Life as A Nurse, Part 6


Home Boy Ambulance Service, Trauma


It has always been a well-known fact that the longer you work in an
 
inner city hospital, you come to expect the unexpected. In the ER, no
 
matter what,  you are going to get at least one home-boy ambulance drop
 
off during the weekend hours. This is the euphuism we use when a car
  
pulls into the driveway of the hospital, pushes a victim of a violent
 
crime out, and then attempts to race off before the police arrive.


Case in Point:


It had been a typical Friday night with a full range of acuities.
 
Everything from colds and stuffy noses to knife wounds  and shootings
 
had come in that night. A very typical Friday night.  Some time during 

the course of the evening we had to call the Police to report a domestic
 
abuse case. We all knew that on a Friday night, if we were busy, so were
 
the cops.  Reports like these are low on the priority list. That was
 
fine, we were all in for the full 12 hours, so the time it took the
 
cops  to arrive was of no consequence. I believe it was near midnight
 
when Melvin and I heard that all to familiar sound outside. Melvin was
 
one of our finer nurses who I counted on not to lose his cool in a
 
crisis. First we heard the screech of the tires, then the blasts of a
 
car horn, and then suddenly, it became silent. Reluctant to venture out
 
into the ambulance bay, as the area had not been secured yet, we waited
 
and worried. Rule # six:  Your safety comes first! No body is to  enter a

potentially dangerous area until it is safe. Once the scene had been
 
secured, Melvin, myself and one of our Physician Assistant's  ventured
 
into the black night to see what the hell had happened. To our delight,
 
the police were already there. Great I thought.  They must have followed
 
them in. I couldn't have been more wrong. Apparently the police just
 
happened to show up for our domestic violence report at the same time a
 
car full of gang members was trying to unload one of their acquaintances
 
in the parking lot. Unfortunately for them, the police had blocked their
 
escape route. They had managed to toss John Doe out on the pavement. 
As 
Melvin and I walked toward the car, all we could see was a young man in
 
his early 20's face down and stuck between the curb and the car that had
 
dispatched him. It was dark outside and difficult to tell if he was
 
breathing. A quick look by the PA, told us what we really didn't want to
 
know, he wasn't breathing and had no pulse. I yelled at one of his
 
"friends," Hey, what happened to him? The response was always the same,
 
"we don't know, we were just walking by and someone shot him." Well,
 
I thought, at least we know he is a victim of a shooting. Now, in his
 
position, and as stuck as he was, there was absolutely no way to begin
 
basic life support. The car had to be moved. Standing next to me was one
 
of the local law enforcement officers. He stood at least 2 feet taller
 
then I did, and he wasn't smiling. There was some conversation about
 
whether or not we could move the car and  the body as this was a crime
 
scene. The PA finally put his foot down and murmured that the patient
 
had a faint pulse. This of course was a stretch of the truth. The patient

had no pulse, The PA had lied. A  large crowd had gathered and was
 
questioning why  we weren't doing anything. The PA had made the right
 
decision as the mob was getting larger. The car was moved and John Doe
 
was moved to a Gurney. As we wheeled him into room 8, both Melvin and I
 
knew this was not going to be a save. John Doe had multiple gunshot
 
wounds to his chest, abdomen and the worst, his head. The ER doctor came
 
in, and after a few rounds of meds, epi, bicarb, atropine and CPR, John
 
Doe was pronounced dead.  Time of death: 00:50. There were no relatives
 
to say their goodbyes. Only the group of young men that were being carted

off to jail for various outstanding warrants. Once again I waited for
 
homicide to show. This time they could wait. As Melvin and
 
I cleaned the room, I washed John Doe's face and hands. I put a warm
 
blanket over him and we sealed the room.  I thought, "What a waste of a
 
human life." I have no idea why he was shot, nor did I care. It was a
 
senseless death and for once I found myself searching for an answer that
 
never came. To this day I still think of John Doe and the events of that
 
evening. Melvin and I still speak of it,  a form of debriefing after a
 
traumatic event. I would like to think that my own manner of dealing
 
with death had changed that night. Life is so precious and should be
 
lived as if each day is your last. I try to think of that when the day's
 
hardships start to become overwhelming. You see, I am alive, I exist,
 
and I make a difference, and so do you.