that hasn’t really even started yet.

Its just gone midnight and the snow is still falling. A call comes in for a man collapsed in the street. Initial reports are sparse but we know he’s young and we know he’s not half a mile from the hospital. There are no ambulances available.

A car has span out of control and gone sideways into a tree in the middle of nowhere. He can forget it. There are no ambulances available and even if there was it will be diverted way before it even makes out of Utopia. Gotta hit those times!

People are freezing on the A14 and A12. They abandon their cars and walk.

The calls to people outside and freezing go through the roof.

We have nothing to send.

An ambulance fast response vehicle (erm… it’s snowing?), okay response vehicle is dispatched to the collapsed male in town. It doesn’t make it. It spins off the road instead and gets stuck in the snow.

And on and on.

The male collapsed in the street did eventually get a response. He was twenty eight and he died because his heart had stopped while he walking home from a night out on the town.

A lot of the people who abandoned their cars on the roads were able to find their way to a late night Tesco. It had remained open and was sheltering anyone who needed it. A couple of hotels had also done the same.

Yet what had happened?

The gritters did eventually make it out on to the road but it was too late. The snow was too thick and deep and all the shit they sprayed just sat on top. Apparently they had been taken completely by surprise. Nearly six hours had passed before they were able to mount a response in force, around about the time they had expected the snow in the first place.

So there you have it. A bit sensationalist you may think, but hey I see this shit first hand. I am sure if you yourself work in any of the emergency services you may be able to testify to the utter chaos an unprepared town can find itself subject too. Maybe you have seen worse or maybe you think I am talking out of my arse. Well whatever you may think, if you ever find yourself in a blizzard in England, think carefully before you try and call for help. Do you really need help? Because I guarantee there will be plenty who do.

I stepped outside into the cool, crisp, Louisiana winter evening and looked back at that huge, white building that I call my second home. I smiled to myself and knew that I had made it. I made it past the hard times, the rough calls, the constant questioning, and my own self doubt. I thought back at the conversation that I had just had with my boss and laughed at my calm exterior. I laugh because I was still shaking on the inside. In fact, my palms were still moist and my voice was slowly returning to the sweet southern drawl that everyone knew. The woman that I was in his office was slowly returning to her normal little-girl self. The cold wind whipped into my face, making my eyes water and sparkle under the lights of the parking lot filled with old ambulances and an abandoned basketball goal. I looked down at my worn boots and stooped down to tie my laces, as usual. I heard the door open behind me and quick footsteps hurried to the rig.

“MsP, you ready?” I heard my partner say in his booming, night-time Jazz DJ voice.

“I was born ready.”

As I jumped into the rig, he looked across at me with a curiosity on his face, expecting me to start rattling off the details as I normally do. Instead, I sat in silence, basking in my triumph. Finally, he raised an eyebrow, slowly edged forward, and sighed.

I broke in the silence and finally asked, “So, D. How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough to know that I want to hear the whole story from you.”

I smiled and started at the beginning.

I may be the youngest medic at our company, but I am also the highest trained. I spent a lot of time and my own money to be a critical care, advanced cardiac, pre-hospital trauma, pediatric advanced care specialist. I care about my patients to a fault, almost. I rarely get a refusal- my dad says it’s my “BS” gene… he says I can bullshit my way into the White House tree decorating party. (Though in recent news, that doesn’t seem so hard…)I work with a smile, I hate it when RN’s seem disappointed in my hard work, I still get excited over trauma and crazy medical calls.

My enthusiasm is infectious to coworkers, but misunderstood by one. My boss always sees my enthusiasm for new protocols and methods as “childish” or “silly.” Our company is filled with old medics, who have been there since the company was founded less than a decade ago. Before that, they had all worked for the same company in another region. They were established, they knew each other, and they knew what to expect. I can see where my boss was terrified when I made the leap from Basic to Medic. I came to them in my patch shining, guns blazing, boots untied, pony tail high on my head, eager smiled manner and started questioning everything. Why did we use this drug when it was no longer used in our new protocols? Why weren’t any of these seasoned veterans willing to train new hires when they had so much knowledge? Why didn’t any of the staff take the lead and organize our supply closet and inventory sheets? All that he could say was that “it’s just how things are around here.” Finally he grew tired of my questions and let me somewhat take the reigns. He moved me up to an inventory supervisor when my obsessive compulsive side would not let up, then to a new hire preceptor when I showed my knack for teaching, finally moving me up to the preceptor supervisor when I proved my ability to delegate and solve problems among staff. I was moved up through all of these positions without a pay raise. But I never asked for one. I was making good money, had a lot of overtime opportunities, and was able to make important decisions on my own- at 22! I was on top of the world.

Then, out of nowhere, he started questioning all that I did for the company. He heard that I was unhappy- which was true. He started putting limits to my work weeks- which wouldn’t bother my any if I was still given the same amount of hours that the rest of the staff were guaranteed. But to their 120/hr pay period checks, I was roping in 72-96/hrs over 2 weeks, still making considerably less, and still taking on a lot more responsibility. Needless to say, I was frustrated!

So on this particular winter day, he called me into his office. I knew what this was going to be about, and I knew that even though I was a kid- I had to act like a woman. I walked in with my shoulders back and chin up. I smiled my friendliest smile and said, “You rang, boss?”

“MsP, we have a problem with you.”

I tried not to blanch at that statement. My fingers tightened around the chair’s arm, my knuckles turning white in protest. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Well, you just seem to have lost your enthusiasm. I don’t see the same medic that we all once loved. Where’s that energy?”

I looked at him with a fire burning in my eyes- the fire that only burns when you make a Cajun girl mad. I smirked, knowing that it was now or never. “Would you honestly like to know why I seem so down?” He looked at me, apprehensive once he met my gaze, but nodded slowly. “It’s because I’m the station’s puppy. I’m fun and I’m cute and everyone wants me around… until I start getting noticed. The moment that students pass their national registry and thank their preceptor and not the company, you get upset. When their class was interviewed about their experiences in clinicals and they thank me, but not the company, everyone gets upset. Which I don’t understand why, because none of you go out of your way to help them! You can’t just say, ‘follow me kids, do what I do.’ You have to let them make the mistake, correct it, and move forward. You have to give them resources to move forward!’ He looked at me shocked. I’ve never really confronted him about his lack of enthusiasm for the newer generation of medic. “I’m sorry that the medical director loves me and listens to when I ask questions about new protocols in other states. Do you not want me researching better way to treat our patients?”

“Some of those methods are seemingly more expensive…”

“That’s your problem, no offense!” I wasn’t yelling, but my usual soft voice was strong and assertive. “It’s not about the money. It’s about helping people. I’ll be DAMNED if I work somewhere where the green is priority and the patient and medic are last. I didn’t get into EMS to get rich…I wanted to make a difference. And it’s about time that someone around here does.”

He looked at me and slowly smiled. “Welcome back, kid. We’ve missed that honesty here lately.”

I looked at him, fire still burning in my eyes and said, “I can do great things. Just don’t hold me back. Make me that promise now and I promise I will never let this program become mediocre. I need space, boss, if you keep my bound I can’t shine. Don’t hold me back.”

With that, he nodded and I walked out the same way I entered, calm and confident on the outside… and a nervous wreck on the inside. As I exited the office, I realized that the office staff and dispatcher were smirking slightly, one secretly gave me a quick thumbs up. I had felt so alone lately that I didn’t realize that I had a large support group behind me, waiting for me to stand up for myself.

As I finished the story, my partner looked at me and said, “I’m proud of you kid. One day when you own this company and become medical director, don’t forget us little people.” I smiled at him, my future unlimited and heart soaring, grabbed my gloves, radioed us 10-97, and ran onto that scene feeling 10 feet tall. This is what I was born to do… just don’t hold me back.

This past Wednesday, I sat for the National Registry exam.  It’s one of those “intelligent” exams that determines what sections you know and what you don’t, adjusting the questions accordingly.  The minimum number of questions that you can take is 70 with a maximum of 150.  From what I’d been told by most people, if you finish with 70 questions, you either demolished the exam or failed miserably.  I finished at 70 questions and figured that I had failed.  However, as it turns out, I passed the exam just fine, so it’s official…  I got my National EMT certification yesterday and then dropped off the paperwork this afternoon for my Colorado certification.

I learned a lot.  After all the time I spent in my classes and clinicals, I think I would feel relatively calm if I were to encounter a person in cardiac arrest or suffering a seriously traumatic injury.  I’ve seen death now and, while it’s sad, it’s also a part of medicine.

Anyway, the first week or so of January I’ll be up in Fort Collins camped out on my buddy Travis’ couch during my wilderness training.  NOLS offers a Wilderness First Responder course which will upgrade me to a WEMT  and also give me a chance to learn a lot of more advanced stuff.  Considering that I spent a lot of time backpacking, climbing, and riding, it should be a really useful and education experience.  I’m pretty stoked and really looking forward to it.

My son’s hebrew name is ‘Shalom’ – שָׁלוֹם. I declared his name for the world to know at his bris, and had an opportunity to explain its meaning- Peace. Completeness. But more than a name, Shalom is a sentiment; an esoteric mindset that serves as a light to shine upon the path of principle, which leads to character. It is something that transcends race, religion, language, borders, and humanity itself.

I took my six year old son to hockey practice this morning at 715am. As excited as he was, I think  I was more elated just to watch him take the ice in his little Islander uniform with the rest of his team, the “Mini Mites”. I never have a problem getting Brandon up from his sleep to go to practice early Sunday mornings. And like clockwork, I get up at 6am to get ready to go with him. He is, after all, my son. But more than that, what he does on the ice inspires me. It moves me. And it carries me through my work week. Melodromadic? Definitely. Here is a scene from one of my favorite movies ‘Vision Quest’, that captures what I’m trying to say:

Just the day before, Brandon sunk a basket at his basketball game at the buzzer. He threw his hands up in celebration. He owned the world at that moment. And as his father, so did I. Achievement. Accomplishment. Triumph. Victory. These are the moments to live for and to celebrate. Melodramadic? Definitely. But its this melodrama that, like the name Shalom, transcends race, religion, color, wealth, status, and everything else.

I’m addicted to the drug, and I freely admit it. It’s part of why I ride the ambulance so much- to get that rush. The last call I went on was a “Delta Overdose” in front of Pathmark. Some drunk guy with nothing else better to do on a rainy, cold Sunday afternoon. I asked the bum in Spanish if he had any kids. “Yeah.  These are my kids right here,” as he held up to me his half-filled bottles of rum.  I tried to explain to him the concept of having too much of a good thing, in the midst of which he vomited right next to me. Lovely.

I wonder though, if its possible for me to get too much of my kids, and what would happen to me if I did. I think the difference is this: my  melodrama mush makes OTHERS vomit, not me. I havent barfed yet from it. I suppose I have a built up a high tolerance for it. I feel bad for those who haven’t.

The pager buzzed, and we were off to pick up a pre-adolescent “vomiting blood”. As usual, DTs and his rising-medic preceptee were bouncing ideas back and forth.

“Okay, gimme some reasons why a kid would be vomiting blood.”

“Ingestion of something?”

“Yep – could be. In which case we have to definitively ID the substance and contact poison control, right? What else?”

“Maybe the blood’s from someplace else?”

“Very possible – say from a posterior nosebleed, gets swallowed, irritates the stomach and gets chucked back up. History of nosebleeds, maybe something got jammed up in there depending on the kid’s age, or perhaps chemically irritated. Next?”

“Maybe the kid’s just been vomiting for a long time?”

“Also a possibility. Irritation of the esophagus or the cardiac sphincter. More of a vomit-with-blood-in-it rather than vomiting blood, though. Mallory-Weiss, but probably not esophageal varices, yes? Possibly brighter, redder blood.

“So: Loss of blood. We’re ready for anemia, right? We’re going to need to get O’s into the kid without him filling up a face mask with vomit. And possibly a low BP/high HR, depending on his volume? Let’s go ahead and convert the weight and pre-calculate fluid bolus amounts and drip rates…”

So we get there, and the kid is just fine – two rounds of vomiting, parents deny any frank blood. I’m slightly annoyed at our paging system, and contact our dispatchers when we’re done with the call.

“Say, did anyone there feel the need to embellish our call? To add, perhaps, some drama and tension to an otherwise unexciting situation?”

No – it turns out our paging software lists complaints in alphabetic order. “Vomiting Blood” was simply the next item in the drop-down list below “Vomiting”. Of all the calls we’ve been dispatched to, a misplaced click has happened maybe twice. A very rare occurrence, and it could have been worse – “Anemia” when they meant “Aneurism”, for instance.

But, really, we’re all EMS folk – shouldn’t it have been listed as “Hematemesis”?

Led Zeppelin- Going To California- Beautiful Song, and a beautiful rendition of it. What a great performance. Enjoy. Play it in HD.

Medic 26 responds to a local Extended Care Facility (Nursing Home) for a female in her 60s complaining of chest pain.

This is fairly standard run for my service, we have many contracts with the nursing homes in the area. I probably make two chest pain complaints a shift. They can be everything from the hypochondriac to an actual heart attack.

Today is no different. The patient is complaining of chest pain, the facility have administered nitro three times with no relief. I ask the standard littany of questions, in no particular order:
Where does it hurt?
How long have you had this pain?
Does it go (radiate) anywhere?
Have you done anything that makes it hurt more?
Have you done anything that makes it hurt less?
Does it hurt more when you breathe in or out?
On a scale of 0-10, 0 being no pain, 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever felt how would you rate your pain?

I have the benefit of written medical history, MARs and the patient to gain all of the requeset information that would be pertinent to my assessment. The patient replies with standerdized answers, it has been hurting all day, pain is an 8, the pain is here (pointing to her sternum), nothing makes it better or worse and it doesn’t hurt more when I breathe. The patient was recently released from the hospital for hip replacement.

I start my physical assesment, take vitals and hook up the lifepak 12. Everything looks fairly normal. Establish IV, no nitro since it hasn’t worked yet (and I’m not convinced this is cardiac related). On the way to the elevators the nurse says that the patient has a few broken ribs. My biggest mistake was not inquiring further, but I suspect this could be part of our problem.

The hospital is less than 2 miles, the patient is in no distress, easy non emergent transport. I put the patient on oxygen 2 liters via nasal canula just for protocol sake.

I give the triage nurse my report, all vital signs normal. The patient’s husband meets us at the hospital. Enter the great epiphany. Mr. Husband informs the triage nurse that the patient “coded” in the hospital last week and the broke some ribs performing CPR. You would think that someone would have mentioned to me this MINOR detail. With all the pieces of the puzzle now on the table, this is a no brainer. Yes, your chest hurts because you have broken ribs. Why the heck did the nursing home administer nitro for this chest pain?

The triage nurse and I agreed that the chest pain (which I did notice hurt more when we moved her to the stretcher) was most likely from the fractured ribs.

Please engage your brain before blindly following protocol.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Tiger Woods and Elin Nordegren

Despite all the alleged infidelities, Elin Nordegren says she will stay with Tiger Woods for the sake of her small children.  According to the Daily Mail, Friends of Elin Nordegren,  say she is devastated by the extent of his alleged infidelities but plans to stay married.

The couple, who’ve been married since October 2004, have a daughter Sam, two, and son Charlie, ten months.

“She is a child of divorce and that’s not something she’s likely going to want to do to Sam and Charlie,” an unnamed friend told American magazine People.

“She really believes in the importance of parents staying together.

The friends also say that Elin heard whispers about Woods’ active sex life before they married but he promised to reform.

“Elin had talked to other golfers and their wives about Tiger’s wild parties. When she asked Tiger about it, he said he would stop doing it. And she believed him. But he never did,” one friend said.

So, let me get this straight… Elin knew that before she married him, he had an ‘active sex life’; she’s a child of divorce- something she didn’t want to happen to her; and believes in parents staying together. So, in order to accomplish her lofty goals, Elin married a rockstar golfer with an ‘active sex life’ and had two kids with him. Great plan babe. Really. You have every right to be angry. But be angry at yourself. You put yourself in this postiion. Hell… I’m angry now. I’m angry that you knew all of this and decided to birth two innocent beautiful children into the situation.  Or was it that Tiger raped you, and you’re just waiting for the right time to press charges? But wait… now you are going to make the entire situation all better by staying together with a husband you don’t want to be with- a husband whose image you helped destroy. Wow. You really know how to set good examples for your kids to follow. I’m sure you’re not staying in the marriage for the money. What would the public think? You’re voluntarily staying in this relationship… for the kids, for Tiger, for the world, just not for yourself. Right. Gotcha. *wink wink *

Let me tell you a little diddy about volunteering. Volunteers do things because they want to, not because they need to. Not because it’s their job. So when my Fire Department pager went off at about 11pm this evening, in the midst of my watching the beautiful Padma Lakshmi on Top Chef, I voluntarily rushed to the firehouse, jumped on the ambulance and geared up on the way to treat the reportedly signal 9 ’sick male’ .  Turns out he wasn’t really sick. He was in some sort of wheelchair contraption that broke down and needed a ride back home.  The county cop who first discovered this ’sick male’ figured that it would be best to call an ambulance to take the man back home. So, instead of calling his county buddies, the county dispatcher figured it was a good idea to take volunteers like myself away from their families after working all day (and some of the night) and give this ’sick male’ a ride. Here’s what I didn’t volunteer for- I didn’t volunteer for the danger created by the dispatcher’s misrepresentation that the ’sick male’ was in an emergent state. Perhaps, though, much like Tiger’s wife, Ms. County Dispatch didn’t realize that we would respond with lights and sirens, exceeding the posted speed limits. And perhaps she also didn’t realize that volunteers, like myself, have jobs we work at during the day, and spend time with our families when we get home. Or maybe, she didn’t realize the danger of volunteers like me driving to the firehouse. Yes, she must not have known about the law that makes it illegal to have more than one little flashing blue light in my car when responding to emergency call. She must have subscribed to the logic that dictates in such situations, to wit: the smaller and less visible the flashing blue light is, the more likely it is for other cars to yield the right of way to me as I respond to an emergency.  I think that is what the lovely county dispatcher was taught on her first day of dispatch school. Then, on the next day of school, she was taught to call the volunteers for jobs like this sick male, who needed a taxi ride. That must have been the reason why she didn’t call the county ambulance, whose actual job it is to do this sort of stuff and get paid for it by people like me, a county taxpayer. The difference between the affair the county dispatcher and I had tonight was that Tiger liked to get fucked by his babes. I didn’t really like the fucking I got tonight. Strange, right?

Well, at least my son and daughter volunteered to stay up late tonight until I got home from the ’sick male’ call so my wife wouldn’t be alone. Hope the kids aren’t too tired tomorrow morning. They might miss the bus. In which case I will just call a county ambulance to swing by and take them to school.

Living As A Paramedic Beneath The Epidermis of an Attorney

Living As A Paramedic Beneath The Epidermis of an Attorney

In an emergency, most people run away from it…WE run into it !!! These video clips represent our way of life and our state of mind…a 24/7 adventure in caring for the sick and injured :

Response to the D.C. Metro Crash

The efforts of District of Columbia  F.D  responding to the deadliest accident in the history of the D.C. Metro train system of on June 22nd 2009 , are captured in this video…BRAVO , guys…A JOB WELL DONE…God bless you ALL…!!!

AMR Ambulance involved in MVC

Sometimes , ambulances are also involved in accidents…This one happened in my area , between a pick up truck and an American Medical Responce ambulance.  As soon as the impact occurred the ambulance crew got out of their rig and began treating the adult male driving the pick up truck and two boys, approximate ages 10 years old, who were also in the truck. 

CBS Reporter Plays Patient : Dr. Jon LaPook plays patient with two New York City paramedics for a closer look at the care given in emergency situations.

NAEMSE Tradeshow Tour – 2009

You are going to love these posts…on EMS Bloopers…Are You Ready ?

Ambulance hit in Canada

This is an aerial footage of an ambulance hit by another car while en route to the hospital…oops , watch the video:

Who needs a stretcher?

Medical staff at a Spanish soccer game couldn’t  find a stretcher when a player was injured – so they improvised… with a door.!!!

Dutch Ambulance Commercial

Ok , check out this jet powered ambulance…ETA a few seconds !!!

How about this one…falling off the back of a truck :

or …falling off the back of a Turkish  ambulance ?

Is  this funny…or what ?

This Bud is for YOU :

So if you follow me on Twitter (which you should if you don’t… just saying) you may have seen my tweets about zombie awareness (search: #zombieawareness ). In short, these are my witty posts about what to do in case of a zombie apocalypse from a medical perspective. The truth of the matter is, my eerily uncanny ability to think in zombie survival mode is not just a random useless talent, it actually stems from my highly irrational fear of zombies.

It all started while watching one of those movies with Grumps. Maybe it was 28 Days later, maybe it was 28 Weeks later… but no matter what the time period was that those creepy zombies attacked, it planted a seed of fear in my heart. They were dead and alive at the same time, they looked disgusting, in these particular films they were QUITE fast, and they even came out during the day as well as the night. No one was safe. From that moment on, I had a mini-fear of them.

Then came the icing on the proverbial cake. I was a Paramedic now, not just the average citizen. I encounter people close to death or already knocking on his door very often. On this particular day, I was called to the scene of a unresponsive male. Upon entering the residence, we realized that he had been unresponsive for about 3 days. He was lying prone on his bed, and his blood had pooled to his stomach and face. So, needless to say, the little of his face that we could see was a creepy mottled blue and very swollen.

To myself I started thinking about zombies since we were out in a wooden cabin in rural South Louisiana. I distinctly remember thinking “this is probably how scary movies start.” Well, as I went to place the leads on this man to confirm death for the coroner’s report something happened that scarred me for life. As I leaned against the bed, my partner kneeled on the bed as well, causing this obviously dead patient to roll slightly onto my leg. A rational mind would have thought this action through, but at that moment I was not rational. My mind immediately jumped from proper lead placement to “It’s a reanimated corpse!” Not only did I scream the highest pitched noise I have ever made in my life, I also ran out of that house faster than an Olympic sprinter. To this day, the police that were on that scene (and those that they told about this call… which is probably every public official in our parish) still chuckle when I am called to a DOA and pray that they can scare me enough to see that particular humiliating scene of my career replayed live for them.

That call changed my concept of “scene safety” forever. Suddenly I found myself obsessing over learning the scene inside and out- from always having access to more than one exit strategy to adequate zombie strength weapons that could be made from the tools on hand. My career as I knew it changed, but for the better. Not only did my scene safety senses heighten, but work suddenly became a little more amusing during down time. I no longer felt I was dwelling on the bad calls as long. Instead, I was constantly thinking about new tips on zombie survival to pass along to my coworkers, who in turn loved throwing in their tips.

In the next few posts, I will be talking about various aspects of Zombie Awareness as it pertains to EMS scene safety. If you have any tips that you would like to send to me, please e-mail me or find me on twitter. Use the hashtag #zombieawareness (link above) or directly mention me (@msparamedic) and I will credit you in the post if your tip is used.

Once again, thanks for reading

Au revoir, mes ami!

MsParamedic

We’ve received word that the New Jersey State League of Municipalities, a powerful lobbying group that represents the towns and cities throughout New Jersey, has endorsed the proposal to apply the state’s Lemon Law to emergency vehicles.

The League said the proposal is ”sensible legislation that will save taxpayer dollars upon discovery of a defect that curtails its fitness for use. This bill will also serve as a safety measure that if left un-attended, could cause serious harm.” The endorsement came in a letter sent to key members of the Legislature.

Please let us have your personal endorsement or, if you represent an organization, the group’s endorsement. Elsewhere on this blog is how to find your state assemblyperson and state senator and who to write on the Senate committee. They need to hear from us.

And don’t forget to tell us about it here!

To the folks at the League of Municipalities and to the mayors and other municipal officials the League represents, thank you so much for your support!

What do you do when you have to get a wire wreath which costs about $8
to fabricate?

You call a friend named Gary.

While doing some “research” at Daiso.
(guys don’t go shopping we do “research”)

We came across some craft wire which we thought we could make into
wire wreaths. 9m of craft wire cost $2.

14 wire wreaths cost $112.
2 packets of craft wire cost $4

We decided to contribute a little more to Daiso.

He bought a knife sharpener, I bought a pair of Paramedical Shears (Gary has
one lying on his van dashboard, I have one in my medical kit)

Which actually leads on to a story about how I managed to find a holster
for my Paramedic Shears at Daiso too!

The Paramedic holster online is US$19.99
I found a garden shears holster at Daiso for $2!
I used it for two reservist In camp trainings and it’s been great.
No more paramedic shears creating a hole in your side pocket.
(I don’t know about other medics, I’ve always liked putting it in my side pocket,
some people prefer to put it in their bag)
Which I find wierd, which means you can’t cut bandages or strips of panadol unless you’re carrying your
super duper 2kg medic pouch.
The pouch protects it from dirt, looks professional and I can even hang it off my belt!

and a cheap nose hair trimmer. I also wanted to get a exercise band (that
could double as a tourniquet) And a round lamp to place behind the audio
mixer at church. But I did not succumb to temptation.

Other stuff I had to buy to make the wreaths work.
Roll of Green Cloth tape $3.50
Pair of pliers $2.50
Roll of green cable ties $1.50
So about an additional $7.50
Which I could use for other stuff, like sound supplies.

There are many occasions during my daily dealings with the people of this delightful town that I feel the anger taking hold. Sometimes, if I am not careful there is danger that this could spiral out of control and become ‘The Rage’.

I believe this is something many paramedics suffer with from time to time. Okay, daily. A little anger may cause me to throw in some sarcasm, or maybe a little reckless driving as the patient cradles a fractured arm. ‘The Rage’ will cause me to forget the fact that I am there to act in your best interests, to protect your life. This is rarely because I am late off or due a break. It is usually when I am called to deal with some ignorant scrotum with fuck all wrong and I can here the radio screaming with other life threatening emergencies in my area.

A case in point would be a call I attended recently for a man complaining of knee pain. He’d fallen over while playing football just before half time. Yet instead of coming off and resting it he decided to play the second half. He beamed with savage pride as his mate described three cracking goals he witnessed our poor wounded soldier fire into the back of the net whilst dodging between defenders like a ballerina on speed.

I could feel my eyes widening and my pulse quickening but above all an urge to allow my head to snap forward and nut him. I think my clinching fists gave me away as I stood trying to smile and look calm. He flashed me a toothy grin and asked where my chair was.

‘Chair?’ I enquired.

‘Yes, you have to carry him down the stairs. He could fall and break his other leg.’

‘Its that painful is it?’

‘Yeah! I can’t put any fuckin weight on it ya spastic!’

Looking back I can’t quite believe what I did. I bent down and picked up the guys fags, walked over to the window and threw them out. It was a calculated gamble but it worked. I balanced the fact that this guy was in genuine pain against the area of town we were currently in. Why? Because we were bang in the centre of benefit town and I was willing to bet this guy cared more his fags than he did for his own leg.

He stood bolt up right and hobbled towards the window, screaming abuse and dribbling. I could give a shit. Realising we weren’t ever going to take his ‘hurty knee’ seriously now he sat down and took a pen and paper from the table in front of him. He wanted mine and my colleagues names so that he could write a complaint.

Now complaints are a big deal. They are always investigated and usually stay around to haunt you for sometime. With this in mind I decided to take another calculated gamble. This time I was making the assumption that this chap was not overly intelligent and may cave if threatened himself. I told him he was welcome to have my name and to complain, but that I would be countering with my own.

‘Eh? Whatdouya mean? You can’t report me! I’m the fucking patient innit?!’

His mate looked on nervously. I had my sternest expression on as I launched a barrage of guilt loaded missiles. I told him very simple chimp english that wasting our time was a criminal offence and that if he persisted I would push for prosecution. Okay, so I am bending the law slightly but it worked. I rounded of with heart wrenching tale of how everyday some poor soul dies because our ambulances are tied up with people who should know better.

‘Chill out! I was only messin ya know? Look I can walk to the ambulance yeah?’

‘You can walk to the taxi,’ I replied.

This guy really wound me up. Yet he did cause me to think about how I react to some situations. Since this chap I now try and take several deep breaths before I say something I may regret. An even better tactic which I find works a treat is to simply do nothing but smile. Why? Well, if you can remain calm long enough when let’s say an angry chap is taking his shit out on you. Just think to yourself ‘This guy is clearly angry. He is having a shit day. This pleases me because he is an arse. I am happy he is having a shit day. I am happy!’

See? All I do is to make his shitty time my amusement time. It is working so far. I suppose its because when you get into an argument with someone your both trying to get one over on each other. But hey! If he’s already pissed off and having a shit time then what’s the point of continuing? Haven’t you won already by the sheer fact that he is having a shit day? I think so.

Well, enough mindless mumbling from me. Fuck off and find something else to do with your time.

M

Whenever I visit a retirement home I always come away with food for thought.

Today I was visiting a patient in a local home and whilst waiting for a GP to call me back I do what I normally do and start having a snout about. I love looking at photos for example. I like to see what the old crusty looked like in their youth. There is usually a wedding photo or two. Except today it wasn’t a photo that caught my attention but a poster stuck on the back of the patients bedroom door. It said ‘Beatrice’s bath day is Wednesday’. I asked a member of staff about this and it was exactly as it read. Beatrice has one bath a week. On Wednesday.

Now I am not sure how familiar my dear reader is with residential homes and their clientele, and I don’t by any stretch want to tar them all with one large crusty brush but… Old people stink. Of course not all of them do, but you would be hard pressed to pink a rose out of a line up of ten.

Its by no means their fault. They might want to wash and bathe but many don’t have the strength, coordination or perhaps marbles to be able to. They need help which is unfortunately like everything else in this world, on a budget.

So poor old Beatrice, who in particular has all her marbles, but cannot get about due to a stroke she had four years ago wants a bath. Yet its Sunday and its not her bath day. She has to sit in her own urine (she also has a weak bladder and can’t get to the loo without assistance) soaked pad for hours a day until this evening. After tea, if the stench of twenty other similar residents hasn’t put her off her food she will be assisted up to her room. Her damp pad will be removed, a quick wipe with a flannel, a douse of talc, a new pad and that’s that. All clean apparently.

Is it any wonder these people are much more prone to skin infections, urinary infections, systemic infections and anything else you could reasonably expect from poor basic hygiene?

I wonder if there are other special days? Teeth cleaning day perhaps? Talk to someone day? Or maybe a day out? Okay, I may be stretching reality a bit by suggesting a day out – that only occurs if you have family and that they in turn give a shit.

Some homes are a damn site better than others. They are not all bad. I’ll touch on that another day though. I’m off for a bath now.

M.

There are dozens and dozens of pictures on ” Flickr “, from Athens Medical Center’s E.M.S activities  and staff members…enjoy my 10 years of memories :

http://www.flickr.com/photos/diasostis/sets/72157601482269188/

How about reviewing the following EMS articles ? …You can download them to your PC for future reference if you want , or just open them by cliking  on each file…go for it !!!

a) The Star of Life :

http://www.johnantoniades.ws/files/users/e/535D646E84422048E040A8C0AC002D4E/Star%20of%20Life.doc

b) The Endocrine system:

http://www.johnantoniades.ws/files/users/e/535D646E84422048E040A8C0AC002D4E/endocrine.ppt

c) Respiratory Pathology:

http://www.johnantoniades.ws/files/users/e/535D646E84422048E040A8C0AC002D4E/copd.ppt

d) Airways ( LMA ) :

http://www.johnantoniades.ws/files/users/e/535D646E84422048E040A8C0AC002D4E/lma.ppt

e) Sudden Infant Death Syndrome:

http://www.johnantoniades.ws/files/users/e/535D646E84422048E040A8C0AC002D4E/sids-presentation.ppt

f) Criteria in Trauma Triage:

http://www.johnantoniades.ws/files/users/e/535D646E84422048E040A8C0AC002D4E/traumaalert2.ppt

Good luck with them !!!

When the Lord made EMTs and Paramedics, he was into his sixth day of overtime when an angel appeared and said, “You’re doing a lot of fiddling around on this one,”
And the Lord said,
“Have you read the specs on this order?”
An EMT/Paramedic has to be able to carry an injured person up a wet, grassy hill in the dark, dodge stray bullets to reach a dying child unarmed, enter homes a health inspectors wouldn’t touch, and not wrinkle their uniform.
He has to be able to lift three times his own weight, crawl into wrecked cars with barely enough room to move, and console a grieving mother as he is doing CPR on a baby he knows will never breathe again. He has to be in top mental condition at all times, running on no sleep, black coffee, and half eaten meals. And he has to have six pairs of hands.
The angel shook her head slowly and said, “Six pairs of hands….no way.” “It’s not the hands that are causing me problems,” said the Lord,
“It’s the three pairs of eyes an EMT/Medic has to have.”
“Is That’s on the standard model?” asked the angel. The Lord nodded. “One pair that sees open sores as he’s drawing blood and asks the patient if they may be HIV positive, (When he already knows and wishes he’d taken that accounting job).” “Another pair here on the side of his head for is partner’s safety. Another pair of eyes here in front that can look reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say ‘You’ll be all right ma’am’ when he knows it isn’t so.”
“Lord,” said the angel, touching his sleeve, “rest and work on this tomorrow.” “I can’t,” said the Lord, “I already have a model that can talk a 250 pound drunk out from behind a steering wheel without incident and feed a family of five on a private service paycheck.”
The angel circled the model of the paramedic very slowly,
“Can it think?” she asked. “You bet,” said the Lord. “It can tell you the symptoms of 100 illnesses, recite drug calculations in its sleep; intubate, defibrillate, medicate, and continue CPR nonstop over terrain that any doctor would fear…and still it
keeps its sense of humor.”
“This EMT/Medic also has phenomenal control.
He can deal with a multi-victim trauma, coax a frightened elderly person to unlock their door, comfort a murder victim’s family, and then read in the daily paper how EMTs and Paramedics were unable to locate a house quickly enough, allowing a person to die.
A house which had no street sign, no house numbers, no phone to call back.” Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the EMT/Paramedic.” There’s a leak,” she pronounced. “I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model.”
“That’s not a leak,” said the Lord, “It’s a tear.”
“What’s the tear for?” asked the angel.
“It’s for bottled-up emotions, for patients they tried in vain to save, for commitment to hope that they will make a difference in a person’s chance to survive, for life.”
“You’re a genius,” said the angel.
The Lord looked somber, “I didn’t put it there.”