Wednesday, June 13, 2007

tornado alley

Perhaps I have some sort of disorder, perhaps there's never been research done, or an article on PubMed about it, but I believe I have a disorder: I absolutely am in love with my job. It really does make me so happy to be at work. There's always something new to do, or see, even smell. I just love to be there.

The other night EMS called to tell us about a GSW to the head that was coming in. I've worked a couple of those before, and typically those injuries are quite bad, and serious. Like the time the 22 year old boy got shot standing out in front of his house; a whole crowd of onlookers, but nobody confessed to who did the shooting. The pictures from the cat scan on his head showed an entry point towards the left occiput, obvious fracture and hemorrhage, but from that point and across the brain diagonally to the right frontal lobe was a path of destruction. Texans know what it looks like after a tornado has touched down; you can follow the path it took by the devastation left behind. That is what this boy's brain was like. It was as if a tornado rampaged on the playground of his control center. A little chunk of metal tore through his gyri and ventricles, like a frustrated child ripping paper. This boy lived to make it to the unit, but his future wasn't quite so bright; more like a sky with blackish rain clouds.

A couple of nights later I was working up at the front desk, answering the phone, "Emergency Room. Can I help you?"....."Is this the ER?"......"Yes ma'am." At least she can't see me roll my eyes. Anyway, two young guys came up and asked where they might find a certain patient. They gave me the name, and I looked in ER roster. Hmmm...that name didn't come up. But wait, it sounds so familiar to me. Oh yeah, that's where I remember it from. It was the boy shot in the head. He went to ICU. I called 1671 and found out the room number. Look at that, he was alive! What a great day! It was my complete pleasure to give them directions to the third floor, and I felt good about it; at least he was able to have visitors.

So is it really a disorder? Maybe it's just a twisted passion. Maybe not even twisted. I consider it a beautiful gift that I actually love what I do. Even though it may plunge me into the ranks of the freaks. Hey, maybe they'll write an article about it and then I'll be famous!

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