Precepting again today. 12 hours in the city. Again, it was nice all 911s.
We did a seizure, a dsypnea, a patinet who was peppersprayed by police, an emaciated patient who we had to talk into going to the hospital, and another call I don't remember.
We were in the apartment of this old man with dreadlocks, emaciated as a Biafrin. he did not want to go to the hospital. Two big guys from some social organization had called us. My preceptee was doing a really good job talking to the guy, convincing him to go to the hospital, to get a meal, get cleaned up, and have the doctor check him out, and then helping dress him and manuever him into the stair chair, all the while the guy is going slow because I sense he worries he won't be coming back to his clutterd little apartment, where I notice two books a paperback -- "The Keys to Success" and a hardcover library book by the same author "How to make a Million Dollars.'
"Too bad, you can't just beam him to the hospital," one of the big guys said. "Just hit a button and he's there."
"Well that would be nice," my partner says, "But that would sort of put us out of business."
"No, no, it wouldn't. You'd still need someone to come and check the person out -- someone to make the decision to beam them -- someone to push the button on the beamer. They couldn't have just anybody do it."
"Well, I guess if you put it that way," my partner said.