A caller states a woman is suffering from a laceration and that it is severe.
We were close to the scene and chose to make the entry. Nice part of town (Mercedes on the street so the nice car can be in the garage), not that that precludes them from violence, we expected more of a cut from a wine glass.
Grabbing the trauma bag we’re met a the door by Mr Fishbiscuit. This is a rare sighting of a Mr Fishbiscuit, usually Erma lives alone.
I ask him if he has an emergency and he cocks his head to the side and shows his teeth while inhaling slightly.
“No, not exactly, you see my wife needs a blood transfusion.”
“Well, super, we happen to have that equipment right here on the fire engine!”
That’s what I wanted to say.
What I really said sounded happy and excited to learn more.
Erma’s doctor drew some blood this morning, looking for indications that her painful cancer is spreading. Erma is home bound but is in some nice digs with Mr Fishbiscuit and a 24 hour care taker…who speaks clear english. Those of you in the field know that’s a big, expensive thing these days.
Turns out Erma’s Doctor called a few minutes ago and advised them she would need a blood transfusion tonight or tomorrow and to come into the hospital. When they asked if a van or ambulance from F&B was coming the doctor told them to just call 911, it’s quicker.
Luckily Paramedic Captain 99 heard the call for the laceration, thought the worst, and was enroute to assist in case it was a stabbing or major trauma or something we needed help with.
The ambulance arrived and I explained the situation to the frustrated crew. We got Erma loaded when I told the Captain what was happening.
“I think I’ll pop on over to St Closest and remind this doctor we’re not his private errand boys.”
I want that job soooooo bad.