Code 3 for rectal bleed. At the drug rehab. Nearly midnight.
A male in his 20s is sitting in the office, in no apparent distress, as usual.
“All this for me?”
We just drove code 3 for this guy for no good outward reason. Don’t piss me off with stupid comments like that.
“That’s what happens when you call 911. What are we here for?”
“I have hemorrhoids and it ripped, so it just bleeds when I wipe.
Can’t I just get a ride from my girl?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Well, they won’t let me.”
These drug rehabs are so stupid sometimes. I’m sure it’s their “policy.” It’s not uncommon for these “clients” to be in rehab because of conditions of their sentencing, so these facilities are responsible for keeping them there, but really, these are adults, and if they don’t want to act like adults – well, hey, adulthood comes with choices, and choices come with consequences.
“Are you here as part of a court arrangement?”
“That’s probably why.”
I wait for the only staff member present to get off the phone.
“Why can’t he get a ride from his girlfriend?”
I already know he’s not going to be allowed to get a ride, but I ask anyway, just to make a point. The point being how ridiculous this situation is.
I have to amuse myself somehow.
“The director said it’s either 911 or wait until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, daytime, we have transportation for him. He said it hurt, so we called you guys tonight.”
“Alright, let’s go.”
There you have it, the line of the year, “It’s either 911 or wait