"You aren't tearing up my golf course," the proprietor, a short, balding man curtly replies as we jump out of the ambulance, ready to do battle against disease and injury.
"But we have to get to the patient-how else are we going to get there?We have a lot of heavy gear," the squad leader asks.
"I dunno- you figure something out. I just don't want ruts the size of basketball courts in my course, and your truck is definatly gonna do that.I don't wanna fix all that."
Roll eyes....Our fearless squad leader, well adept with dealing with all types of difficult individuals, takes it all in stride and decides on golf carts as the means of transportation.
Of which there are only three.
#1 goes to the owner
#2 goes to the squad leader and other trainee
#3 goes to the driver and the bags of gear
And I have to hang off the back of cart #2, because there is simply
no room for me anywhere else. This is a golf course with a lot of hills + rocks
and the prospect of going down them frontwards, let alone backwards,
is not extremely appealing. I will be going down them backwards.
"Isn't this fun?" the squad leader exclaims, as she mashes the accelerator
down to the floor, launching us off on a fifteen foot freefall before impacting earth, making a mini crater.
"Yeah!" squeals the other trainee, jumping up and down off the seat in uncontrollable glee.
I don't say anything, I'm too busy trying not to scream, faint, fall off, or be sick.
This is beyond insane.(not a roller coaster person here!) Jerk,jerk,jerk,
vroom, drop ,thuds, repeat.After about a mile, we finally reach the patient.(It was the scariest ride I have ever been on, bar none)
Initial impression- in no acute distress. Unlike one of the caregivers, whose knees are still knocking so hard you can hear them over in the next county.
"Sir- we're from the rescue squad, what happened?"
"Stepped in a hole, twisted my ankle," he gestures at his right foot, propped up on a pillow.
Beer cans litter the immediate area, one of his buddies is carrying one and if I had to lay good money on it, the patient has contributed greatly to the pile. I take his blood pressure and pulse and he fixes me with an all-knowing look.
"My pulse, is it 76?"
"Uh, yes it is, is that normal for you?"
"It's always 76. Been that my entire life."
I'm somewhat skeptical of that, how is it possible to have a pulse that never deviates, even at rest? Even if you are a fitness buff.
Squad leader stabilizes his ankle, wraps it up in the pillow. Help put him on cart #2 and they take off to the ambulance.(SL driving) Rather difficult I might imagine, but they get there. And the person I drove back with is a better driver and its not so bad.
Back in the ambulance, I again check his blood pressure and pulse. Again, the pulse is 76.I'm starting to believe the patient, it makes the 2nd time. Not that anything is disturbing the patient, who has reached that state of post-beer #5 euphoric eutopic bliss and feels little pain. His ankle was likely broken, and unlike a normal person he's not screaming,cussing, hitting, biting,scratching, flailing, moaning, writhing,spitting, arguing, or otherwise engaged. He's the perfect patient and does everything we ask. The one drawback, he is pretty chatty and during the lengthy ride to the hospital I think we covered all of the 5,000+ events in his life and then some. A third set of vitals...another 76. I believe him totally now.
Sometimes beer is a good thing, it's the great natural anesthesia. But it usually does not make people so easy to get along with. Ah, the good o'le RS days.
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