Paramedic stories number 3

You meet a lot of odd characters in ambulance.

I don’t just mean the usual mental health patients (one of whom leaves marsh mellows out for her fairies to collect… and has assaulted people who dared to disturb them).

There’s all sorts of people out there.

There are some that are a few sandwiches short of a picnic: One bloke we met, let’s call him Steve, was suffering from anxiety. You see, Steve was living with his best friend. Their two families had devised the dream idea that they would all move interstate together and go work as pickers on a farm in the sunshine. So they sold everything they had and were counting down the days until they moved….. Things were looking great until Steve’s mate told him not to smoke around Steve’s kid. Now following this, Steve did what any logical person would do: he reported his best friend for drug dealing and made up some accusations that the friend was a paedophile. Good plan Steve. Now Steve has no where to live, and all the job details had been handled by his friend… so nowhere to work either. Add insult to injury, Steve’s mate also happened to be pretty involved with the local UFC/MMA club, so there are a few very dangerous (and slightly unstable) people with a grudge against our poor patient.

Or our new friend; the masturbating banjo player. He called us because he was worried he had GI bleed. So we find him pacing around his apartment, anxious and frantic. After eventually calming him down enough to have a conversation, he explains that after eating some day old takeout, he started having the urge to go the toilet a lot (funny coincidence right?). When he looked in the bowl, he saw the contents were dark (poo being dark, who’d have guessed). Amongst him pointing out pictures of planes in his house and telling us about how much electricity his stove used, we were finally able to discover that he had no pain or other signs…. until he jumped up and went to toilet, from which he reappeared, pants still down his ankles, poo covered toilet paper in hand. By this stage we’d been with him for almost 45 minutes and were starting to tire of the ordeal. We sent him back to loo to clean himself up and we checked and told him that there was no blood to be seen, but he was welcome to come to hospital.

Well that just didn’t fly at all. Up he jumped and started pacing again, explaining that he had $200,000 worth of glass in a collection on the shelf that he couldn’t possibly leave. Apparently he also didn’t have money for a taxi home (and no friends could be found to collect him). In the end he lamented and stated he would stay at home….. but was worried that if he masturbated again it might ruin his prostate (?!).  On that disturbing note we sought to leave….. but our new friend insisted that we hear him play the banjo.

To be honest, the poor bugger was actually pretty good. He also insisted the shake our hands. Once again my near OCD tendancies about PPE kept me safe, as my gloved hand met that of the diarrhoea and masturbation man (whom may I add had not washed his hands since we arrived). My partner hadn’t even bothered putting gloves on to start with.

Sucker.

 

 

 

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