So many myths about my profession abound. Some of them are perpetuated by the unknowing public, and some of them we actually perpetuate, otherwise - let's face it - you'd think we're assholes.
The public thinks:
- If you use an ambulance to go to the hospital, no matter how minor your illness or injury, you'll "get in faster".
What is really the case:
- You and your toothache/finger laceration/ear infection may, indeed, proceed past the waiting room and back to the treatment area (where you will sit and wait until everything more serious than your toothache/finger laceration/ear infection is triaged, treated and discharged). What is more serious than a toothache/finger laceration/ear infection? Most everything. Oh, and we've been diverted to the waiting room before with patients on stretchers. Exit stretcher, sit in chair. Have a nice stay. Hope you brought a book.
The public thinks:
- "I got to the ER two hours before the person in room ____. Why are they being seen first?"
What is really the case:
- See #1. This is not Hell's Kitchen. Gordon Ramsay is not going to stomp into the ER and berate the overworked staff for treating the 6 chest pains, 2 asthma attacks, 3 seizures, countless hip fractures, and that one really bad head bleed - before treating you.
The public thinks:
- At least 50% of people who need CPR wake up in the middle of it being performed, hug and thank their rescuers profusely, and then go whip up some tollhouse cookies and a pot of coffee to show their gratitude.
What is really the case:
- If you're to the point where you need CPR (do I have to say it?), over 90% of the time, you're screwed. CPR is not a magical thing that brings back the essence and soul and smile and sense of humor of that person you knew. That person no longer resides in that grayish, slack-mouthed and vacant body. If I could bring that person back to you, and they would be the same pervy old uncle, cheek-pinching grandma, or gossipy mother-in-law, don't you think I would?
The public thinks:
- "I should pack a bag while I'm waiting for the ambulance."
What is really the case:
- "Samsonite-Positive" sign is only appropriate if there is another human being inside the patient's body who is furiously and painfully trying to exit. Otherwise, if you have the time and energy to pack a suitcase, (say it with me, everyone!) you don't need the ambulance.
What I tell you:
- "I've seen worse."
What is really the case:
- If I am referring to your illness or injury, it's 99% true. The other 1% of the time I'm just reassuring you because you're scared and I'm confident. If I'm referring to the state of the inside of your house, I'm lying about 50% of the time. I'm not talking general clutter. I'm talking about having to avoid piles of dog shit inside a person's house. I'm talking about unidentifiable foul odors, clinging to my uniform, hair, and inexplicably, my skin. I'm no neat freak; however, I don't like to feel like I need a bleach sponge-bath when I've been in your house, either. If it's bad, yes, we will talk amongst ourselves about it. Chances are, the other crews have been there, too. "Yeah!!! The house with the 3 inch layer of cat hair on the carpets! I've been there!"
What I tell you:
- "No, I don't have a band-aid."
- "No, I don't have an ice-pack."
- "No, I don't have an ace bandage."
What is really the case:
- Yes, the state requires us to have band-aids on the units. No, I'm not giving you one. If you need a band-aid, you don't need an ambulance.
- I don't have ice, per se. I have chemical cold packs. They're not cheap to replace, and if they leak, the chemical inside is a nasty skin irritant. I like to save those for the occasional hyperthermic patient, anyway. There are only 4 on the truck, and I'm not wasting one on the bump on your shin. Frozen peas work great. Go get a bag.
- I really don't have an ace bandage. Go pilfer them from the hospital like I do.
What I tell you:
- "Don't worry. You're smaller than our average patient.", when a patient frets over the medics having to maneuver, lift, carry, and otherwise convey them from point A to point B.
What is really the case:
- I am being sincere here. The latest, greatest model of our stretchers has a 700lb weight limit. There is a reason for that; our patients are getting bigger every year. If I tell you you're smaller than the average patient, it's not a cue to quit working out and really get serious about that all-McDonalds diet. It just means that someone else is throwing off the curve for you.
What I tell you:
- "Nahhhh. That's an old wives tale about wearing clean underwear in case you go to the hospital."
- "Parts is parts."
- "I hope you don't love this jacket/that sweater/those jeans too much..."
What I really mean:
- If you're wearing something weird, like a banana hammock, we'll notice. If you are of an age where you're expected to be able to competently wipe your ass, we'll notice the skid marks on your undies too. We'll talk amongst ourselves, and the ER staff. There will be snickering. If you're intoxicated, we probably won't leave the room to snicker.
- I tell you this when I am seeing you naked, or half-naked. But, yeah, I notice. Compare. I most often notice nice things, however. The patient that sticks out most in my mind is a woman in her 60s who wrecked her bicycle while riding downhill, careening into a tree and smashing her head so hard that her helmet cracked down the middle - she ended up with a concussion and some broken ribs. The thing I noticed when I had to expose her to check for injuries was that from the neck down, her body was that of an aerobics instructor in her 20s. Her face didn't betray her age either. She inspired me to get my ass out on my bike again.
- "... 'cause I'm cutting it off."
What I tell you:
- while nodding toward the patient, "I'm going to talk to him/her first, thanks."
What I mean:
- "Shut up and stop talking over my patient every time I ask them a question."
What I tell you:
- ... when you ask if I like my job: "Yes, I really do. I can't imagine doing anything else for a living."
What is really the case:
- I mean it.
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