Feet Up in the Air

Worked in the city for the first time in a couple weeks. Did two transfers, a maternity, a motor vehicle accident and a lethargic Alzheimer's patient. I worked with two different people as my first partner went home sick half way through the day.

They sent us in at 9. I put my stuff in my car, we washed down the ambulance, and then since there was no supervisor there to take my narc keys, I tossed them through the window of the supervisor's locked office and plopped them down on his desk. This is common practice. Then I sat down and read the Newspaper to take up the last fifteen minutes of my twelve hour shift. Then my partner comes in the EMS room and says, the dispatcher says not to punch out yet. They just got a rash of calls and we are now the only ambulance they have available. Sure enough, five minutes later, my pager goes off. Priority One Call for a stroke. I can picture the woman as we arrive, seizing uncontrollably. I recall a news article I just read on an EMS news wire about an ambulance company paying several million dollars to a family who's loved one died because the responding medic didn't have the keys to the narc box in his ambulance. (Our narc box houses our morphine, Ativan, and Versed. Ativan is the drug of choice to stop seizures. If you can't get an IV to use the Ativan, we can use the Versed IM). I can't go on this call without the narc keys. I look at the window of the supervisor's office. I guage whether or not I can fit. The next moment, I am diving through, hands hitting the floor, feet up in the air. I get to my feet, feeling just like a cat burgler, snatch the keys off the desk top, and get ready dive back out when it occurs to me, why not just use the door, which I do, making sure it is locked behind me. I run out to the ambulance, where my partner waits, and just as we get ready to sign on, another closer car clears a refusal, and then get the call. We end up punching out on time.