Code 3 for abdominal pain.
A man walks out of his front door and up to the ambulance. If he didn’t wave us down, he could be mistaken for someone simply taking a walk.
“I have pain. I have pancreatitis. I have nausea.”
“How long have you had pain?”
“So what’s different today?”
That’s not a typo. I know you are familiar with this word.
He doesn’t say anything about medications for 5 minutes. For a while, I actually think to myself, naively: finally, some peace and quiet – no one to pester me about pain management on what is clearly not a pain management call.
“I don’t like getting narcotics. I don’t like that shit.”
Here we go.
He’s actually polite. I think he’s just smart enough to realize being a dick doesn’t get him narcs. He rambles on about how he doesn’t like it when the ED gives him narcs, describing how sometimes he’s surprised when he finds out they did indeed give him narcs.
“I sell that shit to people. Codeine, Vicodin, all that shit. I don’t use it myself.”
It’s not my first day, silly.
“My pain is bad today. Can I get something for it?”
“Because you don’t have veins.”
“Not true. You can give it to me in my arm,” making the motion of an intramuscular shot.
“I already gave you Zofran. I’m not giving you anything else.”
“I know you can because I’m a regular. I know how it works.”
“And that’s exactly why you’re not getting anything.”
He quietly finishes the ride. To his credit, he remains polite and cheerful. And definitely not a single outward sign of pain.
While we’re on this subject, there are plenty in the blogosphere and elsewhere who constantly insist that we shouldn’t be second-guessing patients’ pain and we should be giving them all the pain management they demand.
Kiss my fucking ass.