I took two calls Saturday as part of second crew runs, and both were up there on the odd scale.
The first was a call for an older woman with a rapid heartbeat. Following a comedy of errors finding the location, I soon deduced that the patient was the great grandmother of baby Cheyenne, who is now a very cute preschooler.
Great granny has a history of atrial fibrillation, which is the less serious form. Ventricular fibrillation will get you shocked by me toot suite. Her afib was controlled by medication, the doctor changed the dosages on her, and she was having episodes of rapid heartbeat for a couple of days.
We loaded her up, did the usual stuff, and got underway to the Betsytown hospital. We chatted a lot when I had a lull in the action. I had figured out who she was early on, but she hadn’t done the same for me. As we talked, she got a funny look on her face and asked, “Are you Robert?”
“Yes…”
“You’re the one that brought all the baby stuff for Cheyenne!”
“Guilty as charged.”
“You have no idea what that meant to us at the time.”
We talked a little more, and I told her about how BrassyDeb “outed” me so I could check her granddaughter for crowning. She thought that was knee-slappingly hilarious.
Great granny got to the hospital just fine. I saw Cheyenne’s mom and grandmother while they were there, but they didn’t recognize me. Oh well…
Late in the afternoon was the other page, for an unresponsive woman laying it the road. I jumped to take that one, imagining the worst, and incurring the wrath of VWife for the second time of the day.
I went directly to the scene, which was about 5 miles from home. Sure enough, there was a woman laying in the middle of a dirt access road that went down to the river, and there were two game wardens looking after her.
I got out of my car to get my bag, and Owen, the warden I know because he’s also part of the Mayberry Fire Department, came up and gave me a brief.
“This is what it is. It’s old Cooter Brown, and she’s drunk as usual. She’s awake now, but she’s been laying in the road for an unknown amount of time, and she goes unresponsive on us. She’s known for her shenanigans, so I don’t think they’re real.” His tone was that of I know her well, and put up with this crap constantly.
I got to her, and the other warden was with her. The temperature was in the high 50s, and she was laying there in a t-shirt and undies, barefoot. She was also alternately proclaiming she was going to die, and professing her love for the warden with her.
I took vitals, which were quite normal. A quick trauma exam, and she had pain in her right armpit. I looked, and there’s a big band aid in there.
“What’s this?”
“That’s where my doctor cut out a MRSA boil yesterday.” Hooo-kaaay…
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Just a couple. My husband needed to pack the wound, and I thought it would help.” They always have just a drink or two. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she was out like a light. The warden kind of panicked and pulled her mouth open to keep an airway going, but I had the stethoscope, and could hear lung sounds and a heartbeat. I also checked a couple of reflexes, which were negative, so whatever was happening wasn’t faked. She came around in about a minute.
The ambulance arrived. We loaded her up, and she had a fit that the game warden wasn’t going to ride with her, until she figured out I was.
“You’re cute. Are you going to take care of me?”
“Yes, I’ll take care of you.” Billy, the ex-chief who brought the truck, was snickering all over the place and having a hard time concealing it from her. He also knew her well.
“Hold my hand. You’re cute.” I did, and was I ever happy to be wearing gloves.
We got her to Bugtussel without incident. All the way back, Billy rubbed it in. “She said you were cute…”
Why is it only the drunk and stoned skanks are the ones hitting on me? It’s enough to give a guy a complex, I tells ya.
I had to wait for someone to let me in. Later, I’ll go get a new one. But I lost my little spring clip dealie, too. 
