VI

We wish everyone never to become the heroes of medical stories. But it does not hurt to read, although today something for people with strong nerves ...;)

Today is a hard Monday after a hard Sunday. It was hot in the morning, hot sun, three cardiac arrests within an hour, and I was alone as usual. It's good that the defibrillator works ...

After the second resuscitation (2: 0 for me) I am already a bit dead when the nurse, the superior many times over, comes in, followed by a herd of young tits on training. And he politely asks if the interns can see what I'm doing. As I nodded incautiously, I was immediately asked to comment on what I was doing. I liked it less.

As ordered by the honorable tit, another patient lost consciousness a few minutes later, alerting the staff to a series of wonderful shakes.

If it hadn't been for one of my ladies' great reflexes, he would have probably landed on the floor, which luckily happened without any additional exercises in neurotraumatology. I go to work like I do ABC exercises (she is an expert as far as I know), the airway is clear, the breathing is just disappearing, no circulation. Of course, I explain everything to the tits descriptively, trying to avoid dynamizers. We apply the electrodes, the nurse ventilates the patient, the titmouse jumps tightly on the bed. Classic ventricular fibrillation in the ECG record, so of course you have to "shoot" or defibrillate the patient. I dialed 200 joules which is the standard, put the spoons on the patient's chest screaming "ATTENTION Defibrillation!" and pulled the trigger praying it would work. It shot so nice !!

Picturesque pandemonium unleashed around me. Titmouse, wanting to see as accurately as possible what I was doing, ignored my warning about defibrillation (or maybe they forgot that it is electrocuted?) Resisted the patient's bed. A METAL patient bed.

At the moment of the release of energy, as usual, the patient was lifted. But that was nothing. Two tits "blew away" from the bed like champagne corks, which landed forcefully on the next bed. The next two fell in beautiful convulsions to the floor, and the last one was holding firmly to the handrail of the bed (only the expression on her face and the suddenly changed hairstyle showed that she had also been hurt - a tough guy). My superior was choked, we (the permanent staff) looked at each other. For all this, the patient regained consciousness (this is called effective resuscitation!), Coughed twice, and then rose slightly and looked first at his slightly fried chest (they do not show it in the movies, huh?) And then at the ones lying around of the body he asked softly:

- "Have I lost anything?"

I assured him he had lost nothing.

Titmouse will surely remember this training in resuscitation on dłuuuuuugo.

I'm going to rest before it starts again ....

* * * * *

I read in the comments to my stories several times that I was presenting "grave" "crypt humor". So let's throw in the title story to stay in the current for good. This time it is not my own original - but only a story from a friend of an ambulance doctor from near Krakow.

Spring has come, and with it the time of nighttime cat concerts, flowering (in some cases - fading), but above all unhappy loves.

As part of her partner's spring storm of hormones, a certain lady has become a thrown and fallen woman. Being a person with a shaky psyche, of course, she stated that the ugliness of the world around her was so unworthy of her presence that she would part with her life. Since she was a person with type I diabetes (adolescent diabetes requiring daily insulin therapy), she thought that if she gave herself about 30 units of insulin every day to live, then if she gave herself 300, she would stop. She probably felt sorry for the gravediggers, for on the morning of that day she took the syringe filled with this enormous dose of insulin and went to the cemetery. She found a freshly dug grave, jumped into it, arranged it as comfortably as she could (she even brought herself a blanket) and administered insulin subcutaneously as she had done so far, and after a dozen or so minutes she left looking for a tunnel with light.

As the ambulance doctor told me:

- funeral procession arrived at 11:00

- one of the gravediggers was so scared of the presence of a "body" in the grave ("Ku * wa, we mistook Maniek's grave !!") that he let go of the end of the legal tenant's coffin he was holding, and the coffin fell with a bang, injuring the woman (on happiness from the feet)

- one of the people who jumped to the grave to see if the deceased was okay slipped and fell inside. The second lady (the deceased's spouse or daughter) fell on her, who fainted because of seeing her dear deceased one week after his death.

- The suicide survivor - multiple fractures in both legs, general hypothermia, dehydration, and several other minor ailments.

* * * * *

At the outset, please forgive me - I'm not a rude. It's just that at some point, when you come to the clinic and see dozens of patients, a person loses a lot of courtesy. Especially if the patients are, as it were, weird ...

According to the records, it was patient number 31 (a flawed number - thirteen backwards) today. A forty-year-old man, with a still not so big belly, moderately unfit, COMPLETELY NO AILERIES, maybe except that he had a sign of the party organization of Roman G in his lapel - the Man Called Horse. I have to admit that this little stamp somehow made me so negative towards the human being.

Meanwhile, this man began a longer monologue on the promotion of Christian values ​​in marriage, that is, speaking directly about sex. Which sex he would like to have with his wife, but it would be Christian and Catholic, and without the fruits of this pleasure sprouting for nine months. And, of course, without limits. Being a man supposedly polite by nature, I started counting out, which he immediately counted. And so the calendar (uncertain), interrupted (he already has two after the broken one), 69 ("doctor, I would not even dare to propose it - I'm pissing with it !!!", condoms (the priest forbade), pills (basilisk look from which something even started to stone me), temperature ("how will she have a cold?" and no sex. :

- Wife is one meter tall from foot to hips?

- I guess so

- Then you can go to the Tatra Mountains to Rysy (2499 meters above sea level) and try standing. Sperm at a pressure of 2500 meters stop moving !!

He left offended. I wonder if there will be a complaint against me again to the management ...

To be precise - the method does not apply to people who permanently live at heights (e.g. Tibet) - in the end, there are "generations" of toddlers who are used to peaks