Drunk Flying Baptists

Things have finally started to pick up. I worked a 36 hour shift last weekend and we actually did a flight. Old drunk fisherman out on the boat Memorial Day weekend. Drank ALL DAY and then started to have some shortness of breath. By the time he made it to the hospital he was in full blown CHF with a side of dehydrated and hypotensive as crap. We were called at 0-dark-30 to pick up this charming individual and fly him to a more appropriate facility that had cardiology services. He was given a shitload of lasix but had put out very little and the doc had no idea why. I wonder if it had to do with the fact that his pressure was in the shitter and his kidneys weren't getting perfused? Just wondering.....

A 25 minute flight and a little dopamine seemed to do the trick. He was screaming for a urinal as soon as he was offloaded. He's gonna have one hell of a hangover.

My last shift was the best yet. My partner and I had breakfast in the cafeteria and were visiting in the ED when the pilot radioed us for a scene flight. We hauled ass back to quarters (swearing that the corned beef hash would not be far behind) and launched for parts unknown for a completely unknown situation. The report we got was as follows: 40 year old male fell off a roof, positive loss on consciousness, open skull fracture with gray matter visible. FYI: that is a great freaking flight! We got to the scene and the "roof" belonged to a huge baptist church on which our dear friend was drinking and fixing the roof. I did a quick once over, got report from the ground crew and my partner and I got to securing an airway. Yes, I finally got a tube in the field... AND I got it on the first attempt. That was an incredible feeling.

Once loaded we flew back to my trauma center.... intermittently yelling the F word into the poor (mormon) pilot's ear. We pretty much yelled fuck the patient, the aircraft, our equipment, the radio..... anything worth yelling FUCK over. It was pretty damn funny. The IV tubing was tangled (fuck), our pulse ox wasn't picking up (fuck) , the capanography cable was twisted around his legs (fuck... how the hell did that fucking happen?) Fuck Fuck fuckity fuck. All in all the flight didn't go that badly, we just liked saying fuck!

So our religious buddy drank about 6 beers between 7am and 9am (when he fell). He had an open skull fracture, a head bleed, an avulsed area that bled all over my partner's lap (yes, fuck!) multiple neck fractures and a fractured clavicle. Ironically, he will probably be ok.

We did one other flight that was the "Anti-Fuck" flight. Everything went well, no complications. Either way, I am starting to feel more like a flight nurse and less like Eber and Roper watching movies in our quarters. By the way... we watched "There Will Be Blood." Didn't really like it.

Am flying tomorrow and then off on vacation in Hatteras for a week with the family. Even the Mad-dog gets to come. Wrigley will be staying at the ultra plush pet Holiday Inn as she cannot be trusted to go on vacation yet. Maybe next year.