Friday, September 12, 2003
Friday, September 12, 2003 |
| Mister
Safety takes an ambulance ride, but this time it's as a patient
By Rick Ryckeley "Boy, that looks bad!" is a good indicator that you need to go to the hospital, especially when you hear the phrase repeatedly. That's right, faithful reader; last week Mr. Safety here took a tumble and then got to ride in an ambulance. Not just any ambulance, mind you, but one of the big red and white ones from my place of work. No, I wasn't driving this time. I was riding in the back, and trust me, I'm a difficult patient. "Boy, that looks bad!" During the last 14 years in the fire service, I've seen a lot of that. I've transported many patients in the back of my ambulance, but I never thought I'd be one of them. Okay, so it's not really my ambulance; it belongs to the county. They just let me drive it every third day. Many years ago, I had to make a decision about whether or not to move out of this county. I decided to stay in this land of monster houses, over-priced real estate and 10,000 golf carts for two reasons. The first is a very obvious one; we have one of the best school systems in Georgia and, might I add, some of the best teachers to go along with it. The second reason I stayed in this county is because of the Fire and Emergency Medical Services. It's no secret where I work. Just look at the byline at the bottom of this article. So pardon me if I'm a tad bit biased, but these folks I work with are good at what they do really good. I've worked with them, fought fire with them, joked with them, and fed them (yes, Mr. Safety here is a good fire house cook) and have always been impressed with the professionalism of how they treat a patient. Just never thought I'd be one. "Boy, that looks bad!" is what The Boy said when he saw my elbow swollen twice its normal size. We were right around the corner from the fire department, so he drove me there. Ya know, that kid's becoming more useful everyday. "Boy, that looks bad!" is not what I heard when I walked into the office at the fire department. Instead the firefighters, EMT's and paramedics sprang into action like I had seen a hundred times before. They assessed my injury, and helped me into the ambulance where they gave me further treatment. The Lt. on duty instructed one of the paramedics to cut off my shirt. When I objected (being the difficult patient that I am), he smiled at me and said, "Don't worry, Rick. I'll buy you a new one." Cool! A trip to the hospital, a needle in the back of the hand and a new shirt! This is my lucky day. On the way to the local hospital, the paramedic called in and gave his report to the doctor. Then he looked at me and asked if he could do anything else to make me feel comfortable. I said, "Yes, take this needle out from the back of my hand and give me another shirt." I told you I was a difficult patient. He just smiled and said, "We'll be at the hospital in 5 minutes." "Boy, that looks bad!" is not what I really wanted to hear when the nurse first looked at my elbow now swollen three times its normal size. The paramedic gave his report to the nurse and told me he would stop back in and check on me before going back into service. Twenty minutes later, the emergency room doctor came in, looked at my arm and ordered an x-ray. When he left the room, the paramedic came back and asked me if I needed anything before he went back in service. I told him all I needed was another shirt. Just call me Mister Difficult. "Boy, that looks bad!" is what the X-ray technicians said when they saw my elbow. They set up the machine and told me not to move. One technician left the room and hid behind a lead wall while the other put on a lead dress and held my arm still. I asked them why, and they said it was to protect them from the X-rays. "What about me?" I said, "I'm the one hurt here. Don't I need protection?" I know I'm a difficult patient. The Wife was waiting back in my room when I returned from X-ray. Showing her my elbow, I said, "Yeah, I know what your about to say 'Boy that looks bad!'" She didn't say a word; she just smiled and called Best Friend Mitch and told him I was hurt again now it's his turn. Three hours later, after I was released from the hospital, The Wife dropped me back by the fire department so I could say thanks to the guys once more. I told them I'd be out of work for a couple of days but should by okay to cook after that. (I think they all looked relieved.) The Lt. came in the room, and I said, "You don't have to buy me a new shirt after all. While I was at the hospital, they gave me this nice hospital gown to wear." Don't know why, but when I turned around to leave, they all ran out of the room. On a side personal note: Yesterday marked the two-year anniversary of the largest loss of firefighters and police officers in a single day. Thank you for your show of support for these two professions. For those of us who put on the uniform, it's nice to know that people really do care that our lives are on the line, something we do every day we go to work. Today marks another two year anniversary, one that's neither as somber nor as profound. This is the 104th article that I have written and I thank The Citizen and its editor for allowing me to express my opinion here each week. Most importantly I thank you, the reader, for enduring the many stories of the kids I grew up with, life at 110 Flamingo Street, The Wife, The Boy, and my wacky observations of the world around us. I hope you have enjoyed reading them as much as I have writing them. [Rick Ryckeley is employed by the Fayette County Department of Fire and Emergency Services. He can be reached at saferick@bellsouth.net.] |