residents, informing us that a second ambulance has just radioed in, and
will be arriving STAT with a stabbing victim. This pleases everyone.
The two ambulances arrive in synchrony, one from the north and the
other from the south, lights flashing and sirens blaring. The doors of the
first ambulance are flung open by our crew as I struggle to catch a
glimpse of the patient. The paramedics slide the gurney out of the vehicle
and its wheel mechanism deploys, stretching to meet the ground. The
patient, a young Latino male, is conscious, and I am surprised how calm
he appears, and for that matter, how relaxed the entire medical team is as
well. His eyes dart around at most of the team members, but he remains
silent as he is wheeled inside. An IV is in his right arm and a liter bag of
clear fluids are running along the plastic tubing into his vein. There is a
small amount of blood splattered on his white T-shirt, but certainly less
than I was expecting from someone who was just shot in the abdomen.
The next ambulance is only seconds behind, but when its doors open, a
vastly different scene plays out. An older African American man is sitting
up on his gurney, a white blanket jumbled around his hands. Blood is
everywhere—on his shoes, khaki pants, plaid, short-sleeved dress shirt,
and on his face. He is in extreme pain, grimacing and writhing on his
stretcher, and as he is wheeled into the ER, is pleading for something to
deal with the pain.
“Find out what’s going with that guy,” Joe commands.
I follow the ambulance crew into a small ER exam room in time to hear
their report.
“Henry Jones, sixty-eight-year-old male, who was accosted by a
hitchhiker who pulled a machete on him on the side of the road after Henry
offered to give him a ride. The asshole tried stabbing Henry in the gut, but
the patient blocked the machete with his hands, nearly amputating both
thumbs. No other injuries. One bag of LR in [lactated ringers IV solution],
stable vitals, not up to date on tetanus, but has no other medical issues.”
A veteran nurse, Stephanie, immediately takes charge once she realizes
no residents or attendings are available. “Henry—we’re gonna take care
of you. No drug allergies, right?” He is gritting his teeth, almost holding
his breath. His pain is white-hot.
“I’m not allergic to anything. Please give me something!”
Stephanie leaves to get some fentanyl from the pharmacy, and because
all of the trauma team members are in the trauma bay, I am suddenly by
marcin
(Marcin)
#1