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Routine

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Most of EMS is routine. You punch in. You check your vehicle and equipment. You respond to calls. You drive cautiously, look both ways at the intersections. When you get to your patient, you ask the same questions. How are you feeling? When did it start? Have you ever felt this way before? What kind of medical problems do you have? You take vitals. You do your head to toe. Your IV, 02, monitor. At the hospital you give your report. Write your paperwork, and get ready to do it all again.

“Any good calls lately?” others ask.

“No, just routine,” you answer.

But every once in a while, you have a story.

So the other day about noon time we get a call for a stroke. Woman with right sided weakness. The first question I always try to answer is when did it start. If it started within the last three hours, we go lights and sirens to the hospital and call in a Stroke alert. If it started longer than three hours ago, we go speed of traffic. Less than 3 hours the hospital can give thrombolyitics to try to bust up the clot causing the CVA if they determine the cause of the stroke is a clot and the patient meets a host of other criteria. If it is over three hours, they generally cannot. (I realize there are some regional variations on the three hour time, but three seems to be the most commonly used.)

I find the woman sitting in a chair leaning against the wall. She has clear right-sided facial droop, but her speech is still understandable. She says she had a bad headache last night, and woke up weak this morning, and this weakness has been progressive. She had to use her husband’s walker to go to the bathroom. Her grip strengths aren’t too bad, and there is no pronator drift. Her BP is 130/70. Her heart rate is 56 and a little irregular. No prior CVA history. She has Hypertension and has had a cardiac stent placed. She is in no pain.

I reconfirm that she woke up this morning with the facial droop and weakness. We’re talking six hours ago. So we get her on the stretcher and start to the hospital, routine post-clock CVA going with flow of traffic. Unless I need to, I usually do most of my care in the ambulance. En route to the hospital, I put the woman on a cannula, pop in an IV, put her on the monitor. I apply electrodes to the chest leads and then put them on the patient’s chest. Every CVA gets a 12-lead. Routine. I ask her age – 75, and then hit the button.

What I see catches my attention. That can’t be right. Maybe we hit a bump at just the right moment.

I repeat the 12-lead. I repeat it again just to be sure.

I stare at it. Elevation in I, V5 and V6 with reciprocal changes in V2 and V3. It looks like the patient is having a STEMI – a ST-Elevation MI – a heart attack.

“You sure you are not having any chest pain?” I ask the patient.

“Well, I am having some,” she says, “but it’s not too bad.”

“Jim,” I call up to my partner. “You can hit the lights on.”

I call the hospital and ask for medical control. “I have a bit of an odd call here,” I say. “I have a STEMI/STROKE Alert. Patient woke up with right sided weakness. While her grips are strong and equal, she has clear new onset facial droop. I also just did a 12-lead that looks as if the patient is having a STEMI. She is now admitting some chest pain.” I describe the patient presentation in more detail as well as history and a more specific description of the 12-lead. “I have withheld the aspirin unless you want to go ahead and give it.”

In the ED, they have a team waiting for us.

“What do you have?” a nurse asks.

“A STEMI and a CVA?” I say. “Looks like it anyway.”

They repeat their own 12-lead (as well as a neuro exam). The MI takes the priority and they send the patient right up to the cath lab where they find a blockage in the Right Coronary Artery and place a stent. Next stop CAT scan confirms an embolic CVA as well.

While the patient faces recovery from the CVA, at least she didn’t arrest waiting in the triage line. The speedy trip to the cath lab no doubt saved some heart muscle.*

Once again routine earns its pay.

*I am confident the hospital would have eventually done a 12-lead as well because they have their routines, too.

Quiet

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8:30 in the morning.

The hallway is lined with beds — on each a clean white sheet, a pillow at the head and a bath blanket and folded gown at the foot. The floor is freshly shined. The rooms are all empty of patients. Two nurses stand watching the TV that hangs from the cieling. They are silent.

The main ED is also quiet. The triage nurse assigns us a room for our patient—an elderly woman from a SNF. I see two doctors and a nurse standing behind a secretary looking at the computer screen at her work station. The headline on the web page reads: “Breaking News! Work Place Shooting: At least 3 dead.”

In the EMS room, another EMT asks “what do you hear?”

“I hear the shooter’s dead. At least seven shot.”

“Seven shot or seven killed?”

“I don’t know. Depending on the number, you’d think we’d be hearing sirens coming in.”

But when we clear the ED, the parking lot is still empty.

Drug Seeker

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So this man is, based on my experience, a drug seeker. This is not a first impression or an instinct. I say this based on seven or eight years of transporting this patient (our service transports the patient anywhere from one to four or five times a month) to multiple hospitals. The calls are not all for pain or migraines. Some of them are for altered mental status because the patient has taken so much medication (somehow he manages to order Fiorinal over the internet) he is stuporous, drooling and unable to walk. The man does not have a general doctor because no one will take him his reputation is so well spread. When he is in pain and not stuporous, he becomes very whinny. He has a migraine. He hurts all over. His pain is always 8 or 9 on the scale. His gait is slow and tortured.

I try to be compassionate, and compassion for me with this patient is to merely ask what hospital he wants to go to today, and then to put him on the stretcher and take him there without getting into why don’t you want to go to the closest hospital or why are you such a drug-seeking loser.

This patient has called me an asshole before. This comes after I interview him trying to find out why his prescription bottle is empty when it was just filled five days ago or what the doctor said the last time he was at the hospital. The whining comes off and the patient soberizes with anger, and he calls me an asshole. So now I don’t even get into it anymore.

He will display this anger at the hospital as well. The patient will lay there all helpless and whinny while being examined by the nurse and doctor, and then when the doctor gives him a prescription for only two Percocets, he will tear his IV out, call the doctor a motherfucker and then storm out of the ED without a hint of feebleness.

Part of my reason for writing this today comes from the dilemma of how I describe this patient at triage. Sometimes it is easy. The nurse will look at the patient and say, okay, him again. And I don’t have to say anything. But what has been happening lately with the tremendous staff turnovers in the EDs, I often get nurses, and later physicians, who neither know the patient or me despite the fact I have been bringing patients to area hospitals for twenty years.

I try to be nonjudgmental at all times when giving my reports. I try to stick to the facts. I never say he is a drug seeker. I say patient complains of a migraine and pain all over. Patient has been transported to multiple hospitals multiple times for the same issues. Maybe this last bit about the multiple hospitals is a code for “he is a drug seeker.” I find sometimes when I say that, while some nurses will nodd knowingly, other nurses will look at me like I lack compassion, like I have no idea that a migraine or chronic pain is a true medical problem. I just shake my head.

On times when I have brought this man in when he has been stuporus and drooling, I have had the staff call stroke alerts or doctors want to intubate. I used to say give him a good sternal rub and then tell him he can’t have any more percocets and you’ll have one less patient in the ER. Read his chart, I will say.

I just shrug most of the time now. If they want me to go into all my experiences with the patient I will do so, but some people just aren’t interested. So pain all over, I say, been here before for same complaint. same condition.

***

There is another patient in town who we transport almost as frequently. Elderly woman with severe arthritis and chronic pain. She wears a Fentanyl patch and takes Percocet. Sometimes she just can’t take the pain anymore. I find her in her small apartment crying. I usually give her morphine. When I leave her in the ED she is at peace. History of chronic pain, I’ll say, was crying ten out of ten this evening. I gave her five of morphine. She’s down to a three and comfortable.”

“You know she’s a drug-seeker”’ a newer nurse told me once.

“Yes, she seeks drugs because she’s in pain,” I told her, but the nurse didn’t seem to understand that concept.

Maybe some of you are thinking to yourselves, “So what is the difference between these two patients?”

I ask myself that as well. Aren’t there needs really the same?

Do I treat one better because she is sweet and helpless? Do I treat the other worse because he is a miserable jerk?

If I met the man for the first time, I think I likely would medicate him as well, but time has taught me he is deceitful and abusive, so I do not. The old woman, I believe, is merely suffering, and so I try to ease her pain. At least that’s how I see it.

At triage, I don’t preface by saying “sweet old lady” or “miserable drug-seeking loser.” I try to stick to the facts. Let the hospital decide for themselves.

Still, something here is gnawing at me.

I want to provide relief to all my patients, and there is a possibility that this man is truly suffering as well. But it is hard for me to view him with unbiased eyes.

Sometimes I wonder what he was like years ago before pain and need and abuse found purchase in his soul.