Gentle Readers,
Has it really be almost a year since my last post? It has nothing to do with the fact that my life has been in a complete tornado, working, at times, three jobs. I just realized that in order to continue this blog in a true Hemingway fashion, I needed to drink more and work less. My liver and bank account both complained bitterly. So, Shut the heck up Liver. It's time to write.
So, time for some lessons from the trauma ER. Yes, I still work there. Yes, things are still crazier than a donkey hopped up on Irish Whiskey. So, let's dive right in. No time lost....
Gentlemen,
Taking your lady to a strip club can and is a wonderful experience. It shows your lady that you are excited to show her off to others, especially scantily clad women. It shows the scantly clad women that you are not really a perv, there to look at their girlie parts (don't lie, you are, BUT, it doesn't seem like you are) and if you play your cards perfectly, you can check off two things on that 'ol bucket list - a threesome and banging a stripper.
Oh, Gentle Reader, please remember, that this is a) my blog and b) I channel Papa Ernest Hemingway and thus I will use foul Sailor language any and all times I want. Yes, Hemingway used foul language. See The Old Man and the Sea. Page 85. He used "thus." Very filthy for the time. So suck it!
Okay, so you are looking mac daddy and your girl is looking fly and you are making it rain in the clubs. Your girl has bought you a lap dance, you bought your girl a lap dance. Things are heating up. It looking good for bucket list check offs. Then, Strawberry Fields, all 5'10' of her, poured into some skimpy boy shorts and a neon green corset, topped or bottomed off with 6" stripper heels starts whispering in your ear. You laugh. She giggles. She whispers again. You smile, starting to focus because the checklist is about to be checked.
All of a sudden you hear screams. Like a small girl who lost her doll in a whirl of tornado dust. Screams. Louder. More shrill. Shut up little girl! Why are you even in a strip club? Why are you feel a pulsating warmth on your side. Why is Strawberry tripping backwards over her overly sized platform heels? Why is your throat so hoarse? Are you screaming? No, you are a bad ass mofo. Why is you world slowly fading to black? Where is your lady? That fine, sweet girl you are head over heels for? Why is she standing over you with what looks like a butcher knife. What is dripping off the blade? Is that blood? Why????
Sheeeet mofo. Don't take your girl to a strip club and FORGET TO PAY ATTENTION TO HER! She will shank your ass. Several times. Then you will come to my trauma ER, I will be forced to strip you naked and all the racial stereotyping will be proven false. And, seriously, it wasn't that cold in the Trauma Bay. It wasn't. We had the heat lamp and warm blankets on you Dude.
And let's just focus for a minute, you just got shanked by your lady friend for failing to pay attention to her. Do you think I feel sorry for you? No. Not a bit, so stop crying like a little girl. Seriously. Shut the heck up. You have flesh wounds. But, you may want to consider having your lady wear tighter clothes. Where was she hiding that knife?
Yes, maybe not me best writing effort, but I am back in saddle, drinking a nice concoction of Kirkland Signature Margarita Mix kicked up with Kirkland Signature Tequila (nice sponsorship opportunity Costco...).
So, Gentle Reader, I bid you adieu... Off with Shank Girl and Strawberry Fields to check a few things off my bucket list...Never been with a stripper and knife girl before cooking jambalaya....
Sunday, April 17, 2016
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
Run Forrest! Run!
The smell of alcohol and gas fumes tickle your nose. You've seen it a hundred times - you know you can drive faster than professional NASCAR drivers. Shoot - they only turn left and stop for gas. How hard can it be?
Tachometer is 2500RPMS. Okay -that's good. Speedometer - 101MPH. Holy cow! "These houses are flying by!" you think to yourself. "Look at these idiots! They are stopped in their cars, not moving, because they know I have more horsepower!"
"Wait! Why is this stopped car moving into my lane? He is stopped! No! Wait!
I am FLYING! In. The. Air!
Look at those people. They look like ants. Oh, wait. They are ants.
So hot. Am I on fire?"
Yes, yes you are, you idiot and you have just become a post in Lessons From the Trauma ER.
100+ miles per hour. Airborne vehicle. Unrestrained driver. Vehicle fire.
All I have to say about this, is that good thing he was plastered. He might have gotten hurt.
Comes to trauma. We get the trauma team assembled. Things are a bit crazy because we have 4 people from a plane crash coming our way and we have no information on them, yet. And, this genius wants to play "I'm not talking to you."
Asking questions such as "Can you open your eyes" is responded to with a mumbled "Fuck you." Nice.
Dr. Dawn (the one with the eye rolling disorder - poor thing) picks up the guy's arm and drops it on his head. Luckily, through a miracle of God, our rockstar was able to control and move his arm to avoid hitting his face. So, we know he can hear and isn't totally out of it.
Off to CT scan. The race car driver is moving like he is still airborne. Advise him that if he keeps moving he will be restrained. His response was too vulgar to post in this family blog.
What am I thinking? This is definitely not a family blog - if you are under 18 years old or have never heard cuss words before, listen up. Here we go.
"...you'll be restrained." "Fuck you, you faggot. Tie me up. I dare you. You fucking asshole. You can't tie me up. You can't restr....ZZZZZ"
CT done. Plane crash here. Other motor vehicle accidents. All beds full. Slipknot goes into the hall to be interviewed by highway patrol. He denies all actions, states he is innocent of all charges. Some other dude was driving. Humans can fly. Et cetera.
So, with stab wounds, plane crash patients and shooting peeps - no one is paying close attention to our NASCAR driver. That is not to say that he is being ignored. Not at all. The highway patrol is nearby, writing their report. Nurses, doctors, medics are walking to and fro. The patient is stable. And sleeping. And smelling like cheap whiskey.
When you come into trauma - the first thing we do is cut off your clothes. $90 Victoria's Secret bra - gone. $350 Lucky jeans - snip snip. I love my Leatherman Raptors (Still haven't gotten an endorsement deal - Come on Leatherman!) because they cut everything.
So, this guy was naked under the blanket. Nothing. Nada. And, since he was a genius, he decides to run. Out the door. Bye bye.
As I've said, I work in Las Vegas. Pretty much everything goes in Vegas. Nudity, while not the norm is not uncommon. But, when you are nude, running anywhere besides The Strip, people are going to notice you. They are going to see your drunken gait. Your blanket that is haphazardly wrapped around you. Your pale, white ass. You tripping and falling. Yep. People see stuff.
Captured. Naked. Parking garage. Handcuffs. Going to jail.
Maybe I didn't restrain you but highway patrol did. My restraints were more of the fluffy, pink kind compared to the cold steel of highway patrol.
But, you're right - Fuck Me!
{fade to sunset - trauma nurse walking to his car. Free as can be. With his clothes. Tasty adult beverage in his future.}
Until next time....
Tachometer is 2500RPMS. Okay -that's good. Speedometer - 101MPH. Holy cow! "These houses are flying by!" you think to yourself. "Look at these idiots! They are stopped in their cars, not moving, because they know I have more horsepower!"
"Wait! Why is this stopped car moving into my lane? He is stopped! No! Wait!
I am FLYING! In. The. Air!
Look at those people. They look like ants. Oh, wait. They are ants.
So hot. Am I on fire?"
Yes, yes you are, you idiot and you have just become a post in Lessons From the Trauma ER.
100+ miles per hour. Airborne vehicle. Unrestrained driver. Vehicle fire.
All I have to say about this, is that good thing he was plastered. He might have gotten hurt.
Comes to trauma. We get the trauma team assembled. Things are a bit crazy because we have 4 people from a plane crash coming our way and we have no information on them, yet. And, this genius wants to play "I'm not talking to you."
Asking questions such as "Can you open your eyes" is responded to with a mumbled "Fuck you." Nice.
Dr. Dawn (the one with the eye rolling disorder - poor thing) picks up the guy's arm and drops it on his head. Luckily, through a miracle of God, our rockstar was able to control and move his arm to avoid hitting his face. So, we know he can hear and isn't totally out of it.
Off to CT scan. The race car driver is moving like he is still airborne. Advise him that if he keeps moving he will be restrained. His response was too vulgar to post in this family blog.
What am I thinking? This is definitely not a family blog - if you are under 18 years old or have never heard cuss words before, listen up. Here we go.
"...you'll be restrained." "Fuck you, you faggot. Tie me up. I dare you. You fucking asshole. You can't tie me up. You can't restr....ZZZZZ"
CT done. Plane crash here. Other motor vehicle accidents. All beds full. Slipknot goes into the hall to be interviewed by highway patrol. He denies all actions, states he is innocent of all charges. Some other dude was driving. Humans can fly. Et cetera.
So, with stab wounds, plane crash patients and shooting peeps - no one is paying close attention to our NASCAR driver. That is not to say that he is being ignored. Not at all. The highway patrol is nearby, writing their report. Nurses, doctors, medics are walking to and fro. The patient is stable. And sleeping. And smelling like cheap whiskey.
When you come into trauma - the first thing we do is cut off your clothes. $90 Victoria's Secret bra - gone. $350 Lucky jeans - snip snip. I love my Leatherman Raptors (Still haven't gotten an endorsement deal - Come on Leatherman!) because they cut everything.
So, this guy was naked under the blanket. Nothing. Nada. And, since he was a genius, he decides to run. Out the door. Bye bye.
As I've said, I work in Las Vegas. Pretty much everything goes in Vegas. Nudity, while not the norm is not uncommon. But, when you are nude, running anywhere besides The Strip, people are going to notice you. They are going to see your drunken gait. Your blanket that is haphazardly wrapped around you. Your pale, white ass. You tripping and falling. Yep. People see stuff.
Captured. Naked. Parking garage. Handcuffs. Going to jail.
Maybe I didn't restrain you but highway patrol did. My restraints were more of the fluffy, pink kind compared to the cold steel of highway patrol.
But, you're right - Fuck Me!
{fade to sunset - trauma nurse walking to his car. Free as can be. With his clothes. Tasty adult beverage in his future.}
Until next time....
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Grandpa is a kinky dude
People ask me, now that I am an internationally know blogger - thank you
Thailand, Denmark and Australia for checking in - why I don't post more often.
The answer is simple. While the trauma ER is a very busy place. not everything
we deal with is caused by people being duuuuuuumb. Most of the stuff is serious
life and death stuff or while weird, there just isn't a story behind it.
For example - call comes in of a woman with burns to her legs. No big deal, except it is 10am and she suffered her burns at 2am - BBQing. Now everyone is placing bets that she was cooking methamphetamine and got burned that way. I, however, felt that the poor woman was probably an acclaimed bbq smoker, preparing her smoker for a long day of ribs and brisket. Nope, meth head, cooking right in my backyard. Whatever she was cooking on blew up and she got burned. Seriously? People, first off you are not Walter White, cooking in a RV. Nor, are you a chemist. Chances are you didn't pass high school. Finally, those tighty whiteys look ridiculous - go change. Neighbors, I'm looking at you a little more closely now. Open your mouth - do you have all your teeth?
So, as you can see, interesting but hardly blog worthy. There are probably a couple hundred websites and blogs that are about the blood and guts of a trauma ER. I want mine to be about the funny stuff that we see.
So, on to the funny. I also work in an Adult ER where we handle the everyday emergencies - heart attacks, stokes, broken bones, stomach pain and what not. I was discharging one of my patients - who thought they were dying and that I miraculously saved their life - when one of my coworkers said "DeepSea, can you help me with this Foley catheter." A Foley catheter is a tube placed up into the bladder that will drain the urine. The patient is an 80 something man who is having difficulty peeing. Just a normal looking grandfatherly guy. Someone who reads stories to the grand-kids. Someone who hits the early bird buffets. Someone who has 2 LARGE RINGS pierced into his penis AND several silver balls pieced into his balls. Now these rings weren’t the nice thin, hooped earrings women wear. These were the rings that you lead a bull around by his nose. They were HUGE! These rings were through the shaft of the penis. Being the curious sort, I asked why he didn’t have a Prince Albert, where the ring is placed through the head of the penis. He looked at me aghast and said “That would hurt!” Whaaaaaat?
All I could think of during this encounter was when my younger brother was in his early teens and wanted to get his ear pierced. It was the cool thing to do at the time. Lots of kids were doing it and my mother’s response was “Of course, no problem.” This, of course, floored all of us since this was so outside my mother’s normal course of action. I wasn’t allowed outside of the cul-de-sac without supervision until I was almost 30. The kicker, given to us after our jaws returned to their normal spot, was that he had to ask my grandfather. That effectively killed any chance of ear piercing. My grandfather was a 20 year FBI agent under the J. Edgar Hoover era. I never saw the man in anything but a suit. And he would fight you if you said anything about Hoover in a dress. Literally, fight to the death.And men do not wear earrings. Period.
So, what would life been like, if this kinky grandpa (who had had two dildoectomies in his medical past - again - whaaaaaat?) had been my grandfather? Would this have been my brother?
And as a Lesson From the Trauma ER - think about where you get your piercings. In addition to cutting all your clothes off (hence your mother's admission to wear clean underwear), we are going to have to remove ALL your piercings.
Enjoy! Be safe! Keep checking in and reading!
DeepSeaRN
PS - After a bit of research (for medical reasons, of course) Gramps had what is called a dydoe piercing in his penis and hafada piercing in his scrotum. Knowing is half the battle. The other half is working up the courage for someone to ram a large ring through your junk.
For example - call comes in of a woman with burns to her legs. No big deal, except it is 10am and she suffered her burns at 2am - BBQing. Now everyone is placing bets that she was cooking methamphetamine and got burned that way. I, however, felt that the poor woman was probably an acclaimed bbq smoker, preparing her smoker for a long day of ribs and brisket. Nope, meth head, cooking right in my backyard. Whatever she was cooking on blew up and she got burned. Seriously? People, first off you are not Walter White, cooking in a RV. Nor, are you a chemist. Chances are you didn't pass high school. Finally, those tighty whiteys look ridiculous - go change. Neighbors, I'm looking at you a little more closely now. Open your mouth - do you have all your teeth?
So, as you can see, interesting but hardly blog worthy. There are probably a couple hundred websites and blogs that are about the blood and guts of a trauma ER. I want mine to be about the funny stuff that we see.
So, on to the funny. I also work in an Adult ER where we handle the everyday emergencies - heart attacks, stokes, broken bones, stomach pain and what not. I was discharging one of my patients - who thought they were dying and that I miraculously saved their life - when one of my coworkers said "DeepSea, can you help me with this Foley catheter." A Foley catheter is a tube placed up into the bladder that will drain the urine. The patient is an 80 something man who is having difficulty peeing. Just a normal looking grandfatherly guy. Someone who reads stories to the grand-kids. Someone who hits the early bird buffets. Someone who has 2 LARGE RINGS pierced into his penis AND several silver balls pieced into his balls. Now these rings weren’t the nice thin, hooped earrings women wear. These were the rings that you lead a bull around by his nose. They were HUGE! These rings were through the shaft of the penis. Being the curious sort, I asked why he didn’t have a Prince Albert, where the ring is placed through the head of the penis. He looked at me aghast and said “That would hurt!” Whaaaaaat?
All I could think of during this encounter was when my younger brother was in his early teens and wanted to get his ear pierced. It was the cool thing to do at the time. Lots of kids were doing it and my mother’s response was “Of course, no problem.” This, of course, floored all of us since this was so outside my mother’s normal course of action. I wasn’t allowed outside of the cul-de-sac without supervision until I was almost 30. The kicker, given to us after our jaws returned to their normal spot, was that he had to ask my grandfather. That effectively killed any chance of ear piercing. My grandfather was a 20 year FBI agent under the J. Edgar Hoover era. I never saw the man in anything but a suit. And he would fight you if you said anything about Hoover in a dress. Literally, fight to the death.And men do not wear earrings. Period.
So, what would life been like, if this kinky grandpa (who had had two dildoectomies in his medical past - again - whaaaaaat?) had been my grandfather? Would this have been my brother?
And as a Lesson From the Trauma ER - think about where you get your piercings. In addition to cutting all your clothes off (hence your mother's admission to wear clean underwear), we are going to have to remove ALL your piercings.
Enjoy! Be safe! Keep checking in and reading!
DeepSeaRN
PS - After a bit of research (for medical reasons, of course) Gramps had what is called a dydoe piercing in his penis and hafada piercing in his scrotum. Knowing is half the battle. The other half is working up the courage for someone to ram a large ring through your junk.
Saturday, July 4, 2015
The "Cheers" of the Trauma Hospitals
It is Baby Doc time. A time when medical students have graduated, passed their boards and are now free to roam around making critical decisions. Such as, do you live or die so that I can learn what not to do next time. But, regardless of what I decide, I am going to strut around in, seriously?!? my tailored scrubs and try not to look as scared as I really am. I don't know why, but the junior male residents seem to have to prove something whereas the female baby docs are all baggy scrubs and pony tails.
I am a fairly new trauma nurse. I am finally getting to the point where I don't just stare at the gaping wounds, point and say "Duuuuuuuude that is gnarly." I know what I need to do, how to get the supplies I need and how to document what 15 people are saying to me - all at the same time. So, it is kinda fun to be the cock of the walk with the Baby Docs.
Now, as a disclaimer, I understand that you just spent 8 years and $150,000 getting to where you are. Props on 'ya. But as we said in the military - there is the school house way and the real world way. So, Baby Doc, shut yer yapper and watch and learn from this hard core trauma nurse.
It started with the preppie tailgating me on the way to work in his brand new, white BMW. My first thought was "Dude you suck" and my second was "See you in Trauma." Well, I wasn't far off since, considering his weaving in and out of traffic, tailgating and lane changes, he arrived in the parking lot 15 seconds before me. And, then instead of punching him in the face for driving like an idiot, I followed him into work. Yeah, Baby Doc!
Then we get the call that someone tried to fly and gravity took over (didn't we talk about this previously? She obviously didn't read my blog). Most of the residents gown up with xray garb, designed to block xrays, gloves, gowns for blood splatter and face shields. Nurses? We wear gloves. So, our BMW hero is running around, looking desperately for a face shield. "Where can I find a face mask?" he screams at me. Literally, a high falsetto. Now, we are 10 minutes until trauma time and this yahoo wants to face shield NOW! Looking around, Lab is sitting in a chair, playing on their phone. Xray is chatting on an empty bed. Pharm is talking about her night and the senior residents are trying to get last minute charting done. I'm making sure that I have IVs, warm fluid, warm blankets, my Leatherman Raptors, the greatest trauma shears ever (Come on #Leathermanraptors, comp me something) ready to cut leather, clothes or shoes, and my partner is getting her charting info ready. This guy wants a mask because all the Docs have one. I look at him, mournfully, and say "I don't know. I don't use them." The look on this guy's face was priceless. You would have thought I told him that he would fail residency if he did not find a face shield stat! Shoulders drooped, eyes down cast, this guy wanders off to suffer silently. But, he did get to do chest compressions - without a face shield - and survived. Truthfully, all I wanted to really tell him was "Slipknot, you aren't going to be doing anything but watching so please move out of my way and please find me a faceshield. I don't want blood all over me."
But, I will say that the new residents are trying to get to know the nurses. Hence the blog title. Work, today, felt like Cheers, the popular TV show where "everyone knows your name." I was Joe, John, Allen, and Scott. I felt loved.
A special shout out to Doctor Dawn, who, not knowing me, asked if I knew where something was. I nodded, smiled and told her "Of course I do. I not just another pretty face and ridiculously good looking but I am also a knowledgeable trauma nurse." She smiled and said "Yes you are but mostly you are ridiculously good looking ." Of course, her eye rolling is a rare genetic disorder that only 1 in 52 million people suffer from. Poor thing.
I am a fairly new trauma nurse. I am finally getting to the point where I don't just stare at the gaping wounds, point and say "Duuuuuuuude that is gnarly." I know what I need to do, how to get the supplies I need and how to document what 15 people are saying to me - all at the same time. So, it is kinda fun to be the cock of the walk with the Baby Docs.
Now, as a disclaimer, I understand that you just spent 8 years and $150,000 getting to where you are. Props on 'ya. But as we said in the military - there is the school house way and the real world way. So, Baby Doc, shut yer yapper and watch and learn from this hard core trauma nurse.
It started with the preppie tailgating me on the way to work in his brand new, white BMW. My first thought was "Dude you suck" and my second was "See you in Trauma." Well, I wasn't far off since, considering his weaving in and out of traffic, tailgating and lane changes, he arrived in the parking lot 15 seconds before me. And, then instead of punching him in the face for driving like an idiot, I followed him into work. Yeah, Baby Doc!
Then we get the call that someone tried to fly and gravity took over (didn't we talk about this previously? She obviously didn't read my blog). Most of the residents gown up with xray garb, designed to block xrays, gloves, gowns for blood splatter and face shields. Nurses? We wear gloves. So, our BMW hero is running around, looking desperately for a face shield. "Where can I find a face mask?" he screams at me. Literally, a high falsetto. Now, we are 10 minutes until trauma time and this yahoo wants to face shield NOW! Looking around, Lab is sitting in a chair, playing on their phone. Xray is chatting on an empty bed. Pharm is talking about her night and the senior residents are trying to get last minute charting done. I'm making sure that I have IVs, warm fluid, warm blankets, my Leatherman Raptors, the greatest trauma shears ever (Come on #Leathermanraptors, comp me something) ready to cut leather, clothes or shoes, and my partner is getting her charting info ready. This guy wants a mask because all the Docs have one. I look at him, mournfully, and say "I don't know. I don't use them." The look on this guy's face was priceless. You would have thought I told him that he would fail residency if he did not find a face shield stat! Shoulders drooped, eyes down cast, this guy wanders off to suffer silently. But, he did get to do chest compressions - without a face shield - and survived. Truthfully, all I wanted to really tell him was "Slipknot, you aren't going to be doing anything but watching so please move out of my way and please find me a faceshield. I don't want blood all over me."
But, I will say that the new residents are trying to get to know the nurses. Hence the blog title. Work, today, felt like Cheers, the popular TV show where "everyone knows your name." I was Joe, John, Allen, and Scott. I felt loved.
A special shout out to Doctor Dawn, who, not knowing me, asked if I knew where something was. I nodded, smiled and told her "Of course I do. I not just another pretty face and ridiculously good looking but I am also a knowledgeable trauma nurse." She smiled and said "Yes you are but mostly you are ridiculously good looking ." Of course, her eye rolling is a rare genetic disorder that only 1 in 52 million people suffer from. Poor thing.
Friday, July 3, 2015
Love (and a spastic colon) Is a Burning Thing
Ladies and Gentlemen,
Let's talk about burns. As I have said before - DO NOT WALK BAREFOOT ON THE STREET, PAVEMENT, POOL DECK OR ANYWHERE THE SUN SHINES during the summer months. Your feet will literally melt off and you will die. Maybe not die but you won't be able to wear shoes for a long time.
But there are other burns - va jay jay ones. We've talked about those. Nope these burns are the "No shit! Better get my hand out to measure one hand print is 1%" type of thing. And, I am going to need to metric butt ton of hands.
Saw two gnarly burns today. That being said, burn nurses are probably the toughest, most special nurses out there. Props to them.
The first burn was a dude who has a spastic colon?!? and woke up in the middle of night needing a bath. Ok, if you need a bath in the middle of the night due to spastic colon, you might need Depends and not a bath. Regardless, this genius decides he needs to wash the spasm away, starts the bath, cranking the temp to "maximum burn potential" and then falls back to sleep with his hand draped over the tub. Needs less to say, I will not be taking a bath for a very, very long time. Blisters, weeping stuff, sausage fingers, and pain to Nth degree, Just another simple joy washed away but working in the Trauma ER.
But the burn of the day award goes to the guy, cruising along in his golf cart style ATV. After an enjoyable day bee bopping around in the 108 degree temperatures, it is time to stable that bad boy. As this urban cowboy corrals his wild four wheel stallion in the garage, the wild beast catches FIRE! Stuck, the seat belt securely fastened, our hero struggles valiantly to free himself from his steed of steel. Will he succeed and not suffer burns over 18% of his body? Or will he not succeed and sustain burns over 18% of his body? Tune in next week for more exciting "Lessons from the Trauma ER."
Nah. Why wait? This dude frees himself from the burning vehicle, suffers burns over 18% of his body and in the interest of saving 2 classic cars (good choice, considering the cars) and his house, he pushes the burning ATV out of the garage. Right, Into. His. New. F. 350. Pick. Up. Truck. Which, predictably catches fire too.
Now with two burning vehicles, our hero notices his shirt is on fire. Whipping that off, the dude waits patiently for Fire to show up and extinguish the flames. Now, this isn't the story. It is just background to the greatest miracle of technology of our times. In this guy's shirt sat a Nokia cell phone. Not just any Nokia but a flip top. Rare these days. This powerhouse of technology, while mocked by Apple, Google and even the now defunct Blackberry, was severely burned. Suffering burns over 50% of its surface area, this little, can do phone was done for. Nothing could be done to save its melted cover. The phone was looking like a hot dog left on the grill too long. Wrinkled. Burned. Disfigured. But the story gets better. Severely wounded, Burns over most of its surface area. With the chance to live less than 5%, this little go getter STARTS TO RING! Disfigured, this little champion is still working. And it continues to place and receive calls. No one is sure how that is possible.
Magic?
Voodoo?
Regardless, I want one!
Let's talk about burns. As I have said before - DO NOT WALK BAREFOOT ON THE STREET, PAVEMENT, POOL DECK OR ANYWHERE THE SUN SHINES during the summer months. Your feet will literally melt off and you will die. Maybe not die but you won't be able to wear shoes for a long time.
But there are other burns - va jay jay ones. We've talked about those. Nope these burns are the "No shit! Better get my hand out to measure one hand print is 1%" type of thing. And, I am going to need to metric butt ton of hands.
Saw two gnarly burns today. That being said, burn nurses are probably the toughest, most special nurses out there. Props to them.
The first burn was a dude who has a spastic colon?!? and woke up in the middle of night needing a bath. Ok, if you need a bath in the middle of the night due to spastic colon, you might need Depends and not a bath. Regardless, this genius decides he needs to wash the spasm away, starts the bath, cranking the temp to "maximum burn potential" and then falls back to sleep with his hand draped over the tub. Needs less to say, I will not be taking a bath for a very, very long time. Blisters, weeping stuff, sausage fingers, and pain to Nth degree, Just another simple joy washed away but working in the Trauma ER.
But the burn of the day award goes to the guy, cruising along in his golf cart style ATV. After an enjoyable day bee bopping around in the 108 degree temperatures, it is time to stable that bad boy. As this urban cowboy corrals his wild four wheel stallion in the garage, the wild beast catches FIRE! Stuck, the seat belt securely fastened, our hero struggles valiantly to free himself from his steed of steel. Will he succeed and not suffer burns over 18% of his body? Or will he not succeed and sustain burns over 18% of his body? Tune in next week for more exciting "Lessons from the Trauma ER."
Nah. Why wait? This dude frees himself from the burning vehicle, suffers burns over 18% of his body and in the interest of saving 2 classic cars (good choice, considering the cars) and his house, he pushes the burning ATV out of the garage. Right, Into. His. New. F. 350. Pick. Up. Truck. Which, predictably catches fire too.
Now with two burning vehicles, our hero notices his shirt is on fire. Whipping that off, the dude waits patiently for Fire to show up and extinguish the flames. Now, this isn't the story. It is just background to the greatest miracle of technology of our times. In this guy's shirt sat a Nokia cell phone. Not just any Nokia but a flip top. Rare these days. This powerhouse of technology, while mocked by Apple, Google and even the now defunct Blackberry, was severely burned. Suffering burns over 50% of its surface area, this little, can do phone was done for. Nothing could be done to save its melted cover. The phone was looking like a hot dog left on the grill too long. Wrinkled. Burned. Disfigured. But the story gets better. Severely wounded, Burns over most of its surface area. With the chance to live less than 5%, this little go getter STARTS TO RING! Disfigured, this little champion is still working. And it continues to place and receive calls. No one is sure how that is possible.
Magic?
Voodoo?
Regardless, I want one!
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Riding in Cars with Boys
Ladies - today's lesson is for you. First, what the hell are you thinking getting into a car with a complete stranger? I don't care if you need help findings you puppy, you need candy because Aunt Flo is visiting or that the dude seems like a nice guy. DO NOT get in the car with a stranger. This isn't 1960, back in the day when you could wear flowers in your hair, smoke pot and hitchhike across country. This is 2015, where people will drug your drink and try to have sex with your still breathing, unconscious corpse.
Ok, so let's say you didn't read the latest Lessons from the Trauma ER, and you get into a car with a complete stranger who is offering you a ride to your truck, boyfriend, store - still not sure where. Do not allow this person, this driver, to consume drugs, alcohol, excessively fatty foods, whatever will impair his driving. And, I'm not really sure what caused the impairment. Let's say drugs or alcohol. Usually, after excessively fatty foods, I'm too tired to drive anywhere, let alone drive anywhere and rape you.
So you're with driver Dude who consumed some good shit and "Holy Mother of God! He's taking me to the desert to desecrate my amateurishly tattooed, pierced, methed out, virgin body!"
Please, please, calmly exit the vehicle at the next stop. Be it a light or a sign. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT fling yourself from the vehicle at any speed. It is not like Hollywood, where you roll a couple of times, dust yourself off and walk normally to the bus stop. Leaping from the vehicle will cause pain. Pain to your breast, where your nipple bar has been torn out. Pain to your hand, where it went for the long slide on pavement. Pain to your amateur tattoo, causing it to look more and more like a penis than whatever it was suppose to be.
Ladies, be smart. Be sexy. Don't ride in cars with boys you don't know. And, most importantly, wait until the vehicle comes to a full and complete stop. That way you will still have intact nipples and a tattoo that doesn't look like a Frankie Goes to Hollywood album cover (look it up if you are under 40 years old. And, then listen to the album. That was music!)
Also, this is for eveyone and it shouldn't even be said, but there are dummmmmmmmmmmb people out there - don't walk barefoot on the pavement. DO NOT WALK BAREFOOT ON THE PAVEMENT during the summer months. Your feet will literally melt off. No jive.
Finally - if you are a dude who weighs 125 pounds and is 5'5", do not aggravate your old lady. She will either stab you or throw you out of a window. Maybe both. But bottom line is that you were thrown through a window, by a woman, who had a knife in her hand. In other words, she threw you through a window. With...One...Hand. As you were crying, prison isn't kind to small guys like you....
Lessons to be learned.
I'm kinda liking this blog thing. I hope you are too. Leave comments - good, bad, ugly. I will, of course, filter the bad and ugly...LOL
Ok, so let's say you didn't read the latest Lessons from the Trauma ER, and you get into a car with a complete stranger who is offering you a ride to your truck, boyfriend, store - still not sure where. Do not allow this person, this driver, to consume drugs, alcohol, excessively fatty foods, whatever will impair his driving. And, I'm not really sure what caused the impairment. Let's say drugs or alcohol. Usually, after excessively fatty foods, I'm too tired to drive anywhere, let alone drive anywhere and rape you.
So you're with driver Dude who consumed some good shit and "Holy Mother of God! He's taking me to the desert to desecrate my amateurishly tattooed, pierced, methed out, virgin body!"
Please, please, calmly exit the vehicle at the next stop. Be it a light or a sign. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT fling yourself from the vehicle at any speed. It is not like Hollywood, where you roll a couple of times, dust yourself off and walk normally to the bus stop. Leaping from the vehicle will cause pain. Pain to your breast, where your nipple bar has been torn out. Pain to your hand, where it went for the long slide on pavement. Pain to your amateur tattoo, causing it to look more and more like a penis than whatever it was suppose to be.
Ladies, be smart. Be sexy. Don't ride in cars with boys you don't know. And, most importantly, wait until the vehicle comes to a full and complete stop. That way you will still have intact nipples and a tattoo that doesn't look like a Frankie Goes to Hollywood album cover (look it up if you are under 40 years old. And, then listen to the album. That was music!)
Also, this is for eveyone and it shouldn't even be said, but there are dummmmmmmmmmmb people out there - don't walk barefoot on the pavement. DO NOT WALK BAREFOOT ON THE PAVEMENT during the summer months. Your feet will literally melt off. No jive.
Finally - if you are a dude who weighs 125 pounds and is 5'5", do not aggravate your old lady. She will either stab you or throw you out of a window. Maybe both. But bottom line is that you were thrown through a window, by a woman, who had a knife in her hand. In other words, she threw you through a window. With...One...Hand. As you were crying, prison isn't kind to small guys like you....
Lessons to be learned.
I'm kinda liking this blog thing. I hope you are too. Leave comments - good, bad, ugly. I will, of course, filter the bad and ugly...LOL
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)