So, I finished upacking my room. I still had some errant boxes floating around from the move, and I opened one ealier that just had the label MISC. on it. Mind you, when we all decided to move, we began packing oh, about, three months before the move, so there were a lot of things that were packed and forgotten about.
As I lifted out old blue uniform shirts and Con-Ed certificates, I found a black, dusty holster with my very first pair of Trauma Shears and yes, they were hot pink.
I pulled them out and I did what any self respecting Paramedic with a pair of Trauma Shears would do when they are not currently surrounded by accident victims in need of being made naked in a hurry; I cut a penny. As I did, I thought back to some of the calls that I had used my trusty shears on.
The one that seems to be the first call I think of is the first car accident I ever went on. That, followed by my first Cardiac Arrest. Then, I reflect on the day that I retired them, to never be used on a patient again...and that's when the tears begin to flow.
I promise, I'll get into some story telling soon, so that you can understand where I'm coming from. Where I get the ability to plan dinner while looking at a 3 week old decomp, or can tell someone that they have just a minor Boo-Boo while their foot is barely hanging onto the rest of their leg from their own drunken stupidity (both are true stories). I promise, I'm not some jaded individual who thinks life sucks and that Natural Selection is a blessing. I just firmly believe that someone needs to pour just a bit more chlorine in the shallow end of the gene pool that my more...interesting patients have come from.
Well, now that I've led you on long enough, I'll tickle your fancy some more. Hopefully in the next post, I can get off my soap box and delve into some good stories. Feedback is always appreciated!
Have a good one, and Be Safe!
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