This week has been full of this topic, starting with my trip to the ED on Sunday night. A friend called Sunday afternoon asking questions about a visit to the emergency room about crisis evaluations and how she should know when to take her 'sister.' I answered all questions dutifully and left it at that. Knowing her family, including said sister, it was a plausible story. Three hours later she called me in tears asking to be taken in to the ED. As I stated in an earlier post, it was a long night and by law I had to take her in. It's not the same scenario if you call the cops, and I knew calling in the cops wouldn't help her. So, we loaded up the car and took her to whichever hospital she chose.
It ended up being mine.
Because my hospital is the only level 1 Trauma center around, we got the joys of sitting out on a gurney in the hallway until they could find time for a measly crisis evaluation. GSW's to the face, stabbings, heart attacks, MVA's and MCI's rolled past us from the helicopter pad. I tried to be supportive to this person who I sat with, but we weren't that close and I wanted to see these traumas.
Because of what happened Sunday night I think I caught something from a patient in the ED, because I got sick. However, when I am down I have time to think about things. One thing I got to thinking about was depression.
During report today I caught myself rolling my eyes and sighing, making a comment similar to 'everyone has depression and anxiety'. It was wrong of me to say. I shouldnt've said it, i shouldnt've thought it. But when we work in medicine we seem to overlook that diagnosis. We seem to look for anything better when in reality, depression is a serious illness.
Everyone has had a down point in their life. A bad day, week, or month. A time where that damn raincloud follows them everywhere. The thing about depression is that alot of the time people don't realize they have it, and once they find out they do, they are over medicated and treated. Sometimes the treatment s appropriate other times its inappropriate. Either way, depressed people get help. That's a step.
I have sat in many 1:1's. Many suicide precautions and many depressed people. We roll our eyes at the 21 year olds who claim they don't want to live anymore, we sigh at the thirty-one year olds who are loosing their minds in a mid-life crisis. But what we don't realize is that their pain is real.
This post is not just an information post. I want to send out a challenge to everyone to quit overlooking depression. Shame on me for not watching the girl with the crisis evaluation. Shame on me for what I said. Shame on the doctors for not taking time to really look into someones depression and their medications. Shame on us, for not knowing enough about this totally painful and out of control disorder. Let's do better y'all.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
The 'What on Earth's' continue!
Click to Enlarge. . .
So apparently- now if you type in shittycop.blogspot.com it will take you to my blog. Who knew? Good thing bub is the cop and not me. I would be a shitty cop.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Missing Scott
Dear Scott,
It's days like today that I miss you the most. Days where the clouds cover the sky and the rain and snow fall, causing a cold and bitter mood over the city. More than anything I miss how you would play your instruments on days like today- and how it didn't matter what instruments you knew how to play or not, it came so easily to you. I envied you for that- and you shrugged it off, not knowing what honest potential and talent you had. You could play the piano, the tuba, the trumpet, the guitair, the banjo, the fiddle, the saxophone and any other instrument you held in your hands.
Days like today remind me of when we were Juniors, and I was getting abused by the boyfriend I was with. You knew it was happening, and you were the only one I showed the bruises to.
Days like today were the worst when he would hurt me. I was in physical pain and emotional- but I knew I could come talk to you. We would sit on the front porch and talk about everything, you would make me laugh and I would cry on your shoulder. You would wrap an arm around me and hold me there until I was safe to go. When I was in my lowest point- you were the one there for me.
We met in middle school, when I returned in eighth grade from a private school. We had U.S. History together and you defended me when Dale made fun of me for being a girl. He told me to get back into the kitchen where I belong and you threw a punch. Our teacher broke up the fight, and I thanked you for defending me. We shared stupid jokes and added friends to our group. Each year we had more and more classes together and by the end of sophomore year we had four classes together and we even worked together.
It was the three of us. Bubbalicious, Rudy and Tuba. Me, Wes and you. I remember the first day they called you Tuba- the band teacher in middle school couldn't remember names to save his life and so he called you Tuba- because it was what you played. To this day we still call you Tuba, remembering how much you didn't like to be called Scott.
I can only imagine what pain your father went through when he found you in the basement like that. You mother was upstairs sobbing, your father not letting her actually see what had happened. He stormed down there to ask you to turn off the loud music- a simple request when dealing with teenagers- to discover that horrific sight. The story was told to me that you planned it our pretty well, and that by the time we could have helped you it was far too late and you were far too gone.
When I saw your father four days later he stood tall- just like you did. Not a tear to be seen- bragging about what an amazing man you are- about your big heart. He embraced me, tears filling my eyes. The only thing he could tell me was something I will never forget. "Not all big men have big hearts- but Scott...his heart was gold. He loved everyone. He didn't have a mean bone in his body." You died 45 minutes before my grandfather died- and I hated the world for it. I could not attend your funeral- and over the last two years I have walked the cemetry trying to find your headstone so I can finally say goodbye. Not knowing where you are is the hardest thing in the world.
I was out of town, by the air force base, competing at a HOSA tournament. You talked me into it- telling me that it wouldn't hurt any and I could only gain recognition. I forgot my phone charger and my phone died within the first day. I called my grandfather- who was placed in a care center and was in bad shape. That night the dead phone was receiving multiple voice mails from you. At the awards ceremony a mutual friend had to tell me the news. One of my EMT classmates saw my tears and donated a phone charger. What happened next stopped my world.
"You have seven new voice mails." The voice said, then led to the first one. You weren't well. You were upset- you needed someone to talk to you. The second one was the same, thirty minutes later. The third one was an hour later- this time you were crying. As I kept listening goosebumps covered my body and I buried my head in my hands. Guilt swept over me like a wave in this emotional ocean and I couldn't face myself and hung up before I could hear the last two.
Wes married Cassie after the joined the army. Wes and I still don't ever talk, and I don't think we will now that you are gone. I met Bubba, who you were good friends with through band. You would've gone on double dates with us- because we both liked you and your girlfriend. You would've been the first to congratulate us when we got engaged.
If you were still alive you would have married Clarissa. She made a mistake, and she regrets it all the time. I still see her from time to time, and she is in bad shape. The whole school blamed her for it. I wish I could talk to you, just to find out what happened between you two. It's her word against your actions, and everyone took it to heart. She graduated and then fell off the face of the earth.
Your myspace pages still exists, and is full of comments from friends, including me. We know there is no myspace or facebook in heaven, but we still post on there, getting the pain and the emotion out there, even if there is no where. They post about how much they miss you, about how they wish you could've made it two more months, about how much it hurts to have you gone. It's been well over two years, and still, the friends who were true still post. You can feel their pain, read the haunting words, and we all wonder why you did it.
You brought us together Tuba. You made us believe all over again- where we would normally doubt god, religion and heaven, you made all of us believe it- and we do.
You never ceased to make me laugh, and your talents were so different and you were so great at it. When I started dating a cowboy you brought a banjo to school and played 'Dueling Banjos' with Dale, just to harass me. You refused to get contacts, because you loved being 'the guy with the glasses.' You dreamed about being a Marine, and you would have made an excellent one.
Days like today I pull out my yearbooks, my old photos and your myspace and try to feel you around us for one more day. You left too soon Tuba- and you left a lot of us hurt.
I love you, and miss you more than you will ever know.
See you soon man.
It's days like today that I miss you the most. Days where the clouds cover the sky and the rain and snow fall, causing a cold and bitter mood over the city. More than anything I miss how you would play your instruments on days like today- and how it didn't matter what instruments you knew how to play or not, it came so easily to you. I envied you for that- and you shrugged it off, not knowing what honest potential and talent you had. You could play the piano, the tuba, the trumpet, the guitair, the banjo, the fiddle, the saxophone and any other instrument you held in your hands.
Days like today remind me of when we were Juniors, and I was getting abused by the boyfriend I was with. You knew it was happening, and you were the only one I showed the bruises to.
Days like today were the worst when he would hurt me. I was in physical pain and emotional- but I knew I could come talk to you. We would sit on the front porch and talk about everything, you would make me laugh and I would cry on your shoulder. You would wrap an arm around me and hold me there until I was safe to go. When I was in my lowest point- you were the one there for me.
We met in middle school, when I returned in eighth grade from a private school. We had U.S. History together and you defended me when Dale made fun of me for being a girl. He told me to get back into the kitchen where I belong and you threw a punch. Our teacher broke up the fight, and I thanked you for defending me. We shared stupid jokes and added friends to our group. Each year we had more and more classes together and by the end of sophomore year we had four classes together and we even worked together.
It was the three of us. Bubbalicious, Rudy and Tuba. Me, Wes and you. I remember the first day they called you Tuba- the band teacher in middle school couldn't remember names to save his life and so he called you Tuba- because it was what you played. To this day we still call you Tuba, remembering how much you didn't like to be called Scott.
I can only imagine what pain your father went through when he found you in the basement like that. You mother was upstairs sobbing, your father not letting her actually see what had happened. He stormed down there to ask you to turn off the loud music- a simple request when dealing with teenagers- to discover that horrific sight. The story was told to me that you planned it our pretty well, and that by the time we could have helped you it was far too late and you were far too gone.
When I saw your father four days later he stood tall- just like you did. Not a tear to be seen- bragging about what an amazing man you are- about your big heart. He embraced me, tears filling my eyes. The only thing he could tell me was something I will never forget. "Not all big men have big hearts- but Scott...his heart was gold. He loved everyone. He didn't have a mean bone in his body." You died 45 minutes before my grandfather died- and I hated the world for it. I could not attend your funeral- and over the last two years I have walked the cemetry trying to find your headstone so I can finally say goodbye. Not knowing where you are is the hardest thing in the world.
I was out of town, by the air force base, competing at a HOSA tournament. You talked me into it- telling me that it wouldn't hurt any and I could only gain recognition. I forgot my phone charger and my phone died within the first day. I called my grandfather- who was placed in a care center and was in bad shape. That night the dead phone was receiving multiple voice mails from you. At the awards ceremony a mutual friend had to tell me the news. One of my EMT classmates saw my tears and donated a phone charger. What happened next stopped my world.
"You have seven new voice mails." The voice said, then led to the first one. You weren't well. You were upset- you needed someone to talk to you. The second one was the same, thirty minutes later. The third one was an hour later- this time you were crying. As I kept listening goosebumps covered my body and I buried my head in my hands. Guilt swept over me like a wave in this emotional ocean and I couldn't face myself and hung up before I could hear the last two.
Wes married Cassie after the joined the army. Wes and I still don't ever talk, and I don't think we will now that you are gone. I met Bubba, who you were good friends with through band. You would've gone on double dates with us- because we both liked you and your girlfriend. You would've been the first to congratulate us when we got engaged.
If you were still alive you would have married Clarissa. She made a mistake, and she regrets it all the time. I still see her from time to time, and she is in bad shape. The whole school blamed her for it. I wish I could talk to you, just to find out what happened between you two. It's her word against your actions, and everyone took it to heart. She graduated and then fell off the face of the earth.
Your myspace pages still exists, and is full of comments from friends, including me. We know there is no myspace or facebook in heaven, but we still post on there, getting the pain and the emotion out there, even if there is no where. They post about how much they miss you, about how they wish you could've made it two more months, about how much it hurts to have you gone. It's been well over two years, and still, the friends who were true still post. You can feel their pain, read the haunting words, and we all wonder why you did it.
You brought us together Tuba. You made us believe all over again- where we would normally doubt god, religion and heaven, you made all of us believe it- and we do.
You never ceased to make me laugh, and your talents were so different and you were so great at it. When I started dating a cowboy you brought a banjo to school and played 'Dueling Banjos' with Dale, just to harass me. You refused to get contacts, because you loved being 'the guy with the glasses.' You dreamed about being a Marine, and you would have made an excellent one.
Days like today I pull out my yearbooks, my old photos and your myspace and try to feel you around us for one more day. You left too soon Tuba- and you left a lot of us hurt.
I love you, and miss you more than you will ever know.
See you soon man.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Longest Night of My Life
As cool as it was to see a GSW to the face, three level 1 traumas air lifted in and all sorts of drunks and drug OD's, my night in the ER was not a fun one.
A friend of mine called me, saying she was feeling suicidal. EMS laws in my state say that if someone tells you that and your an EMT- you gotta do something or you could be in trouble if she follows through with it. So I took her to the ER.
Made for a long night.
Note to self (and others): Off the clock those same laws don't apply. Thank goodness the social worker told me that or I'd be in deep shit with her family.
Now if y'all will excuse me I have a face-numbing headache and body aches to match that of a MVA. I'm going to bed!
A friend of mine called me, saying she was feeling suicidal. EMS laws in my state say that if someone tells you that and your an EMT- you gotta do something or you could be in trouble if she follows through with it. So I took her to the ER.
Made for a long night.
Note to self (and others): Off the clock those same laws don't apply. Thank goodness the social worker told me that or I'd be in deep shit with her family.
Now if y'all will excuse me I have a face-numbing headache and body aches to match that of a MVA. I'm going to bed!
Sunday, October 18, 2009
My 100th Post
When I started this blog people told me it wouldn't work. I got the idea from a friend, who worked in an ER and as an EMT on the weekends, I planned to be him by this point so I started one too. The only person who supported it and read it was my fiance.
He sent the word out, having family and friends read it. I browsed other sites, trying to make a name for myself- big or small. Each day I would check and each day would bring a smile as I would exclaim 'look hun! I got a hit from England!' or 'Baby! I got three hits yesterday!' My fiance would chuckle and read the blog, finishing each post with a nod of approval or a comment about the situations. My one support system became the one I needed most.
The last six months this blog has been the best thing for the stresses and woes of my life. I have been able to write about the joys of being engaged, life at the job, the stress of my surgery and my fiance going to POST. It was a place I could vent if needs be- it was my place.
Thing that shocked me was- I wasn't used to people actually reading it! As people would post comments and requests I felt as if maybe, someday, somehow my writing could be read and make a difference. What was once a sad dream is now a hope.
I've grown up a lot in this blog, mentally, emotionally, physically and know its for the best. Life has happened, its just what it does. And with the ability to have this creative outlet I know it is for the best. Everyone has a friend at work they can bitch to about anything, well I don't. I have this blog- and frankly I am okay with it- because I don't do the petty bitching about a patient who needs to pee every thirty minutes- I bitch about aides who probably shouldn't be certified or helping a cop take down an escaped prisoner for patient.
For my 100th post I wanted to thank my wonderful fiance. He is my best friend and the love of my life. He is a wonderful man who is so set to make it to his dreams he has created a beautiful future for us both on the way. He is a hard-working, caring individual who I can no longer live without. He supports me when I need it- he stands by me when I don't. He is the guy who keeps pushing me to write- even when I have no idea what I am going to write about. He is the one who jokes about my future as a Paramedic- and how we have to work in the same city so we can enjoy our jobs that much better. He is the guy who stays up late researching my surgery recovery information-because he wants to make sure I don't bend or break the rules. He is the guy who makes it to every doctors apt and helps me with my creative writing homework when I am stuck. He is the guy I stay up late with- helping memorize defensive tactic flashcards. He is the guy I am going to marry.
I love you hun. Thank you for all you do. You rock my world!
He sent the word out, having family and friends read it. I browsed other sites, trying to make a name for myself- big or small. Each day I would check and each day would bring a smile as I would exclaim 'look hun! I got a hit from England!' or 'Baby! I got three hits yesterday!' My fiance would chuckle and read the blog, finishing each post with a nod of approval or a comment about the situations. My one support system became the one I needed most.
The last six months this blog has been the best thing for the stresses and woes of my life. I have been able to write about the joys of being engaged, life at the job, the stress of my surgery and my fiance going to POST. It was a place I could vent if needs be- it was my place.
Thing that shocked me was- I wasn't used to people actually reading it! As people would post comments and requests I felt as if maybe, someday, somehow my writing could be read and make a difference. What was once a sad dream is now a hope.
I've grown up a lot in this blog, mentally, emotionally, physically and know its for the best. Life has happened, its just what it does. And with the ability to have this creative outlet I know it is for the best. Everyone has a friend at work they can bitch to about anything, well I don't. I have this blog- and frankly I am okay with it- because I don't do the petty bitching about a patient who needs to pee every thirty minutes- I bitch about aides who probably shouldn't be certified or helping a cop take down an escaped prisoner for patient.
For my 100th post I wanted to thank my wonderful fiance. He is my best friend and the love of my life. He is a wonderful man who is so set to make it to his dreams he has created a beautiful future for us both on the way. He is a hard-working, caring individual who I can no longer live without. He supports me when I need it- he stands by me when I don't. He is the guy who keeps pushing me to write- even when I have no idea what I am going to write about. He is the one who jokes about my future as a Paramedic- and how we have to work in the same city so we can enjoy our jobs that much better. He is the guy who stays up late researching my surgery recovery information-because he wants to make sure I don't bend or break the rules. He is the guy who makes it to every doctors apt and helps me with my creative writing homework when I am stuck. He is the guy I stay up late with- helping memorize defensive tactic flashcards. He is the guy I am going to marry.I love you hun. Thank you for all you do. You rock my world!
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Another 'What on Earth?'
Click to Enlarge...
Dallas TX, I don't know what to tell you, but here at Dani's Anatomy, we carry M&M's into battle just in case we are out of glucose. Nothing works better for those in need than chocolate- plus its good for your skin. What is better than great skin and a life saved?
Not much I tell you. Not much.
CNA School
Trying to find an old CD with inspirational EMT tunes I discovered something better- the powerpoint DVD from my CNA school and the photos are EMBARASSING! Folks. I look like I am ten years old!
So, for my horror and your pleasure I have decided to post them.
First day of class, nervous, worried, scared. I am 15 in this picture. Everyone
else is 17 -18 years old, and I found that out just before my teacher snapped
the photo- so that nervous smile is more like a 'holy shit what did I get
myself into' smile.
In this photo we are learning about PPE. She never mentioned the stuff I
ACTUALLY USE like a PAPR or a N95, so I guess they just don't need them in
nursing homes. We had to wear these masks all day so that we understood how
annoying they are. This came in handy for when I go watch surgeries.
This folks is another woman brushing my teeth. I knew it was a class we were
going to get close in but brushing my teeth? I agree with my teacher now, that
it was to protect the patient and the resident, but holy crap was I shocked.
This would be within the first month of school and yes, I am probably dying in
this picture. Luckily I wasn't as nervous as the others who choked on the
toothpaste or just swallowed it and got massive stomachaches.
Ever seen a handlebar to the bicep bruise? Now you have! I was a BMXr at
this time in my life (hence the bicycle shirt) and arrived to class with many
bumps, bruises, scars, cuts, sprains and strains. The class liked it and I liked
the free ace wraps. Not pictured in this picture: My knee (the one I am death
gripping) and my ankle are both wrapped up and attached to a gel pack.
Roughly 6 months after this photo was taken I crashed my bike at Nationals
(requiring the surgery I will undergo next month.)
Yep. I was a youngin' when I started this whole gig. Now I am digging for some EMT class pictures, maybe I can hit the jackpot with some old classmates or my instructor!
BTW Dani's Anatomy will be celebrating it's 100th post soon- check in soon for my 'Reflector' post- been in the works for awhile now!
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