Tales from a small town Emergency Room

Over the weekend I got to tag along with my preceptor during an ER shift.  Turns out, my assumption that the only time the fire truck and ambulance are called out in a small town is when a cat gets stuck in a tree, was wrong.  The shift started out quiet enough, a few random old people who weren't feeling so hot - filled them with IV fluids, marveled at their miraculous recovery and sent them on their way.  A quasi-trauma involving an old guy, a restaurant, a window and a motor vehicle.  Oh, and a backboard covered in potato chips.  That was about as exciting as it had been all day.  Later in the shift we found ourselves sitting around, a bit bored, when my preceptor declared me a "white cloud" in the ER.  (A white cloud is someone who seems to keep patients away, while a dark cloud is someone who seems to attract them and in doing so, conjure up lots of work - it's all very voodoo.)  Something else that is a bit voodoo is prematurely declaring someone a white cloud or uttering the words, "Gosh, it's slow."  As soon as those words come out, it's bound to hit the fan.  And sure enough, as soon as my preceptor labeled me as such, patients started coming out of the woodwork.  The first was an older guy who was working on his roof and slipped and fell.  He beat himself up pretty good and ended up being pretty critical.  The next patient was a younger guy who was playing footsie with his girlfriend in the ER bay while he was waiting for us to come see him.  As far as I'm concerned, if you're well enough to play footsie, you have no business in the ER. In addition to these patients, we had a smattering of coughing kids, twisted knees and facial lacerations.  Luckily I didn't get drafted to lay on anybody while they were getting their faces stitched up.  Instead, I helped the life flight crew load up our roof guy and get him flown to the big city for more specialized care.  And by "helped" I mean tagged along and tried to stay out of their way. 

Yeah, so the helicopter was pretty freaking cool.  They landed on a street behind the hospital, almost in somebody's back yard.  The person who lived there was out with his dog, who for a second looked like he was going to attack the helicopter....until he realized that it was much bigger than him and made of metal.  Smart dog....wise decision to run the other way.  Anyhow, after we they got the patient loaded up, the EMTs and myself walked about 40 yards away to watch the helicopter take off.  I had a pair of scrubs and a sweatshirt on and it was really cotton-pickin' cold.  If you've ever worn a pair of scrubs, you know that the only purpose they serve is to make you not naked.  They offer no warmth....none.  So as soon as those helicopter propellers (is that what they call them?) started spinning, I thought I was going to die a cold and painful death.  And as soon as the helicopter started lifting off, I had flashbacks of when the jerk doctor on ER got crushed by the falling helicopter.  And I again thought I might die a cold and painful death.  Then I hallucinated that George Clooney brought me a cup of coffee from the cafe across the street.  But alas, there was no George Clooney and the cafe across the street was just a Casey's General Store.  Then the helicopter got higher and higher and eventually flew over the hospital into the black night sky and all we could hear were its engines.  Then quiet. 

About that time, our shift was finishing up and another doctor was coming on (still not George Clooney).  Turns out that small towns have more than just cats stuck in trees.  Who knew?

*Ages, genders and/or diagnoses have been changed to keep me out of trouble with HIPAA*