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....