A friendly reminder to all my clients:  There is no point in lying to me, I already know what happened.  Your event is nothing new, no matter what it is.  You act like a 14 year old trying to hide porn under your mattress or cigarettes in your sock drawer thinking you’re the first to ever think of it.  So when I ask you a question, and you lie, and I ask the question again, take the hint.



A fall victim is bleeding.



OK, I’ll leave the reasoning for a code 3 response to a “possible broken nose” aside for this once because what happened when we got there was too much fun.

Arriving in the parking lot of the local market early in our shift we find a man seated awkwardly on the ground, keys and a small shopping bag nearby.  Also nearby is a half circle of a half dozen private security people from a nearby landmark who are all waving us over.  Thanks, fellas, never would have found you.

As I approach none of them breaks formation to come give me a candid run down of events, they just stand as if waiting for the show.

That was my first indication this would be interesting.

HM: Hi there, I’m Justin, are you OK down there? What happened?

DT (Day Tripper): I just want to go home, but they won’t let me.

HM: Who won’t let you? These folks? (As I motion to the security guards)

DT: Yeah, they called the cops.

HM:(as I’m completing my primary and beginning my secondary) Well, I’m not the cops, how did you end up on the ground and where are your glasses?

The 1cm laceration on his nose and cheek give away we was wearing glasses when his face hit the pavement, he has no other injuries.

DT: They took them.  Can I go now?

I helped him to his feet and we brushed him off, which is when his lack of balance gave away that the odor I smell is not crappy cologne that smells like vodka.  He stumbles into me as I’m holding his hand and the ambulance has pulled up about 12 feet away and opened their doors.

We walk (Oh. My. God.) to the rig and he’s looking over his shoulder at something behind us with a new fear in his eyes.

The police are now on the scene and one of MC’s buddies is off his bike and notices our new friend’s keys on the ground.  For now he keeps his distance.

DT: I don’t want to go to the hospital, I don’t need a hospital.

HM: That may be so, but lets just get a few things sorted out first here in the ambulance where there’s less of a crowd. How much have you had to drink today?

DT: I’m not drunk.

HM: That’s not what I asked.  Let’s start all over again, shall we? My name is Justin and I’m here to help you.  How much have you had to drink today?

DT: Nothing.  Who do you think you are asking me that?  I want your badge number.

HM: I just told you, my name is Justin and I’m here to help you.  Now, we’ll start over again keeping in mind I do this all day long.  This is how I feed my family, so when I think something is going on, chances are it is. Alright?  Hi, I’m Justin.  How much have you had to drink today?

DT: (Looking over my shoulder at the motor officer) a few shots.

HM: Thank you.  See, that was so much easier than lying to another man in the face.  Don’t you feel better?

DT: yeah. (almost proud of himself)

HM: Great! now, how many is a few? To me a few is 4.

DT: Yeah 4. (Now he begins to smile)

After establishing the time frame of the ingestion and the type of beverage and checking our other metrics for assessment the decision is made that the patient does not meet criteria for refusal of transport.  Myself and the transport medic agree it may not be necessary, but he fails 3 of the 10 requirements to refuse.

DT is not thrilled and begins to tell us all about how to do our jobs.  He was about to climb out of the ambulance when our friendly neighborhood motor officer stepped to the tailboard and peeked in.

MC: (Not the real MC, but the boots were nice.) If you step out of this ambulance and reach for your keys we’ll be speaking to one another.

DT sat back silent.

DT: OK, I’ll go.

Almost in a whisper he agreed to be transported because the other option suddenly seemed more complicated.

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