Code 2 for a 13-year-old with back pain. It’s barely 5am.
This is going to be some bullshit.
Sure enough, a 13-year-old girl is sitting on the couch. She is larger than any of the 4 of us on scene.
“She hurt her back before and now she re-injured it. Can you take her to [insert hospital name]? Her pediatrician can see her there.”
“Ma’am, her pediatrician is not going to see her at the emergency room. And certainly not at this hour.”
Of course this is a 3-story flat and she is not on the first floor. Of course she is like 220 pounds. Of course she claims she can’t walk. Thank god for Stryker’s stair chair. Thank god no one blew out a back carrying her.
We get her down and onto the gurney, which she got on without much difficulty.
“It sure makes a difference when you call at night.” Her mother quips, in a vaguely passive-aggressive tone.
I don’t really want to know, but I ask anyway after a pause.
“What do you mean?”
Pointing to another crew member, “That guy is grumpy. When they were here the last time, they were very nice.”
I try to stay out of it, “It’s 5am, ma’am.”
I’m surprised I still have a tongue after all these years of biting it. I really don’t think customer service is an appropriate concept for health care, yet it’s the overarching goal, according to the people in charge who have put in little time at the street level doing what we do.
“I’ll follow you there.” She hops in her brand new car.
Of course she will.