I would be willing to bet that almost every person has “that one thing” that makes them feel light-headed or makes their stomach turn. Whether it is getting poked with a needle, seeing blood (their own or someone else’s), or being exposed to vomit…in any fashion.
I happen to be the latter. I see it, hear it, or smell it…and I am done. Yes, I am admittedly a “sympathy puker”. My issue goes as far back as the 2nd Grade. I was sitting in Music Class when a boy named Phillip (Oh, yes, I remember his name after all these years.) was singing his heart out right behind me. All of a sudden, I heard a loud “SPLASH”, and then the smell hit me like a Mack Truck. Phillip ended his high note on a very low note. My mouth started to get that sickly, watery feeling, and my stomach started to turn. Several kids around me started vomiting all over their desks and their Catholic School uniforms. I, at least, had the grace to make it to the garbage can. (Yep…Prom Queen behavior before my time!) I can distinctly recall the smell of the orange cat-litter-looking-stuff the janitor sprinkled over all the vomit in the room. I was scarred for life. That day was the beginning of the end for me.
Fast forward about fifteen years, and that same “Sympathy Puker” had chosen a profession that may very well put her in harm’s way! I had spent the greater part of my adolescence and early adulthood doing everything in my power to not throw up, so I had assumed I had conquered my demon…for the most part. I had even survived being a Resident Assistant in a party dorm. I could handle pretty much anything…right?
My life as a paramedic was shaping up to be everything I had hoped and dreamed it would be. I was a young, early-twenties girl living an exciting life. I had an amazing place in the downtown area; I had an exhilarating career; and I had marvelous social life (Ok, mediocre social life, but I was hopeful!). It was good to be me!
I had awakened before my alarm went off. I did some housework with a little laundry on top. I showered, and dried my hair. I ironed my uniform. I polished my Dr. Martens. I applied my makeup. For some reason, it was all coming together nicely that afternoon. I had a little pep in my step. I showed up to work, and I felt on top of the world. I wouldn’t even complain if I had to run a non-emergency transfer!
I checked out the rig. We had everything we needed to save some lives. It was going to be a great shift! I could feel it in my bones!
The night started out with a minor MVA, and a pediatric with a low-grade temperature. Lunch approached, and we decided to eat at a local greasy-spoon. The diner was better suited for the after-bar crowd that needed some grease to soak up all of the alcohol in their systems, but it was also some awesome stay-awake food for those of us that burned the midnight oil.
BEEP. BEEP. “Unit 100 respond to the backyard of the residence at 12th and Springfield for an assault. Police is on the scene.” Ugh. I grabbed my portable radio as I waddled out to the rig. I was stuffed! Too much French toast and hash browns. Oh, but it was worth it! I keyed the mic and put us enroute. Lights…check. Sirens…check. Adrenaline…too… Wait. What was the address? My heart skipped a beat. That area was patrolled by a certain police officer that I happened to have a crush on!
I flipped down the visor so that I could check my makeup in the mirror. I endured the sideways glance and eyeroll from my partner while I added a little lip gloss to my pucker. I smiled big in the mirror so I could check my teeth. Nothing between my teeth. My hair was good. Here we go! “Unit 100 is on scene.”
We wended our way between the police cars and the fire truck. The patient was lying on the grass in the backyard of the residence. He was illuminated by the beams of several flashlights…one of those belonging to that one special officer. Here was my chance to show off what a great paramedic I was. As I approached the patient, I took in the swollen left eye, the nose that appeared to be broken, and hair that was matted with blood.
I greeted the officers and fire crew that were standing around. I gave my most dazzling smile to Mr. Police Officer. We chit-chatted for a minute, and then I greeted the battered guy lying in the grass. “Sir, can you tell me what happened?” He promptly replied with words that would make my mom faint. I tried to reason with him again. “Sir, I need to check you out. It looks like you could have a head injury. I am here to help you.” Maybe cajoling would get me somewhere. “F@*K you, lady!” I straightened my spine, and started to give him a piece of my mind. (I wanted my Mr. Police Officer to see I wasn’t a pushover!) No one is going to talk to me like tha…SPLAT!
The patient sat up and projectile vomited all over me from my neck down. The smell of some kind of ground up meat mixed with loads of some cheap smelling booze assaulted my nostrils. I don’t know if it was the smell or the feel of that wet goop hitting my body, and then the liquid soaking through every layer my of clothes that made my stomach turn the most. The masticated food slid down into my Dr. Martens. This was not going to end wel…
Blaargh…I couldn’t stop the plethora of greasy-spoon-bad-decisions from exiting my carefully applied lipgloss-laden mouth. I vaguely remember the laughter behind me. I certainly didn’t notice one or two of the officers snapping a couple of pictures for posterity.
Rule #5: NEVER Stand In Front of Potential Puker
The fire crew urged me back to walk back to their truck. I. Wanted. To. Die. They offered to “hose me down” before we took off for the hospital. (Things were going from bad to worse.) I stood there as they hosed off all the emesis…his and mine. When they finished, and I sloshed away, I was fairly certain I still felt chunks in my Docs. Maybe the earth will swallow me up. I squished by my police officer, and mumbled a goodnight.
Rule #6: Never Leave Evidence of Embarrassing Moments Behind
The patient was transported to the nearest hospital. As we walked in to the ER, all eyes were on me. I was dripping water everywhere, and making squeaking noises when I walked. Thank God one of the nurses took pity on me and offered to find me some clothes. Nice! Scrubs would be much better to go home in! Oh no…I was given salmon colored sweat pants, and a maroon colored sweatshirt…clothes reserved for their homeless clientele. Prom Queen, I was not. This night sucked!
One thing is for sure when it comes to First Responders (Police, Fire, EMS)…if they know what bothers someone, they will make sure to drive that point home as often as possible. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to look those guys in the eye on the next shift. I guess I should have been thankful that all I got were a bunch of barf bags in my ambulance…for the next several years!
Rule #9: Never Show Your Weaknesses
Note to self…find and destroy those pictures.
Laugh-out-loud funny!!! You’re a great writer!