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Overheard On The Bolance

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AD: “And how much have you had to drink, Sir?”

Man With Swollen Arm That Wasn’t Actually Swollen: “Not a drop. I been sleeping all day.”

AD: “You’re slurring your words, unsteady on your feet, and your breath could knock over a moose. Plus, there’s a nearly empty half-pint of Taaka in your pocket. You wanna try that answer again?”

MWSA (insistently): “Man, I ain’t had a drop to drink all day. I got drunk off my ass yesterday, but I been sleeping it off all day today.”

AD: “And what day is today?”

MWAS: “Wednesday night!”

AD: “I’ve got bad news for you, Sir. It’s Tuesday afternoon, and you’re still drunk.”

You know, most people that drink heavily tend to lose big chunks of time when they’re drunk. It takes a special talent to gain 30 hours when you’re in the bag.

For You EMS Newbies…

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… Episode 81 is up on Confessions of an EMS Newbie.

Ron and I discuss the bane of his existence, the NREMT pediatric airway skills station, talk about medic math, and answer a few listener questions.

We're looking for a new Newbie, folks. As you may have noticed from the infrequency of new episodes, Ron and I are running out of new things to talk about.

So if you're an EMT student (we'd like real newbies, not people with years of experience just entering medic school) with an engaging on-air personality and the time to commit to a weekly podcast all the way through paramedic school, drop us a line.

Better yet, send us your listener questions and express your willingness to discuss it on air, and we'll treat it as your live audition.

So make with the clicky and send us your questions!
 

Overheard at Casa de Ambulance Driver

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AD: “Hey child, say no to crack.”

KatyBeth (hitching up her pants): “I can’t help it, it’s genetic.”

AD: “Genetic… how, exactly?”

KB: “Mom says I inherited the Grayson butt.”

AD: “There is no such thing as the Grayson butt.”

KB: “Uh huh. No butt, bad math skills and no rhythm. That’s my curse from your side of the family.”

AD: “Remind me to have a talk with your mother when I bring you home.”

And For You Kindle Users…

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… who didn’t get a copy of my book in the brief window it was available for Kindle a couple of years back, yet still adamantly refuse to buy the dead-tree version, there is hope for you yet.

By way of Mostly Cajun, I learned of Calibre, a freeware e-book reader and converter that is capable of converting other e-book formats into Kindle’s format.

So hit up Barnes and Noble, Sony or iTunes for a copy of the book, and then use Calibre to covert it for use on your Kindle.

And thank you for your contribution to the Double Wide Fund.

For You Fans of The Book…

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… I am told that there are less than 60 copies of the first edition left, and they're only available at one place.

(Click on the book cover for the purchase link.)
 

For those of you unfamiliar with the history, the book was published by Emergency Publishers in fall of 2005. It was written in first person, present tense narrative, much like a journal. My wife left me unexpectedly in September of 2004, and in the next four months I needed some way of passing the nights on an ambulance between calls, without driving myself crazy over the demise of my marriage.

The book was it.

The blog started in December 2006, mainly to promote the book and to polish my writing style. About a year after my blog started, an editor from Kaplan Publishing, a dvision of Simon Schuster, happened across my blog, and offered me a publishing contract. When told that I already had a book in print, he asked if I could get out of my contract with Emergency Publishers, and allow Kaplan to publish the book under their own imprint.

Lou Jordan, my friend and publisher, gave me his blessing and terminated my contract, and I signed with Kaplan. Lou had accomplished his stated goal, which was to give me my start, and get me noticed by the big boys.

Kaplan cleaned the book up a bit, changed everything to past tense, and published it in hardcover as En Route: A Paramedic's Stories of Life, Death and Everything In Between. They included a story from the blog as an epilogue, which I think really wrapped up the book well.

But they also deleted a dozen or so chapters, because my editor at the time (since gone from Kaplan) felt that they were too controversial, and that their deletion would not hurt the book.

I disagreed, because I felt that a) the chapters on the chopping block weren't that controversial, and b) they contained most of the narrative thread that wove the rest of the chapters together. Without them, the book read like a collection of short stories.
 

I was overrruled, and the book was published without the deleted chapters. Since then, my concerns were validated because most of the criticism of the book centers on exactly what I and Kaplan's own proofreaders warned; it felt like pieces of the book were missing.

A year later, they released the book as a trade paperback under yet another title, A Paramedic's Story: Life Death and Everything In Between, causing some of my readers to buy it, mistakenly thinking it was a new book.

So if some of you out there have two copies of my book, I apologize. I just wrote the darned thing, someone else markets it. If you'd like to have your copies signed, drop me a line and I'll tell you how to send it to me for an autograph, provided you pay for the shipping.

I don't make any royalties from sales of the original book, but if you've already got a copy of En Route or A Paramedic's Story and wondered what was missing, this one will answer that question. 

And you can't beat the price.

For You EMS Types…

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And On The Subject of Lines In The Sand and Wookie Suits…

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…let's talk about how I transport people who have threatened – or allegedly threatened – to do harm to themselves to the Emergency Department for psychiatric evaluation.

In my Lines In The Sand post that torqued TJIC enough that he equated me with a Nazi death camp guard, I stated that words have consequences, and that the consequences of threatening to kill yourself may include the cops or EMT's holding you for a psychiatric evaluation against your will. Still, let's talk about how it happens.

When commenter Aaron suggested that I need to find a new line of work that doesn't require me to violate people's civil liberties, I replied that being a paramedic isn't just a line of work for me, it's who I am.

TJIC's rejoinder:

How is this argument not exactly the same one that a member of the religious police in Saudi Arabia would make?

"Worshipping Allah through my work is the most important thing in my life. Don't want me to beat you with a stick? Fine. Just don't speak your theological doubts out loud."

Why, exactly, is your self actualization more important than my liberty?

I see that you still haven't developed any sense of proportion to go along with your lack of manners, TJIC.

Because beating someone with a stick for apostasy is exactly like taking a psych patient to the Emergency Department for evaluation.

Because saying "1 down, 534 to go," is exactly like actually firing a shot at the President, right?

Still, let's talk about how it happens.

I have to have a credible threat, first of all. The patient has to admit to threatening self harm, or a credible witness has to attest to it. That means someone willing to sign an affidavit or otherwise give a sworn statement to police, or identify themselves by name on a 911 tape, etc.

Louisiana law carries substantial criminal penalties for swearing falsely in this regard; up to one year of imprisonment, which may include hard labor, and up to $1,000 in fines. I have seen people charged with this, when their part in the drama play included making false statements to the police.

But if the patient himself says, "Yeah, I said I was going to cut my wrists, but I didn't mean it," we have no way of knowing which part of that statement is false. You don't get to take it back.

Words have consequences. And no, those words have to constitute a credible threat, not something like the example you cited, "If I have to eat one more bite of this leftover soup I'd be better off dead."

There's your absolute lack of proportion again.

Likewise, if I have a specific threat but reported by an anonymous source - "Hey, 911? I just heard somebody shouting at 123 Anywhere Street that they were gonna off themselves by taking all their pills at once." – and I find a patient with slurred speech and lethargy denying they made such a claim, but with an empty vodka bottle and an empty bottle of prescription painkillers nearby that should still have 28 pills in the bottle…

… then yeah, I am going to cart that patient's lethargic ass off to the hospital, no matter what they say. And I'm going to sleep like a baby afterwards. If that makes me a moral coward and a tool of government oppression in your eyes, so be it. Your approval isn't necessary to my sense of self-actualization, either.

The law is messy, and it doesn't always work like it should. There are aspects of it that I am personally uncomfortable with, like transporting cutters to the hospital, for example.

I fully realize that, for some people, cutting themselves is a coping mechanism for stress. It helps them maintain clarity and focus. They are no more suicidal than the rest of us.

To my mind, it's a damned poor coping mechanism and there are plenty of healthier ways than self-mutilation, if for no other reason than to avoid getting taken to the hospital for a psych evaluation because someone who doesn't understand your coping mechanism thinks you're insane.

Still, I don't get to make that decision. A doctor does.

And in this situation, I am acting as a physician extender. In Louisiana, involuntary psychiatric holds can last up to 15 days. The physician usually orders it via a mechanism known as a Physician's Emergency Certificate. When *I* take you to the ED for that evaluation, it's done under that physician's auspices. You must be evaluated by a physician, psychologist, or mental health nurse practitioner within 12 hours to determine if a PEC is warranted. If one isn't warranted, or they don't evaluate you within 12 hours, you get to go free, with nothing more than an ED visit to show for it.

If the cops take you, it's generally under the auspices of the elected parish coroner. The effect is the same: to get you to the hospital for the PEC evaluation.

There are checks and balances, too. If the PEC orders you involuntarily committed – again, for up to 15 days – you are required to be evaluated by the elected parish coroner or designated deputy within 72 hours of admission. If their evaluation does not agree with the physician's, you go free. If the original involuntary commitment came from the coroner, you have 72 hours to be evaluated by a psychiatrist. If his evaluation does not agree with the coroner's, you go free.

So, effectively speaking, the most a sane person is going to be held against their will is 72 hours.

If an additional stay is required beyond those 15 days, you must be evaluated within 72 hours of the end of that 15 day period by the coroner and the psychiatrist, who both must be in agreement to extend the hold for another 15 days.

Beyond 30 days, the bar is set far higher, which brings us to my next subject:

Line 11f of ATF Form 4473 asks:

Have you ever been adjudicated mentally defective (which includes a determination by a court. board. commission, or other lawful authority that you are a danger to yourself or to others or are incompetent to manage your own affairs, OR have you ever been committed to a mental institution?

Note the phrases I placed in bold print.

This is NOT the same thing as a temporary psychiatric hold, or even a temporary involuntary commitment.

Note the term "adjudicated mentally defective."

Adjudicated, as in court proceedings. Judges, lawyers, juries and all that. In most cases, it requires more than a hearing before an administrative law judge. That means you get a civil hearing complete with jury, a chance to respond to the petitioner, your own choice of lawyer or a guardian ad litem appointed by the court, and time to prepare a case.

A 72-hour Physician's Emergency Certificate doesn't even come close to meeting that legal standard. In my state, court proceedings are usually required to hold a person beyond 30 days.

The instructions for Form 4473 define "Committed to a Mental Institution" as: 

A formal commitment of a person to mental institution by a court. board, commission. or other lawful authority. The term includes a commitment to a mental institution involuntarily. The term includes commitment for mental defectiveness or mental illness. It also includes commitments for other reasons, such as for drug use. The term does not include a person in mental institution for observation or a voluntary admission to a mental institution.

Louisiana RS 28:53 states:

A.(1)  A mentally ill person or a person suffering from substance abuse may be admitted and detained at a treatment facility for observation, diagnosis, and treatment for a period not to exceed fifteen days under an emergency certificate.

(2)  A person suffering from substance abuse may be detained at a treatment facility for one additional period, not to exceed fifteen days, provided that a second emergency certificate is executed.  A second certificate may be executed only if and when a physician at the treatment facility and any other physician have examined the detained person within seventy-two hours prior to the termination of the initial fifteen day period and certified in writing on the second certificate that the person remains dangerous to himself or others or gravely disabled, and that his condition is likely to improve during the extended period.  The director shall inform the patient of the execution of the second certificate, the length of the extended period, and the specific reasons therefor, and shall also give notice of the same to the patient's nearest relative or other designated responsible party initially notified pursuant to Subsection F.

After that, further detainment at the treatment facility requires that you be adjudicated mentally defective. The Form 4473 instructions go on to state:

A person who has been adjudicated as a mental defective or committed to a mental institution is not prohibited if: (I) the person was adjudicated or committed by a department or agency of the Federal Government. such as the United States Department of Veteran's Affairs ("VA") (as opposed to a State court, State board, or other lawful State authority); and (2) either: (a) the person's adjudication or commitment for mental incompetency was set-aside or expunged by the adjudicating/committing agency; (h) the person has been fully released or discharged from all mandatory treatment, supervision, or monitoring by the agency; or (e) the person was found by the agency to no longer suffer from the mental health condition that served as the basis of the initial adjudication. Persons who fit this exception should answer "no" to Item 11.f.

So much for the belief that Leviathan can deny you your 2nd Amendment rights if I haul you off for a psych evaluation. I know that those of you who live behind enemy lines in May-Issue Land are subject to the whims and capriciousness of local police chiefs, but out here in Free America, it's pretty cut-and-dried.

If it was only a 72-hour hold, you have nothing to worry about.

If it was only a transport to the ED, and a 72-hour hold was deemed unnecessary, you have nothing to worry about.

If you were committed for even 30 days, and fully discharged with no court-mandated requirement for outpatient care, you have nothing to worry about.

If the court determined that you were crazier than a shithouse rat, and that even though you committed no crime for which you could claim not guilty by reasons of mental defect, that the safety of yourself and society was deemed preserved by locking you up for six months or six years, after which you were deemed competent to manage your own affairs and were set free… you have nothing to worry about.

This is the United States of friggin' America. Even as bad as things are now, we don't just lock people up in the gulag because they're a little odd. If that were the case, TJIC would be writing his little anarchist missives in crayon, snail-mailing them to me and begging me to post them in my comments section.

So don't let the fear of Big Brother confiscating all your guns deter you from seeking mental health counseling, calling a Suicide Hotline, or deter you from calling 911 because you legitimately fear a loved one may harm himself, yet you don't want to see his civil rights trampled on.

The bar is set a lot higher than that.

 

Compare and Contrast

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EMS World Magazine links to a hit piece investigative report from those hacks responsible journalists at ABC11 in Raleigh-Durham, NC, on the number of thugs, wife-beaters, drug-addicts, drunk drivers and other petty criminals working on ambulances in North Carolina.

And what did they find?
 

But an I-Team review of disciplinary records for paramedics and EMTs across North Carolina for the past five years uncovered alleged behavior that may leave some wondering exactly who is in that ambulance coming to help.

We found multiple reports of misconduct in four key categories:

  • Cheating on exams
  • Criminal activity
  • Drug and alcohol problems
  • Misconduct on the job

The list of criminal charges that caused paramedics and EMTs to be stripped of their credentials includes:

  • Felony death by vehicle and driving while impaired
  • Felony indecent liberties with a child
  • Sexual exploitation of a minor
  • Child abuse
  • Felony embezzlement
  • Identity theft and credit card fraud

Clearly, if those paragons of journalistic integrity and investigative diligence at ABC11 are to be believed, North Carolina EMS systems are a hotbed of criminal activity. Buried deep in the article is the real number of disciplinary actions against EMT's in North Carolina: 40 out of 38,000.

That's 40 out of 38,000, over a period of eleven years.

That's 0.1% of North Carolina EMS personnel disciplined over 11 years.

I think it would be instructive if we looked at some other professions in whom we place a great deal of trust, and see what their rate of arrests and convictions are.

Let's have a look, shall we?

In one study of 535 people:

  • 29 were accused of spousal abuse.
  • 7 were arrested for fraud.
  • 19 have been accused of writing bad checks.
  • 17 have bankrupted at least two businesses.
  • 3 have been arrested for assault.
  • 71 have credit reports so bad they can't qualify for a credit card.
  • 14 have been arrested on drug-related charges.
  • 8 have been arrested for shoplifting.
  • 21 are current defendants in lawsuits.
  • In 1998 alone, 84 were stopped for drunk driving, but released after they claimed immunity.

And who was this den of hooligans, thugs and miscreants? The United States Congress, that's who.

I guess Mark Twain was right when he described Congress as the only distinct American criminal class.

Of another group of 606 people, 15, or 2.48%, were arrested or convicted of felonies.

Those 606 people were Michael Bloomberg's group, Mayors Against Illegal Guns. However, since Bloomberg is famous for listing people as members of his group who have explicitly stated that they have never joined and do not support MAIG, those 15 may be members of a significantly smaller pool of people.

Let's compare this wretched hive of scum and villainy group of stalwart defenders against gun violence against their sworn enemies, those evil gun totin' rednecks:

… the Tennessee Department of Safety and Homeland Security has been issuing Handgun Carry Permits since October 1996 (before then, individual county sheriffs handled them), and between then and the end of 2010, they have issued somewhere around 393686 permits (including four years’ worth of county sheriff renewals, and all duplications, free permits (how do you score those?), and new resident permits, but not counting overall renewals, for obvious reasons). In that same time period, only 4248 permits have had to be revoked due to court orders, administrative revocations, and felony convictions. As such, over the course of 14 years and change, the handgun carry permit holders of Tennessee have only had a failure rate of around 1.08%.

On the other hand, if we take the Mayors Against Illegal Guns members’ statistics (15 convictions over 5 years) and extrapolate them over 14 years, we find that they have had a failure rate of around 7% even. Amusingly, this indicates that MAIG members are 6.5 times more likely to break the law than TN HCP holders.

So much for the scourge of gun violence, it's time we put an end to the scourge of activist mayors.

I wonder, if we ran criminal background checks of all credentialed journalists and media personalities in North Carolina since 2001, how many arrests would we find? Perhaps substantially more than 0.1%?

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

 

 

Paging Dr. Google

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Just ran a call where a six-year-old got a front permanent incisor knocked out.

The kid was in good spirits, smiling and laughing. The tooth seemed in good shape, too, despite it’s less-than-desirable storage receptacle of the mother’s lint-filled pocket.

So, I gently took the tooth from her, handling it by the crown only, and wrapped it in saline-soaked gauze while I called the local hospitals to get confirmation on what I already suspected.

None of the local hospitals have the capability of re-implanting a dislodged tooth, and none of the local dental clinics that take Medicaid answer their emergency numbers, or even have emergency numbers, for that matter.

So, I whipped out my smartphone for a consult to Dr. Google, to refresh my memory on just how long a dislodged tooth is viable for reimplantation.

I learned a couple of things:

1. Milk* is still the best preservative if you don’t have a Sav A Tooth kit. I had been taught that milk had fallen out of favor as a tooth preservative.

2. The fibroblasts on the root of the tooth that are the “glue” that make reimplantation possible start dying after 30 minutes.

Our little girl’s fibroblasts were already dead, buried, and the remaining fibroblasts in her socket were having a rollicking Irish wake.

Looks like our patient will be channeling her inner hockey player for a while, until a dentist can fit her with an artificial implant.

* I asked Siri, “Does the milk have to be Pasteurized?” and she answered, “No, just deep enough to cover the tooth should be sufficient.”**

** Not really. I’ll be here all week, folks. Try the veal, and be sure to tip your server.

For You EMS Types…

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The Funniest (And Mildly Disturbing) Thing You’ll Read All Day

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Gentlemen, take care of your vaginas.

I didn't realize Parapup was so funny.

Have You Registered For the EMS Web Summit?

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It's tomorrow, you know.

Go now and register, and listen to some good EMS speakers talk about interesting topics.

I'm talking about guys like Bob Page, Tim Noonan, Rommie Duckworth, Steve Whitehead, Dave Konig, Peter Canning, and more.

There's even some Lousiana redneck talking about sepsis from 5:45 – 6:15 EST.

Be there or be a geometric shape with four 90-degree angles and four equal sides.

In Which a Bunch of Libertarian Types Go Full Wookie…

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… and fit Ambulance Driver for a swastika and a pair of jackboots while he sleeps.

Seems like my high school guidance counselor was right when she said that "fascist tool of the totalitarian state" was the perfect career choice for me. And all this time, I figured I was just a simple paramedic.

In response to Tamara's link to my Lines In The Sand post, a couple of people went into a bug-eyed, slobbering, incoherent rage took umbrage at my assertion that you don't have the right to refuse care if you have expressed, by word or deed, a desire to kill yourself.

Actually, that's pretty much the law in my state and a bunch of others, but let's take a moment to delve into how, by the convoluted reasoning of some, my following that law is the moral equivalent of herding Jews on the train to Auschwitz.

And yes, people actually said that.

Like TJIC, for example:

How does this differ from "OK, Jew, I understand that you want to leave this prison camp, and that would be OK by me, EXCEPT for the fact that I'd get written up and get three demerits if I let you, therefore I won't let you – your actions have consequences for other people, and you have to realize this!"

Wow. Just… wow.

I guess I shouldn't have taken my "I am TJIC" badge down off my blog, huh? While I appreciate that Travis might have a sore spot or three about having his rights trampled over words he said, that statement is a perfect example of why many don't take libertarianism seriously.

I mean, you get a bunch of individualists who are passionate about personal freedom and smaller government, people who are legitimately concerned about the encroachment of government on our personal freedoms, whose general approach to life is "You leave me along and I'll leave you alone," and invariably there is one in the bunch who says something so far out in friggin' left field that the rest of them want to sidle away, eyeing him nervously all the while.

And in so doing, alienate about 75% of the fence-sitters who might be sympathetic to their cause.

But hey, more power to you, Travis. You stay militant, brother!

If you really equate me transporting someone whose words or deeds demonstrate that they may not – at least in the eyes of the law – be in full possession of their mental faculties, with a Nazi trooper herding Jews onto a train to a concentration camp, then we really have nothing else to discuss.

Have a big libertarian "Go fuck yourself!" and have a nice day. 

A fellow with the handle of ILTim also opines:

"Who the fuck are you to decide that a person should be dragged against their will to gitmo/ fluffy bunny land/ wherever you please? That type of personal violence could and should be resisted in every way available and necessary including lethal force."
 

Well, here's the thing, Tim. If you were that willing to use lethal force, you damned sure should have used it on yourself before the cops and EMT's got called to the scene. If you're that slow, or you're running your mouth about it, you're going to the hospital. And if you try to resist by lethal force, I'm gonna go hide behind the engine block of my ambulance while the cops ventilate you thoroughly with .40 caliber holes.

And after my shift is over, we'll go hit the local jackbooted thug bar, I'll buy them all a beer for saving my life, and we'll do a few Nazi salutes and read selected passages of Mein Kampf together.

First of all, I don't get to decide. I just get to transport them to the place where someone with more training than me in psychiatric care decides. I didn't make that law, I'm just subject to it. I suppose I could just shrug my shoulders and say, "Your life, your choice," and walk away, but when I get sued – and I will get sued – the only way I'll get away with it is if I have a jury full of people like you and TJIC.

Except, guys like you would never make it onto that jury. You'd be outside the courthouse wearing a sandwich board, screaming "SHALL NOT BE INFRINGED!" for the television cameras, while everybody watching mentally relegates you to the same niche as the disheveled guy on the next street corner, wearing the sandwich board that says, "REPENT, THE END IS NIGH."

If that makes me a moral coward in your eyes, then so be it. Your opinion of me doesn't cost me much sleep. Grab yourself a picket sign and hang out in Moral Absoluteville with TJIC, while the rest of society does its best to ignore you. Me, I'll still be here, trying to convince people of the rightness of libertarian ideals, and likely making more headway because I'm not spouting off crazy shit like comparing EMT's to Nazi death camp guards.

The whole point of that post is that words have consequences. Travis discovered that very thing, and apparently hasn't learned anything from it. In a way, I find that admirable…

.. from afar.

I say "from afar," because while it's nice to hold people up as heroes, heads bloody but unbowed and all that, up close and in person they often turn out to be unreasonable assholes. In any case, I imagine Travis will lose as little sleep over my opinion of him as I will over his opinion of me. I just wish he realized that people with his attitude make far better symbols than effective advocates.
 

On the brighter side, there were some reasonable voices in the crowd. Roberta X:
 

 "Killing yourself: a legitimate exercise of the right of self-ownership.

Threatening to kill yourself: Extortion.  It is exactly the same as threatening to kill a hostage.

The threatener is initiating force-by-proxy on those with whom he shares his threats.

Dammit, this isn't rocket science."

You'd think so, wouldn't you, Robbi? I wonder if it would matter if I told them I support assisted suicide laws. You do have a right to self-determination. Just don't get me or my livelihood entangled in it by threatening first. And if calm and reasonable people took that stance and voted on it, more than three states would have assisted suicide laws. Instead, at least 35 states still explicitly criminalize it, due in part because every time Jack Kevorkian got on television and talked about it, he wounded up sounding like, well… TJIC.

Yrro Simyarin opines:

I in no way blame you for enforcing the law as written. It isn't your duty to throw your career away and the good you do otherwise as a political protest.

But man, that law is messed up. I think the real takeaway here is "never call 911 if someone you love says they're going to kill him/herself, because you're just about destroying their life." Talk to them, try to get them help, but make damn sure it is all voluntary and not involving the authorities.

 

I agree 100%. The law is indeed messed up, but it isn't my duty to throw my career and livelihood away to protest it. And I like my career. I do a lot of good. I'm not going to walk away from it, as TJIC suggested: "If you're unwilling to allow other people to be free because it would give you demerits at work, maybe you're in the wrong line of work."

It isn't a "line of work" for me. It's who I am. Don't want me interfering in your decision to off yourself? Fine. Don't. Get. Me. Involved.

It's that simple. My number is 911. Don't call it, or don't make spiteful threats that spur other people to call it. Just get on with your business, preferably alone and in private.

But I will offer slight disagreement to one part of your comment: "I think the real takeaway here is "never call 911 if someone you love says they're going to kill him/herself, because you're just about destroying their life."

Suicidal ideation is often a spur-of-the-moment impulse. Unfortunately, people often act on that impulse, and many of them are not in full possession of their faculties when they do it. That's why the laws are as they are. I concede the point that some people, in full possession of their wits, make a cold and rational decision to end their life.

For such people, I think that's a legitimate act of self-determination, one I wouldn't interfere with.

The sticky part is differentiating the (temporarily) mentally ill who make the decision on impulse, from those who make it after rational deliberation. Most laypeople can't tell the two apart, and make no mistake, the 911 operator and the person on the other end of the Suicide Hotline is a layperson. They have very little medical training, if any. What they have is a script, and a set of protocols.

So when you call the Suicide Hotline, they will often turn right around and call 911, thus getting the cops and EMT's involved. Now, I have serious problems with that approach, but you can blame our litigious society for that one. People are afraid of liability. You should be able to call a mental health hotline without fear of the cops banging on your door. Unfortunately, that is not always the case, and the cops and EMT's are not in a position to change it.

But you shouldn't hesitate to seek help for someone who is legitimately despondent and suicidal, even to the extent of calling 911. You could very well be saving their life, not ruining it. As I stated before, often these states are temporary. With medication and counseling they often can and do get better.

Sometimes the medication and counseling does no good, especially if it only consists of doping them to the eyeballs with antipsychotics and warehousing them for a week or two.

But here's where I reject TJIC's and ILTim's indignation out of hand. If someone rationally and deliberately decides to kill himself, as opposed to someone threatening it out of spite, there is nothing that I, or the cops, or an army of psychiatrists can do to stop them. Most often, they'll just do it, and we find their bodies later.

If, on the off chance that we intervene in time, they'll go to a psych ward for 48-72 hours, where they will soon be released, because they rationally and deliberately play the game, do whatever it takes to get set loose, and then go about carrying out their plan.

And it's damned easy to do, because they're not insane. Contrary to popular belief, sane people do not get locked in psych wards for appreciable periods of time. Oh, there are horror stories here and there where that has happened, but that is far from the norm. In fact, it's just the opposite; the system is so beleaguered that a great many mentally ill who should be in inpatient facilities are out walking the streets, getting zero care.

Nor is me transporting you to the ED for a psych evaluation any guarantee that you will be committed involuntarily. That's a fact lost in the comments from the post in question. The person who puts you in the psych ward has to have MD behind their name. The cop or the guy with EMT-P doesn't get to say whether you're sane or insane, he just has to get the patient to the MD to make that determination. And fairly often, the patient convinces the ED physician that the statement was made in jest, or in anger, or wasn't said at all and the 911 caller was just lying to be spiteful, and the patient gets to go home. Convincing the doctor that you're no danger to yourself is fairly easy… if you're no danger to yourself. It's something any calm, rational person can do.

And once you're home, you can go on about your life, with nothing other than an ED visit in the hospital records. Or, if you prefer, you can get on with calmly, rationally mixing your hemlock smoothie or eating your 235 grains of Trepanazine.

And if that was your ultimate goal, then having a psych hold in your medical records is pretty inconsequential, wouldn't you agree?

Why would you care? You're dead, after all.

 

 

 

I Love Edison Medicine

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Makes me feel all… paramedical, and stuff.

Conversation with the patient after I lit him up like a Christmas tree:

Patient: "So I was pretty sick, huh?"

AD: "Still are pretty sick."

Patient: "I didn't want my wife to call y'all, but I'm kinda glad she did anyway. If she hadn't called 911, I'd have…"

AD: "… stubborned yourself to death? Yes, you would have. I hope to hell you got her a nice Mother's Day gift today."

He's already had his coronary arteries stented, new ones grafted, and the grafts stented, so I guess now he'll get an AICD as his latest souvenir for thumbing his nose at The Reaper.

Parental Advisory* Lyrics

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Of all the songs on my iPhone, there's a select few that always make KatyBeth channel Tipper Gore.

Whenever I play Cee Lo Green's "F*ck You," or Pink's "F*ckin' Perfect," she will gasp in horror, blush like a tomato, and clap her hands over her ears until the song is over, whereupon she admonishes me for listening to such trash.

Ooooohh boy, am I gonna have fun reminding her of that in a few years…

 

 

 

*Warning: Contains explicit language. Children, don't let your parents listen to these songs, or surely they will experiment with drugs and post-marital sex, turn to a life of crime and spiral into a vortex of despair. PTA meetings will devolve into drunken, drug-fueled orgies, and the little old ladies who greet you at Wal Mart will have their hair dyed in one blue stripe down the middle, instead of all over. It'll be anarchy, ANARCHY I tell you!

Now THAT’S A Good Review!

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Every year at the Texas EMS Conference, a couple of co-conspirators and I do a skills workshop called "Pediatric ALS Skills: All The Stuff You're Afraid Of, Plus What Actually Works."

It's a good class. We fill up all three sessions every year, and get great reviews. We've gotta add some stuff to it this year, because apparently some people re-take it every year, and the information is starting to get a little stale for a select few.

Still, all the positive reviews we get don't hold a candle to this email:

Just wanted to let you know that the Pedi Workshop you held at the TX EMS Conference just came in very handy. We had a 3 y/o "respiratory" that was actually a post-ROSC ( as in right before we arrived) on a vent with a trach. The trach was dislodged by the home care nurse and the child went into respiratory arrest for so long that she also went into cardiac arrest. The nurse got her back but the trach she placed was both in the wrong place and it was the wrong size. So, we got to do some problem solving and ended up inserting a new Shiley. Thanks to your workshop, I looked like a pro. Many, many thanks to you and the other instructors for a high quality educational session!

Yep, I'll take feedback like that all day long.

Public Service Announcement

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All the enhanced 911 systems, medical alarm monitoring services and 24-hour sitters in the world will do you no good if the paramedics cannot find your house among the dozens of other cookie-cutter homes on your block.

Do yourself a favor and invest another $30 in your safety and peace of mind, by going down to Home Depot and buying some 3-inch reflective numbers for your house AND your curb, and installing one of these:

That's a GE 3-position emergency light switch. Installs just like a regular light switch, takes about five minutes, if you're really slow walking to the breaker box. Up is on, down is off, and middle blinks the light on and off repeatedly, drawing the medics to your door like resuscitating moths to a cardiac arrest flame.

Well, it does if you install it on your porch light. If you install it on an interior light, there's just no helping you.

Oh. My. Gawd.

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I'm all about a smooth ride in the ambulance. Driving fast and running lights and sirens only saves you an average of 30 seconds or so in the city, anyway, so I tell all my partners that I'd much prefer slow, smooth and safe to rapid, rough and reckless.

And my partner last week may well have been the smoothest driver I've ever had. You could barely feel the road when he drove.

Of course, it's easy to be smooth when you drive at the approximate speed of tectonic shift. Dude didn't need a speedometer, he needed a calendar. I finally told him to just keep the lights and siren off, because when you're driving substantially below the speed limit and angry old folks are passing you on their Rascal scooters, flipping you off as they whiz past you in the breakdown lane, what's the point?

It wasn't just the driving, either. Dude moves at the blistering pace of a geriatric sloth with a Xanax habit. On one call, a wreck, I told him to follow behind me with the spine board and stretcher. I had assessed the patient, listened to her tell me she wasn't injured and didn't want an ambulance, written down her demographic information, had the refusal form signed and witnessed and was on my way back to the rig before he got the stretcher unloaded. He even looked disappointed slowly; it didn't so much flash across his face as it did a slow melt. I was back in the rig and massaging my temples before he got his frown fixed into place.

I never thought I could find something more mentally stressing than having a speed demon as a partner, but this came close. Halfway through the first shift, I had to quit stomping the imaginary accelerator on my side of the rig, lest he squeeze the steering wheel in half, he was that white-knuckled. I finally just wound up driving to all the calls myself. Seemed a more productive use of my time than expelling exaggerated sighs and pointedly looking at the speedomoeter, anyway.

I mean, I like to watch the seasons change, but not from the back of my ambulance between scene and Emergency Department.

Jeez…

 

Lines In The Sand

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Every relationship has ground rules, and everyone who has been in a relationship for an appreciable length of time knows what they are.

So when you’re arguing, you know that there are certain buttons you just don’t push, certain subjects that you just don’t broach.

You Just Don’t Go There.

And when you cross those boundaries, you know there will be consequences, ranging from getting the cold shoulder for the next few days, to unwilling celibacy for the foreseeable future, to having her/him toss you out on your ass.

And when your argument spills over into physical violence, expect that one or both of you will go to jail when the cops get involved.

Likewise, there are some things you Just Don’t Get To Say.

If your spouse/lover/life partner/ babydaddy chose to get the police involved, or if a third party overheard your argument and called 911…

… well, suffice it to say we don’t grant Mulligans. You don’t get to take it back.

And chief among those things You Just Don’t Get To Say in an argument is, “I’m just going to kill myself.”

Almost as bad, but without the implied threat, is, “I wish I was dead.”

Make the threat more specific, like say, threatening a specific way to do harm to yourself, just adds the element of a defined plan to your suicide threat, and makes it all the more credible.

Say those things, and I can guarantee you one outcome: You. Will. Go. To. The. Hospital.

Your only choices are whether you go restrained or unrestrained. You don’t get to say no any more.

And yes, I am perfectly willing to believe that you said it in the heat of anger and didn’t really mean it.

I also believe that someone who seriously intends to kill him/herself would be willing to tell any lie necessary to get the cops and paramedics to leave so they can get on with mixing their hemlock smoothie.

You don’t get to be that person.

And no, I don’t really give a rat’s ass if you get a mental health record or if you have class/work/social engagements in the morning that you just can’t miss.

Neither am I going to lose sleep over the fact that a 48-hour stint in the psych ward ruins your chance at that law enforcement career you’ve been so zealously pursuing, or takes you out if the running for Man Of The Year at the local Rotary Club.

Pleading with me for lenience is only going to fall on deaf ears. The only leniency you get is the ability to choose the pleasantness of the ride.

You made the threat. I don’t get to decide whether it is credible, nor do I want that responsibility. Plead your case to the ED doc and the mental health tech if you want. Sometimes, if they believe your story, they’ll cut you loose.

But it’s my job to get you there for that conversation, and get you there I will.

Fighting with me is pointless. I will win that fight, every single time, and all your struggle only guarantees that you will spend the next 48-72 hours walking around in shoes without laces and talking to psychiatrists about things you’d rather not discuss with strangers.

So, consequences.

Don’t like ‘em, then don’t say those things. Don’t cross that line in the sand.

Hugs and Kisses,
Your friendly neighborhood Ambulance Driver

Kilted To Kick Cancer, Part The Second

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Prostate Cancer Awareness month and Kilted to Kick Cancer 2012 is only four months away. Have you got your kilt?

Last year's campain raised roughly $11,000, or will as soon as Caleb gets through shooting the Bianchi Cup in a couple of weeks.  For every X Caleb shoots in both classes at Bianchi cup, he's donating $1 to LiveStrong, and Todd at Pistol-Training.Com has agreed to match it. I'm rooting for The World's Most Dangerous Hobbit to shoot like Doc Holliday and Dave Sevigny combined, and hopefully we can add a few hundred more dollars to our 2011 total.

I'm also praying for embarassing video footage of wardrobe malfunctions, because I'm just evil that way. Besides, wearing a kilt while competing at arguably the nation's most prestigious action pistol match? That's just made of win, y'all.

To raise as much as we did in such a short time, with so little lead time to plan, qualifies as a major accomplishment no matter which way you slice it. But for me, the biggest accomplishment was this email I got from a reader:

Kelly,  I owe you a bit of thanks.  I read your blogs all the time and for being 58 I'm in really good health.  However after listening to your push for Prostate Cancer awareness I went in and got checked out.  Much to my surprise they found a nodule  Gleason 7 Type 3.  Never had any prostate symptoms.  Detected Dec 20 removed Feb 6th. With no complication!  So thank you, God only knows when/if it would have been detected without your preaching.

And yet, last month also saw the father of a good friend lose his long battle with prostate cancer. We can't even begin to pat ourselves on the back, not yet.
 

So this year, we're aiming higher. We want a Kilted representative in every state, and we want to raise $50,000 by the end of September. Go over to the Kilted To Kick Cancer website, and click on the Team KTKC map to sign up as a rep for your state.

We want that entire map blanketed in teal well before September, so sign up now!

Same as last year, I'll be hosting the fundraising challenge here on my blog. I'm still rounding up prize sponsors, but there promises to be some schweet guns and gear for the top three fundraisers. There are, however, a few changes to the rules from last year:
 

  • There are no 1st, 2nd and 3rd place prize packages. All prizes packages will be roughly equal in value, with some slightly different guns and gear. 1st place winner gets his/her choice of prize package, 2nd place winner gets to choose from the remaining two packages, and 3rd place winner gets the remaining package.
  • I'm declaring myself ineligible for prizes this year. I'm still going to participate, and my goal is to put you all to shame in the fundraising department, but someone else is going to win the prize this year.
  • If you can't/won't go kilted, post a KTKC badage on your blog.

 

And, just as a teaser of some of the stuff the top fundraisers are going to receive, take a gander!

Representative sample. Not the actual pistol.

 

A talented group of student gunsmiths from one of the country's finest gunsmithing schools are going to strap on their kilts and build, from scratch, a matched pair of Queen Anne dueling pistols, in custom hardwood display box, for one of our prize packages. These are some talented guys, and I'm impressed by the quality of their work.

The above pic is a trapper pistol built by one of the 'smiths who will be building the KTKC pistols. The photo doesn't do the pistol justice. That gold filigree was made by engraving the metal, and then pounding gold wire into the engraving, and it looks and feels like it was painted on there, it's that smooth.

I'll post new pics and links as I get more prize sponsors, so y'all get to signing up!

AND GO GET YOURSELVES CHECKED!

 

 

 

 

*Hear that, Motorcop? That's the sound of a gauntlet being thrown. If Caleb can run and gun through the equivalent of two pistol matches wearing a kilt, the least you could do is show up kilted to your next firearms qualification. And post range pics. ;)

A Musical Interlude

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Brought to you by KatyBeth, who is, like, the biggest Sarah Bareilles fan evar.

Generation Gap

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Dispatched to a wreck earlier tonight, I rummaged around behind the seat for my reflective traffic vest, only to find that the only one they had back there was a medium.

Nonetheless, one does not work on the highway at night without reflective gear unless one is suicidal, even if the garment in question makes you look like eight pounds of shit in a five-pound sack.

Besides, I could see the comedic potential a mile away. So, I squeeze into the vest, all the while singing, "Fat guy in a little coat, fat guy in a liiiitle coooaaattt…"

All I got from my partner was a blank stare.

"Come on man, you never saw Tommy Boy?" I ask incredulously. "Chris Farley? Matt Foley, motivational speaker?"

This time the blank stare is accompanied by a shrug. "No, who are they?"

Then I got to thinking, Tommy Boy came out in 1995. My partner was five years old at the time. He was only seven when Farley died.

Shit, I feel old.

For You EMS Types…

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… there's a new book excerpt on EMS1.com.

One of my first bad calls, and there is a Language Alert in effect, folks.

 

Enjoy.

It’s a Major Award!*

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You like me! You really, really like me!

Yes, I just went all Sally Field on you, and yes, I realize it's a misquote.

I just found out that I picked up one of these babies from the Western Publishing Association, for my column on EMS1.com. This is the third time I've been a Maggie finalist, and the first time to win one. I am told that, in the print and electronic publishing worlds, they are a Very Big Deal.

I just want to thank everyone who reads my disjointed little scribblings here and elsewhere on the web. I'll never forget all the little people I've stepped on along the way the support of loyal readers, friends and colleagues, and I vow that success will never change me. I'll always be the same humble, self-effacing, blue-collar guy you've all come to know and love.**

But the one letdown about winning the Maggie was the fact that I wasn't there to give an acceptance speech. I had envisioned sitting there at the table with my editors and the bigwigs at Praetorian Group, resplendent in my powder blue tux with ruffled shirt, napkin tucked into my collar, while all the chumps losers other deserving nominees were announced, and then, "And the Maggie goes to…"

It was going to be friggin' glorious.

So you can imagine my disappointment upon learning of my victory after the fact, and that my editors had accepted the statuette obelisk doohickey trophy on my behalf. No doubt they were whooping it up most of the night, soaking up my stolen glory, showing off my Maggie to all the nubile e-publishing groupies (and you know those chicks are hot), riding in limos and drinking Cristal and snorting coke off an expensive hooker's bre -

- I'm sorry. Where was I?

Oh yeah, my acceptance speech.

Well, I may have been cheated of my moment in the spotlight, dammit, but I will deliver my acceptance speech. I deserve that much.  So without further ado:

"First of all, I'd like to thank God for the talent. None of this would be possible without His blessing me with such a towering gift. But even literary talents as prodigious as mine would go unnoticed were it not for the worker bees behind the scenes, like my editor Jamie Thompson, and Kris Kaull, and the intern who fetches my latté, and the guy who blows the Cheeto dust out of my keyboard, and those wonderful gnomes who keep my office stocked with Shiner Bock and green M&M's, and Missy, the grl who gives me chair massages until my muse returns… I mean, when it comes down to it, Kelly Grayson's only one man, and Kelly Grayson knows that without the support of people like them, people not blessed with his talent, but nonetheless dedicated in their own simple way… well, Kelly Grayson would not be standing before you today, clutching this award. And so, from the bottom of Kelly Grayson's heart, thank you."

I've got a spot reserved on the mantel for this baby, but first I think I'll lug it with me to all the EMS conferences I'm doing this fall, to give you – the little people – a chance to touch my Maggie. It's the least I could do to express my gratitude. Have your people call my people, and we'll do lunch.

Ciao, babies.

*air kisses*

 

 

 

 

*Admittedly, it's no leg lamp, but it should still look nice on the mantel.

** Until I can ditch all you losers and buy me some new, classier friends.

Random Pics From the NRA Annual Meeting

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Just a few more pics from the show that I thought I'd share:

 

How big are Matt G.'s hands?

Big enough to palm a full-sized Desert Eagle, that's how big.

That's how Matt can shoot those itty bitty KelTecs and Smith & Wesson snubbies so accurately. When he wraps those catcher's mitts around the grip, it's like a human Ransom Rest.

LeadChucker, Jr. with a .30 carbine. Ain't nothin' cuter than a little boy with a vintage military carbine, except for maybe a little girl at the yoke of a Ma Deuce.

 

Hi Point and Chiappa, two great names that go great together. Like peanut butter and jelly, or Laverne and Shirley… or suck and fail.

 

 

Let's say you're a hooker, and you've been wracking your brain for something special for the pimp in your life. You need the perfect birthday gift for Huggy Bear, something reeking of class and sophistication, yet something utilitarian. Something that he'll actually use. So what do you get him?

 

Why, a nice leopard-pattern Cobra 9mm, that's what, and it matches perfectly the seatcovers on his El Dorado!

The Magpul Wagon. As Tamara would say, it runs on a proprietary blend of testoterone and awsomesauce.

And next we see Jay G, getting his Wookie on:

Me and Ton Jones. Two fat guys with no discernible talent, one famous, the other… not so much. I must be doing something wrong.

 

 

The weapons Old NFO, Matt G. and I, um… left in the hotel room while we were cruising the exhibit hall. Yeah.

 

Met lots of bloggers at the show, so y'all check out the Blogroll O' Doom for the new guys, and as always, The Blogroll O' Doom is a reciprocal deal. If I'm on yours and you're not on mine, let me know and I'll fix it.


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Polarized sunglasses, Flashlights, and Hiking boots.