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i can't promise i won't kill them. current song: complainte de la butte by rufus wainwright la lune trop bl�me pose un diad�me sur tes cheveux roux la lune trop rousse de gloire �clabousse ton jupon plein d'trous la lune trop p�le caresse l'opale de tes yeux blas�s princesse de la rue soit la bienvenue dans mon coeur bris� the stairways up to la butte can make the wretched sigh while windmill wings of the moulin shelter you and i ma p'tite mandigote je sens ta menotte qui cherche ma main je sens ta poitrine et ta taille fine j'oublie mon chagrin je sens sur tes l�vres une odeur de fi�vre de gosse mal nourri et sous ta caresse je sens une ivresse qui m'an�antit the stairways up to la butte can make the wretched sigh while windmill wings of the moulin shelter you and i mais voil� qu'elle trotte la lune se flotte la princesse aussi mon r�ve �vanoui les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux mis�reux les ailes des moulins prot�gent les amoureux 0945 hours. dipatch tells us to go post south for directions for the first run - he's going to kenton, which is an hour and a half each way, +/- 15 min. we go post south. no directions get faxed. we call dipatch, they assure us they're coming. we wait. we call again, they hang up on us. twice. we then get an angry page asking where we are, and an even angrier phone call telling us to get on the air immediately. we get on the radio, they scream, we go to muo after shouting some not-very-nice-things at the dash of the rig. 1030 hours. we wander aimlessly after information tells us to go to floors 5, 2, and finally 1. 1100 hours, we find the poor 18yo kid who got in a wicked car wreck, and now he's got a crap ton of fractures - c2 being one of them. frantic mom is there with him, and is already agitated that the nurses told her we'd be there in 15, and it took us 45. she's riding with us - but she knows the way so we don't have to deal with the brain dead cunts in dispatch. he weighed in at about 280, halo and all, which isn't bad. however, when moving him the nurses at muo neglected to tell us that the sheet was ripped, and as we lift up the sheet gives up and the kid's head starts to move quickly, largely due to the effects of gravity, back down to the bed. this is very bad. however, when i need to be i can be cat-like, and i drop the sheet and catch his head and gently lower it back down. i pull the hell out of my lower back in the process. first run of the day, mind you. 1130. we get the kid on the cot and in the rig and we all go bye-bye all the way to kenton. 1320. we get the kid on the bed in the facility, and we get a cheeseburger and some tylenol. ok. 1500 hours. we get back in toledo, and they tell us to stop at south and get the bari cot, then head to shields for a 280lber. we mutter "yeah, 280, right" under our breath as we load up gertrude, and she overhears us. check my math, i might be wrong. 280lbs of woman + 100lbs of cot = 450. not adding up to you either? unit 14 (plus really cute new rider girl) shows up for the assist. we put queen flabtabulous on herr gertrude, we put them in the rig, we go to toledo. we get her out, we find some male nurses, we get her in bed. eric pulls something, too. we are now both broken, and trying to get trudy back into the rig so she can go home. 1630 hours. what do you know? pagers go off. they want us to stay put at toledo with the bari cot, for a 380ish guy that we've taken before. we know where he's going. he's going to gibsonburg to the fat people death farm. we don't have to be there until 1700. we get ice cream and finish the last run report after begging for a face sheet on the 4th floor. we go to dialysis at 1700. he's not ready. toledo's lift team isn't there yet either. last time we brought this guy in, the lift team took 45 minutes to stop jerking off and come help us. however, today they're pretty timely, since it's 1700 and time for everyone else in the world to go home - but not us, the ever vigilant partners of 'heavy rescue 17', as we've dubbed ourselves. we're on the road by 1715. 1815ish. after getting a touch lost in gibsonburg, we find the fat ass death farm, and unload our fat, stinky patient. he's a nice guy, but he's got sores everywhere, and he smells like rotting flesh. you know, when someone's flesh actually is rotting away since their caretakers are incompetent, they tend to smell terribly. add the flesh rolls that aren't cleaned properly by said incompetent staff, and you've got yourself a stinky mess. after herding nurses like sheep to help us, we get fat stinky guy on the bed, and we're off like your mom's pants at a firemen convention. we're in the rig and hauling serious ass by 1830. 1920. after stopping back at south to drop off that bitch gertrude, we're b.i.q. we don't even clean out the truck, we just grab our stuff, hand scan out, and throw the envelope on the pile. dispatch must have taken a great deal of delight in the fact that even though we only did 3 runs, they were all heavy, and 2 of them were at least an hour drive time. i know that it could have been worse, so please don't yell at me if you did 9 more runs then us (unit 13, because i know you probably did). i'm not bitching about amount in any way. i'm bitching about the fact that we had fat asses all day, and that we spent all day driving around b.f.e. with these people. i'm also pretty upset that the monkey brained dispatch bitches fucked us around all day every time we asked for something. our rig has a headlight out - it's been that way since we got the truck on friday, and we've asked twice a day every day to come north east and get it fixed; a request that's been summarily denied every time. i hope we get pulled over. i'm sorry, my blood sugar must be somewhere in the range of 30. my back hurts. i'm whining and bitching. disregard all this. ~*~ immediate yesterday. ~*~ divination. ~*~ get your own guestbook here |
