Combative Patients

I get paid to fight people. It’s one of the perks of the job. Not because I like hurting people, but rather it’s excellent practice for if you are in a situation where you need to.

Many patients, after having a seizure or a diabetic coma (these are many of our calls) become altered and combative. They don’t know what’s going on and in their confusion, they think this group of men is trying to kill them. Thus, their instincts respond with full fight-for-your-life adrenaline and they fight us, sometimes viciously.

This is the reason why I fight old women. It’s for their care….I promise.

My favorite combative patient was a man in his twenties who had a seizure. My partner and I got the common call in South Central and as soon as we rolled up, a fire fighter came out the door and yelled to us “Get the restraints!!” This is when we knew it was going to be a good call.

We entered into a bedroom where this 6-foot 200lb beast of a man was thrashing on the bed with 6 Firefighters trying to hold him down as sweat poured down their faces. My partner, a small scrappy Italian with braces, immediately RAN INTO THE ROOM AND JUMPED ON THE GUY’S BACK AND ROAD HIM LIKE A BULL. I swear I remember him giving a Howard Dean “YAAHHH!!!” before he jumped.

I would have laughed, had I not been in the middle of serious wrestling mach. I jumped in and went to work on trying to restrain the man’s flailing arms. It was near impossible. He was rolling, flipping, spiting and screaming. He tried to bite me multiple times and I almost had to put an elbow to his face.

I used joint manipulation to control him without hurting him. Meanwhile, my partner, still in full Rodeo mode, put soft restraints around his wrists.  All 8 of us were working in total chaos.

It was a blast.

We hit him with a sedative. It didn’t work. A normal patient with full adrenaline is difficult to control, but this guy was a Bear. After 10 minutes of wrestling, we got him strapped down on a backboard so we could move him safely to the ambulance. The police never showed up.

The Fire Medic and I jumped in the back and although the Patient was strapped down, I used my entire body weight just to hold his hands down from ripping the Medic apart, who was trying to place and IV. The guy jerked so violently, his IV ripped out and blood started spraying everywhere.

Remember, all this madness is happening in the back of a speeding ambulance veering through traffic. So we in the back were getting thrown around as sirens and the patient screamed. Total chaos. By this point, the medic and I were drenched in sweat and laughing.

I realized then, I love my job.

Worse Than Death

Honestly, I do not fear death. It’s not scary to me. But there are two things that I consider worse than death. Babies and Prison. These are two things I don’t mess around with and don’t take any risk in happening to me. Both take away your freedom and ruin your life (Note: I want to have kids but way down the line).

Here is the case and point for Prison:

I ran a call to a courthouse jail for a male difficulty breather. I was first on scene and when I entered the jail I came upon a six foot five three hundred pound brick house of an inmate, sitting on the floor crying hysterically.

Amidst my confusion, the Sheriff came over to me and whispered in my ear that this man just learned he got 50 to Life in Prison. He was hyperventilating so much they had to call 911.

This man was sobbing in a way I’ve never heard before. His life was over and he knew it. I don’t know what his crime was, but to warrant that level of punishment it must have been violent and substantial. Yet at that moment, there was no pride, no disregard for society, or contempt for the establishment. Rather, pure sorrow and regret. He had ruined his life, and he knew it. Normally a rather imposing man was broken down to a bawling child. It was incredibly sad to watch.

Looking towards a career in law enforcement, I don’t really sympathize with people who commit heinous crimes. But in that moment, I genuinely felt sorry for this man. His life was over. He will die in prison, all for mistakes he made.  Mistakes I could tell he genuinely regretted and would do anything to take back. But time only moves forward and the choices we make in a single moment can destroy our lives.

Now that is scary.

Brazilian Dance Off

This is the story of how I got into a dance off with Brazilian street kids.

I love dancing. I am by no means great at it, but what I lack in talent, I make up for in what the Spanish call “fuego”. So much in fact, the fire Marshall won’t let me dance anymore. Not after what I did to the roof of that club.

The last time I was in Brazil, I spent a day in the city of Manaus with my medical team. We went to check out the opera house and in front of it were a group of Brazilian teenagers dancing. I made a crack about “Look, it’s Step Up 3: Brazil”, or some nonsense as I often do, and they must of seen me because they started calling us out.

Now, we all know the rules of taking it to the streets.

1. If someone calls you out, you have to step up. It’s a matter of honor
2. If you get served (God forbid), you got to serve them back.

They called us out so, representing my team, I stepped up. Fortunately, I had already learned to salsa dance on the streets of Brazil, so I had some experience in this environment. 

So I go up to this group of renegades and call out their boy (literally. he was 12). He does his moves. They hoot. They holler. I got served.

Everyone waited to see what I would do. I went up to one of the kids with headphones on, put one of his ear buds in mine to get a beat, then I BUSTED OUT MICHAEL JACKSON MOVES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET. 

The kids were FLOORED. Not because the moves were particularly good, rather I think it was just the last thing they expected this white American to do. Clearly these uneducated kids don’t know of our lack of shame. They couldn’t believe it. 

To my team’s amazement and laughter, this Brazilian kid (the one in the yellow shirt) and I went back and forth a couple times to the gasps and cheers of the crowd until--- after one particularly impassioned set I did, the kid threw his hands up in the air and walked away. 

He got served.

I couldn’t believe what just happened. I was in shock and quite confused. So I taunted him (as I often do to children) and immediately convinced my team to leave before I was found out that I’m not that good a dancer. Yet somehow I won the dance off against this dance crew of teenagers. The only time I’ve EVER clearly won a dance off and it was on the streets of Brazil. We all laughed the whole way home. 

Everything in this story is 100% true….. except for the part about the fire Marshall.