Twelve acres of brush fire yesterday. Seven fire departments sent equipment.
Under control in less than two hours. Pretty bad-ass, those fire guys!
The first thing he asked was how are we going to get him out of there? A reasonable question.
Well, the fire-guys are here, setting up their equipment; they’re gonna’ cut the roof off, I told him.
Little did we know how hard it would be after that. It was a perfect storm of an entrapment: Bottom of car was wedged against a tree; side of car was dug into the hillside; and the pt weighed over 400 lbs.
We each took turns thinking, fuck how the hell are we going to get this guy out of here?
But eventually—after about an hour and fifty minutes—we had him out and en route to the hospital.
Many hands make light work.
Trying to get a day off and I get roped into a stand-by at the county fair.
Usually I love the standbys; time and a half, and lots of trauma skills practice.
(The standbys I usually work involve motorcycles driving really fast and jumping things).
But, oh man I hate county fairs. They’re soooo boring. And this one was no exception.
Not a single job all day.
At least the carnies hooked us up with free food when things shut down.
… Also I pet a kangaroo.
Three O’clock in the morning and the neighborhood firehouse alarm and/or the 911 app on my phone wakes me up: Car into a tree, with injuries.
Usually after three long days of work, in a row, I would just go back to sleep. But I looked at my phone and the crash was on my street—turns out, less than 100 yards from my driveway.
Okay. So I throw pants on and respond.
Patient is out of the car—walking wounded—but since I’m the first EMS on scene and I have no ambulance in which to assess her, I have her sit on the back step of the fire truck that had arrived.
So I’m doing my assessment—what happened exactly? do you remember the crash? let me check your blood pressure…—and BAM! I get whacked in the back of the neck by a bee or a wasp or a hornet. I don’t know what it was; I only know that it fucking hurt.
I look up at the truck’s scene lights and see a bunch of pissed of bees or whatever. The rumbling truck must have woken them up.
Another EMT arrives with the ambulance and we get the patient to the ER. The whole ride in I’m feeling kind of itchy but think nothing of it.
We hand the girl to the ER and I get my signatures.
“Dude,” says my driver. “What’s up with your face—and your eyes, and your ears?”
What… ? Shut up.”
I go to the bathroom and sure enough I’m as red as a stop sign. I lift my shirt and I have hives up and down my sides. Are you seriously? Now I’m allergic to bees?
Lucky for me the call was ALS: I was able to catch the medic before he left, so I could get some off-the-record benadryl; the sun was barely up. It was way the fuck too early for incident reports.
• • •
The morals to the story: Always make sure the scene is safe. No good deed goes unpunished. And fuck you bees!
Well, here are a couple of numbers you don’t see every day:
Kind of ironic how my previous post was about the
shitty deadly equipment I have to deal with at my commercial job. But at my volley, we just got this brand new rig (chopper not included), and it is dope:
But its kind of scary riding something so nice. No one wants to be the first one to put a scratch on it. Oh wait …. too late:
Well, that didn’t take long. I blame the heat. And the helicopter guys!