Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Tugboats

August 6, 2010

December 2009     San Francisco

Arriving back in San Francisco last summer, I took a break from the medical work.  I found a company involved in local shipping, maritime logistics and tugboat operations, and started over at the bottom.  As usual, the bottom involved long hours, odd scheduling and repetitive menial tasks.  But the pay was very good and I figured that this work would lead to bigger and better things.  At the very least, it uncovered another American subculture:  the antisocially-employed maritime man. (more…)

Night Shift (part three)

July 12, 2010

Spring 2008     San Francisco

Well this is about it, folks – I am out of stories for now.   I have taken up a clean, comfortable  and strangely predictable existence back here in the First World, and that does not often lead to colorful accounts of nasty behaviors dredged up from the cultural slums.  I expect to be short of material for these odd pages until I blow a fuse and decide to relocate once more to a filthy primitive sandbox of a country, or go fall off tugboats in the Bay again or even start riding public transit every day.   Sorry about this!

Well, there might be one more tale next month.  Meantime, here are the last of the San Francisco paramedic stories:

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Denial is a powerful element.  We responded to ATT park, the baseball stadium, during the off-season.  Where to exactly?  Home plate.  Corporate event planners sometimes rent the park and a pro baseball celebrity or batting coach to fulfill the dreams of some suits who have watched Field of Dreams a few too many times.  The problem this time was that the group was from Wisconsin, possibly the most overfed state in our bloated Union.

We rolled the gurney right down the third baseline, and found a 350-pound Cheesehead sitting directly on top of home plate, with one leg twisted outwardly at an unnatural angle.  It was cold outside, but he was sweating freely.  (No, Fatty had not just swatted a homer and run the bases.)  We shot him up with a nice dose of morphine, then with much bystander assistance, grunted him up onto a seated position on the gurney. He appeared to have both a dislocated knee and a broken ankle.

The whole way to General Hospital, he repeated his mantra “I can’t believe this happened….How did this happen?”  I bit my tongue hard rather than draw a swollen stick-figure of him and explain the physics involved with applying such a vast amount of torque to a planted extremity.  The last time he swung at a ball was probably 200 pounds ago.

Healthcare costs are soaring?

So is our Gross National Density.

Tax the Fat.

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A 91-year-old man fell out of bed and could not stand up.  He was sharp as a tack and indignant about the sudden weakness, and not being able to dress properly to receive us.   He told me he spent his best 25 years in the Army, “Back when a cavalry unit meant horses not helicopters,” and that “The reason I’ve lasted so goddamn long is this!” pointing to a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. “Two ounces every goddamn night!”   I wanted to go out bar crawling with him just to see if I could keep up.

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Another routine transfer.  This time it was an 80-year-old black woman, clearly on her deathbed.  Tubes, wires, hoses, anxiety.  Two-word sentences, breathing through a stoma (surgical hole through the lower throat), respirator-assisted, really just hoarse whispers in gasps.  My partner Kevin and I disconnected her from all of the hospital equipment and reconnected her to ours, then slid her wispy frame easily onto the gurney.

At this point, I could tell she was trying to tell us something, so we all stopped and listened. She focused on me, pointed a bony, crooked finger and said “You are….fine…….You got….a wife?”   The nurses loved this, and Kevin fell out into the hallway.

I turned a bit red I think and said “Ma’am, are you propositioning me?”

She replied “Nope…….I’m a lesbian.”

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An 88-year-old man, bedridden in a cheap public nursing home.  The staff were not managing his diabetes well, and he probably never did. After a stroke three years ago, he was known to have only three words left in his vocabulary:  “What?”  “No!” and “Fuck!”  Sometimes he could muster up a “Christ!”

I would be mighty belligerent in that condition, too.  I am sure that I will be.  But I hope somebody has the sense to unplug me, especially in a place like that.

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A 94-year-old Japanese lady, weak and confused, maybe from a stroke or a cardiac incident.  She had been sitting alone on the floor for at least a day, before someone came to see why she had not shown up for work.  She was 4′ 11”, maybe 90 pounds, but every day walks her full-time job, as a Judo instructor.  As I understood it, she is the world’s first and only woman to achieve a ninth-degree blackbelt.

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Emergency inter-hospital transport. A 32-year-old woman was set for natural delivery childbirth of her full-term firstborn.  After three hours of hard labor and then sudden heavy bleeding, she delivered by emergency C-section.  The bleeding would not stop, something about her clotting cascade not activating.  After six more hours in the delivery room, after twenty units of blood infused, after both the baby and the mother had separately coded and been resuscitated, they finally removed all of her reproductive organs and stopped the flow.

The delivery room looked like nothing I would see again until Afghanistan.  The hospital staff and her family were all wrecked, but I am pretty sure that both patients recovered after some time.

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While standing outside an operating room filling out paperwork, other medics and a cop wheeled in a prisoner from an outlying state prison. He was in leg irons, but did not seem well enough to make a break for it. The night before, he had been stabbed in the chest by his charming cellmate, who then pried his ribs apart and sexually raped the knife-wound.

The spaces between the ribs are very narrow, so I would have not imagined this possible, and pondered whether this had ever before happened in all of human history.  The prisoner had a collapsed lung and a deep pulmonary infection, coughing up all manner of material.  The surgeon of all people had the odd comment of the night, out of the patient’s earshot:  “Ribbed, huh?  I thought that was for her pleasure.”

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Pictured above:  The 1976 dark comedy “Mother, Jugs and Speed.”  Bill Cosby, Raquel Welch and Harvey Keitel, with plenty of inappropriate paramedic behavior: work-related injuries, drugs, fights, Raquel, bribes, corruption, gunplay, drinking on the job and steady harassing of nuns.

How to Make a Gay Baby

June 8, 2010
 

San Francisco     December 2006

Wikipedia definition:  In Internet slang, a troll is someone who posts inflammatory, extraneous, or off-topic messages in an online community, with the primary intent of provoking other users into a desired emotional response or of otherwise disrupting normal on-topic discussion.  Responding to a troll’s provocations is commonly known as ‘feeding the troll’ and is generally discouraged, as it can encourage their disruptive behavior.

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Fa-la-la.

Last night I was out with my girlie Jen B from college; I was her beard for a company Christmas party because her fiance was unavailable.  The party was funereal, so I grabbed the scotch and self medicated a bit.  Much.  On the way back to the city, I clowned her the whole time, asserting that it is against God, nature and all that is holy to have sex during pregnancy.  Obviously this is having sex much too close to the baby, ick, and can have grave repercussions on the future sexual orientation of the child.  Everybody knows this.

This “debate” was so absurd that Jen re-phrased and posted it on Craigslist the next day, positioning it as a legitimate plea for information.  She is my favorite troll.

I awoke to this email, and watched it all unfold. (more…)

Savages (parts 1, 2 and 3)

May 1, 2010

I. Rockmonkeys

Almost two years into the remodel of a 2,000 square foot, $3,000,000 house, and finally we were ready for the stonemasons to arrive and wrap the house with rock. From the beginning we could not stop laughing at them – coarse, foul mouthed and abusive to anyone in their sight. They were great guys, just not well socialized. We called them rockmonkeys, or The Savages. On the caveman scale, the stonemasons rate about an 8 out of 10. Ironworkers and piledrivers might score a 9.  Merchant shipping sailors often earn a 10/10, but more on that later. (more…)

Love & Haight

April 5, 2010

April 2005     San Francisco

I have to preface this account of living low on Haight St with the story of why I was out on disability for a little while.  At the time, I was working as a carpenter doing a $1,000,000 remodel on the highest house in San Francisco, right under Sutro Tower.  Here is a condensed version, originally entitled “Gravity 1, Chris 0″ :

I got another big break!……except this one is in my leg.   I was at work, adding a piece of trim under the eave of a new section of roof. This involved standing on a ladder atop a lower section of roof, and leaning it against the outside of the wall I was working on.  Suddenly the ladder slipped out from under me.  I followed the ladder down and bounced off the roof, then slid ass-first under the safety rail, followed by the 10-pound electric sawzall. (more…)

Survivor

March 4, 2010

March 2006     San Francisco

I worked my way through paramedic school by doing remodel construction here in San Francisco.  The demolition phase was  always hard and a little dangerous, but sometimes it involved a bit of urban archaeology.  Every now and then items emerged from behind the walls or under the floorboards:  coins, tools, hand-written prescription bottles, a stash of bourbon, eleven mummified cats over one garage ceiling, and a rusty loaded handgun.  Often there was a carefully stashed newspaper, just to mark the date that the walls were finished.  The one in my house on Haight St was from 1874.  Money?   Sure, sometimes that might appear, but that was not the kind of score that people shared or talked about. (more…)

Night Shift (part two)

February 3, 2010

San Francisco     Fall 2007

I am not working as a paramedic these days, just moved into a related line of work that will not yield any of the stories or photos usually flung upon these pages.  Ah, well.  Almost went to Haiti for a month of earthquake relief work – that would have been a trove of disaster stories, but the new work schedule prevented that.  Here is a second batch of memorable cases taken from working the night shift in the city.

One night we were assigned to pick up a “5150” patient, code for a person under 72-hour psychiatric hold due to the possibility of harming himself or others. (more…)

Siafu

January 6, 2010

them_giant_ant

August 1998     Mbweni, Tanzania

My NYC girlfriend Pia and I had just abandoned a failed expedition through Zambia and Tanzania, and set off backpacking on our own for a couple more months.  After a great safari through Ngorongoro crater, and a Kilimanjaro summit that got pretty dangerous, we made our way to the coast to indulge in a  few weeks of things we could not find inland, such as fresh fish, fruit, beach time, a break from the tsetse flies.

During the previous three months of camping out in the bush, we had run-ins and paw-prints outside the tent from the usual suspects:  hyenas, lions, hippos, a cobra, parasites, scorpions and thieves, but the one that commanded the most attention was the army ants, known in Swahili as “siafu.”  Pia reacted with cartoonish fear to any African ants, but this kind in particular are not to be trifled with.  Ah, but I rolled the dice. (more…)


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