Fuss weekly

Code 3 for abdominal pain. At the substance abuse group home.

A man is standing at the phone, obviously fine. He is being a dick right off the bat.

“Talk to them!”

I take it he wants me to talk to whoever is on the phone. At first I think it’s dispatch.

“Nah, you can hang up,” I deliberately provoke.

“It’s my doctor’s office! Talk to them!”

“What, so you called themĀ and us? What a Chatty Cathy…”

I reluctantly take the phone. Then I realize I can probably get a better history from them than him anyway. And it gets me out of talking to this asshole.

“He’s comes in every week for his meds but the doctor is sick today, so he won’t get his meds until tomorrow. He says he’s in pain.”

I start zoning out and thinking about taking a year off. I can hear the side conversation he’s having with my partner. Blah blah blah pain blah blah 7 months blah.

“What meds does he come in for?”

“Methadone, Klonopin, Vico…”

“Got it. I’m going to go out on a limb here… this isn’t what we do, and this isn’t what the ER does, so your office had better figure something out with him.”


“Let’s go! Walk to the ambulance.”

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