Nov 13 2012
Oct 24 2012
A new low.
A 21 year old woman gets drunk at her friend's house, goes to the bathroom and feels it is preferable to sit on the floor than stand up.
They phone an ambulance.
We arrive and ask her to stand up.
She informs us that she doesn't want to.
We reply that she can't spend the night on her pal's bathroom floor and we're not spending the evening there either.
She gets up, calls a cab and goes home.
999, having difficult conversations so you don't have to.
Oct 19 2012
Oct 17 2012
Cooried up in the gutter, the rain water running down her neck.
She’d shiver, if she could feel it.
Lumps of pizza in her hair.
A fat lip where she landed, finally.
Kids running from our blue lights like cockroaches in a midnight kitchen.
She stinks of vomit and cider and sugar.
Her jeans soaked with rain and piss.
She barely grunts when I dig my fingers into her shoulder.
We grab her by straggly legs and arms and swing her onto the trolley.
Her purse has a bus ticket and spare change.
No bank card.
No drivers license.
No student ID.
A cop appears at my shoulder.
“I’ve got an ID – her cousin’s over there.”
He points to a young girl on the pavement.
“She’s PatientName – born 18th March, 2001 in Edinburgh.”
I’m concentrating on the biro not smearing in the rain on my gloves when I double take her DOB.
Paeds A&E don’t like it, they run the same tests that we do, blood sugar and temperature and neural responses and ECG and checking every inch for an injury that could mimic being dead drunk.
They find the same as us.
“Am I writing the social referral, or you?”
The registrar sighs, looks at her triage list.
“I’ll do it.”
Oct 13 2012
Oct 11 2012
This week I treated a man who, in a fit of rage, struck himself over the head and knocked himself out.
With a box of pigeons.
Which burst open and scattered pigeons everywhere.
I’m not going to elaborate on that.
Because you have all the information you need, right there.
Oct 11 2012
People complain that our training aids are creepy.
But fire dummies are the worst.
This boy has scared me every time I walked to my car tonight.
It’s the blank cloth face that does it – they look like hooded prisoners.
Oct 08 2012