Code 2 for the unknown. It’s 10 minutes before the end of our shift. We were cranky before this, no thanks to the constant work-dodging many co-workers like to engage in, so now we’re really cranky.
There’s someone in a wheelchair in front of the house. Another woman standing next to the wheelchair. Looks like another call a cab could’ve handled. I’d say taxis can safely transport 85% of our patients to a hospital, such is the ridiculousness of patients’ perceived emergent medical issues.
We get out, and without saying anything, start pulling the gurney out of the ambulance.
“Do we have to go to the hospital?”
“Isn’t it why you called an ambulance?”
It turns out the old lady in the wheelchair had just gotten dropped off by a cab after being discharged from the hospital, but she couldn’t get up the stairs leading to the front door. No wonder they don’t want to go to the hospital. Of course neither can her daughter carry her and the wheelchair up the stairs. They just need some help up. Nice people. They’re also concerned because there were shots fired in the general area a half hour ago while they were trying to figure out a way up the stairs this whole time.
“We’re so worried. We want to get her inside before they shoot again.”
“No problem. We’ll take care of it. It’s about time you got inside.”
Once in a great while our work has some meaning. Now we’re not cranky anymore.