This week brings a special compilation episode of Confessions of An EMS Newbie, as we offer the best excerpts from the first twelve episodes cataloging Ron’s journey through EMT-B school.

If you haven’t yet subscribed to the Confessions of An EMS Newbie podcast, consider this episode the gateway drug that gets you hooked.

Next week, after Ron has recovered from his Vegas trip – (remember, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas… except the chlamydia) – we’ll have an all-new episode for you as Ron begins paramedic school.

It’s Confessions of An EMS Newbie, the only podcast approved by the FDA as a treatment for narcolepsy!

*If you’re younger than 30, have your parents explain to you who K-Tel records was.

… you’re looking for a restaurant, not an Emergency Department.

Dear Malingering System Abuser Type,

When you mention that you’ve had your minor symptoms for four days, and that you wouldn’t normally go to Hospital A except by ambulance, because arriving on a stretcher gets you seen faster…

… I’m going to mention that to the triage nurse at Hospital A.

And when the triage nurse, after an eyeball assessment and a quick check of vital signs, disabuses you of that foolish notion by sending your butt to the waiting room…

… it does not behoove you to call 911 after only a 10-minute wait, and request to be taken to Hospital B.

Because, you see, when your age and symptoms pop up on my little magic screen, and the location is the hospital waiting room we just left, I’m going to pick up my phone and drop a call to the triage nurse at the hospital you just requested. They don’t much care for such shenanigans, and they’ll let you take root out in the waiting room, just on general principles.

This ain’t our first rodeo with your kind, sir. Try not to get bedsores sitting on those hard chairs, and I hope you like watching C-Span with the volume down for the next four hours.

Love and kisses,

Ambulance Driver

Godspeed to Gayla Gregory, Kenneth Robertson, and Kenneth Myer, Jr.

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds…and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of…wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up, the long, delirious burning blue
I’ve topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, nor even eagle flew.
And while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space…
…put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

No ranting on the subject today. I just don’t have it in me.

Today is the second blogiversary of the psych rehab project that ate San Francisco.

Congrats, Justin!

HuffPo contributor Beau Friedlander proves that douchebaggery is not confined to any one political affiliation:

“It is time to pop the tea baggers’ favorite balloon (so what if it will be replaced by another?), and with that in mind I hereby offer to negotiate a $100,000 payday to the person who will come forward with a sex tape or phone records or anything else that succeeds in removing Glenn Beck from the public eye forever. I am not offering the cash myself, but I will broker the deal and/or raise the money for what you bring to the table. (And it better be good.)”

Ummm, leftists? Try attacking the man’s ideas. Doing it this way just smacks of desperation.

I find it hilarious that the left expends so much energy and hate on people who are not even running for office, or people who haven’t been in office for two years. Way to keep your eyes off the prize.

(Hat tip to the Beck you should be following: Billy Beck.)

*sniff*

It seems like just yesterday, Epijunky was my cute little EMT-Blogchild, all full of promise and wide-eyed wonder, and now she’s all grown up, a paramedic, and a member of the JEMS FireEMS blog network!

She’s still full of promise and wide-eyed wonder, though, and about as intimidating as the Snuggle fabric softener bear. I’m going to have to work with her on developing her Paramedic Face.

Y’all also welcome Lt. Michael Morse of Rescuing Providence to the network. He’s one of the better EMS storytellers out there, and if you don’t have him bookmarked, you should.

I’ve got a Facebook friend, a fellow EMT, named Robert J. Wilson.

Robert’s gay, and proud of it. He’s also been in a committed relationship with his partner for at least ten years. I’m cool with that. We spar occasionally on his blog because Robert’s a  godless, atheistic, liberal Democrat type, and I’m a red-blooded, God-fearin’, gun-totin, libertarian, hunnert-percent Murkin type. Naturally, our views are going to differ on many things.

But hey, if political leanings were big enough to stand in the way of friendship, TOTWTYTR and I would never share Mule Breath’s wonderful company, much less his world-class chili and barbecue.

Anyhoo, Robert brings to our attention one Baton Rouge area business, Southern Style Granite. They have a really nasty attitude toward gays, to the point of refusing to do business with them.

And that’s fine, really. If they’re afraid of the gay cooties, that’s their business. The libertarian in me tells me that, as a private business, they have the right to refuse service to anyone.

But they don’t have the right to be immune from the consequences of their intolerance and bigotry.

Um, do they not realize how many interior designers are gay? Jeez, talk about not knowing your clientele!

So do me a favor, and link this post in your own blogs, or link Robert’s post, and let’s Google bomb these backwards-assed yahoos into the 21st century. You did it for me with those mouth-breathers at Cycles and More, and now I’m asking you to do the same with Southern Style Granite. This post or Robert’s needs to be the #1 Google result by the end of the week.

And if you’re of a mind, go to one of the online review sites and spread the word about their business practices.

Thanks for your help.

Breda’s been bit by the Mondays, misplacing a very important piece of hardware.

Luckily, I found it:

Took me forever to wrest it away from the old guy down the street. He kept yelling, “But it’s a major award! A major award!”

“I’m dying.”

Two little words than can mean everything, or absolutely nothing, to an EMS provider.

If your patient looks very sick – ghostly pale, sweaty, sick – and they say those words to you, soberly and matter-of-factly, you’d best get ready to work a resuscitation. We call that the “profound sense of impending doom,” and it happens often enough that the wise medical provider pays it heed.

On the other hand, if the declaration is accompanied by much anguished moaning, screaming, teeth gnashing and Scarlett O’Hara dramatics…

… you can be reasonably certain that, despite our fondest wishes, the patient is not dying, and will likely be discharged home straight from the Emergency Department.

… posted at Confessions of An EMS Newbie.

Enjoy!

Hat tip to reader OrdoPM.