Twilight Zone

Come on. You know the theme. Do Dee Do Doo, Do dee Do Doo. Shortly before spring break I had three dead guys all in a row with the same first name. Yesterday, I had two people in a row who cut their hand and passed out. This is getting weird. The first one was a snarky but joyous elderly lady who was out trimming the hedges with an electric hedge trimmer and shaved off the top layer of skin from a knuckle. She went inside, and when she saw herself bleeding, was out cold. Down for the count right there at the kitchen table, per her patient and caring husband. When we arrived at her house, she had regained consciousness and was laughing and making a fuss over all the firefighters parading around her living room. She joking blamed her husband for the whole ordeal, after all- he was the one who purchased the hedge trimmers so by dafault he was to blame. He was soft spoken and very appreciative, even apologetic. She was outspoken and boisterous. She began to brag about a few other firefighters from the station we had come from. She called them by name, and spoke highly of them. She went on to explain that her meek husband had, just a few months prior, gone into cardiac arrest at a red light near the station. A supervisor and his 17 year old son were on scene and pulled him from the car. A sherrifs officer began CPR. The husband had been in complete cardiac arrest and had made a full recovery. He turned red, stared at his feet, fidgeted, and teared up as she boasted and bragged and expressed her gratitude. She continued telling stories. She laughed at her own clumsiness. She said she had hired someone to cut the grass, but that the hedges were driving her crazy. Glancing outside, I offered to finish them for her. There were about six of us in her living room at the time and we could knock it out in no time flat. (Customer service doesn't always fall into the "cats in trees" catergory). About four guys on scene looked at me like I had six heads when I suggested finishing the job, but she honestly had about three bushes left and I didn't want her to go back at it. She seemed just stubborn enough to do it. She insisted that she would hire someone to take care of it. She began giving us all a hard time, and even jokinly referred to someone as a "nitwit". She inquired when her finger would feel better. I couldn't help myself. She had set the mood so without hesitation I replied "when it feels better". She laughed and rolled her eyes. I wish every patient could be in as good spirits as she was.

Later that day we were called to an elderly man who cut his hand and passed out. Pulling into the driveway we saw him, his hand wrapped in a very bloody bath towel. Blood painting the driveway. A circular saw overturned on the ground. He was pale, and even though it was a hot day, he was abnormally sweaty. He looked nauseated. As we exited the truck, he began to unwrap the hand. He had been working, cutting stone for a pathway with his saw. It had fallen onto his hand. His left hand lay gaping open. The saw had cut a nasty angulated gash across the back, just below his first, second, and third knuckle. Bones stuck out at odd angles. Blood seemed heavily and steadily. For now, his fingers were still attached. There was a trauma center that could potentially sew him back up and restore function of the hand about 20 miles away, or there was a hospital over double that distance that had not only a renowned hand reconstruction team, but microvascular surgery specialists as well. Initially, he was stubborn, and asked that we only wrap his hand so his wife could drive him to a local hospital that was a glorified band-aid station. I explained that he was well within his rights to do that, but that he would eventually lose circulation and function of the fingers and they would have to be amputated. He guffawed, and began to protest, but trailed off. He had looked down at his hand again, and began to lose consciousness. Thankfully he was leaning against the tailgate of his pick up truck, and we just lowered him down onto that before transferring him onto the stretcher. He was out cold, and could no longer refuse services. We began the lengthy transport to the hospital with the hand team. He had a history of diabetes, and that will hinder the body's circulation and slow healing so we felt that hospital offered him the best chance at restoring full function to his hand. He awoke shortly and with some fluids, his condition improved. We kept the hand wrapped up. It took a long time to get to the hospital but they greeted us warmly and were very accomodating. That in itself was surprising. I was hoping to get a picture of his hand, but the didn't want to unwrap it again until the surgeon could take a look. I hope they can fix him up and have him back to his stubborn self soon.