Just now, at 0430 in the freaking morning, I walked a little old lady to the bathroom, step by laborious step. It was a tedious, agonizingly slow, old-person shuffle, with numerous breaks to catch her breath, reassure her that we wouldn’t let her fall, and listen to her apologize ceaselessly for calling us when we surely had better things to do with our time, and sicker people than she in need of help.
And when we got there, I held her gown up while RP gently lowered her adult brief, and we ever-so-gently lowered her onto the toilet, and then politely stepped outside while she tended to business. Five minutes later, she summoned us back into the bathroom. Apparently, it was a no-joy in the turd hunt, and she again apologized profusely for the false alarm as we repeated the agonizingly slow shuffle back to bed.
Now, this wasn’t quite one of the intrepid acts of lifesaving they promised me way back in EMT school, and I’m reasonably certain our little old lady doesn’t appreciate my encyclopedic ACLS knowledge or the fact that I am an Airway Samurai.
But for an 87-year-old woman who feared she would have to poop on herself tonight, I looked pretty damned heroic nonetheless.
Hey, I’ll take what I can get.











