Yesterday, Amanda and I were driving to the gym. We were having our usual discussion, as it pertains to our day at work. My days are pretty standard. Trucks won’t start, this popped off, that went boom, and this started leaking. I have a few weeds to kill, and some disease to identify, nothing that is going to save anybody’s world, and nothing that will end it. Overall my days are all really good, with the only problems being mechanical issues which are to be expected. Now, Amanda works at a hospital, so her days are very, very, VERY different from mine. There is not much that she can discuss with me as far as details with patients, but I do know this much….emergencies be happening up in there, and my services are not needed. We have a great deal of medical professionals and emergency responders at our gym, and I have a strange fascination with them. The reason I have so much respect for people in this line of work is basically because I am a gigantic panty. I have told Amanda on numerous occasions that I am “nobody’s hero”. In case of rapture or emergency, my ass will be exactly where you left me, except for I will be laid out, unconscious, probably in a pool of my own tears. I faint at the first sign of blood, and become queasy at even the idea of someone throwing up.
When Amanda and I had only been dating a couple of months, I stopped by the hospital with her so she could pick up some of her things. As I was being introduced to one of her associates, I glanced behind her and I locked up tight. I said, “is that guy dead?”. IT WAS A DEAD BODY. I explained to her that I slept in my parents bedroom for 2 months after watching Poltergeist. I wouldn’t dare watch a movie rated higher than PG-13 without someone else around. I’m still petrified of a scene in the movie Pet Cemetary where a dying dude wakes up, and grabs homeboy’s shirt collar. I was scared sh*tless. You cannot just let a guy like me walk into a place where people are dead or dying. The loss of sleep and amount of therapy that it would take me to get over watching someone die, or even get stitches is more than I can ever afford. But the fact remains, people sometimes die in hospitals. Sure, I know what happens in hospitals, but I have never REALLY thought about what a ‘normal” day is in an Emergency Room”. There is so much detail and knowledge that goes into every particular patient that it is a wonder that anyone can keep up with it all. What blows my mind is that there are actual procedures and precedents established for most every patient that comes in with a particular injury. I can’t even remember if we have band-aids at the house or not, let alone where and when to apply them. The thought of anyone walking through my door and needing anything more than a socket or a sandwich is petrifying. These people have the solution for every dumbassed thing that any redneck can accidentally do to themselves, and the remedy for most ailments occurring naturally. I have told Amanda that I don’t want to do anything where my attention to detail only affords me one mistakey between life and death….this also includes working with electricity.
I love to hear her work. I enjoy eavesdropping on the conversations she has with the other nurses when she gets a page in the middle of the night, or when she is explaining what actions need to be taken. Sometimes I want to answer the pager myself and provide recommendation for the patient’s care. “I would go to the Omnicell and alternate 8CC’s of Bankomyacin with 6ML’s of Propohol to eradicate their hemoglobin to a potentially safe level of hematocrit, so as to not disturb their statins. I would suggest a trach along with a ventilator and chest compressions, so we can normalize the arrhythmia and lower the white T-count. Check their potassium levels, give an intravenous flex capacitor neutralizer and start an IV of saline to balance out their nemochromatisins….and give em a dozen percocet to go with a swig of Vodka for the drive home.” See? I could do it. That’s the extent of my medical knowledge. A friend of mine sent me a meme that read, “if it can’t be fixed with duct tape or a hammer…you have an electrical problem.” That’s basically my creedo.
When I recently visited the ER, I didn’t have any idea what was going on. I had been barfing for a week and I felt like my ribcage was being pulled in seperate directions by a team of horses. My heart was being ripped from my body and I was scared to death (turned out to be nothing, but I can be a bit dramatic). Anyways, I was immediately greeted at the ER by my friend Stefanie who scooped me up and placed me in the hands of another competent nurse who then read a crystal ball and suddenly knew everything about me. A doctor sat down beside me and started rattling off possible causes and conditions that sounded like she was speaking in tongues. I would not have been able to spell a tenth of the words that where coming out of this ladies mouth, but I was sure as sh*t glad to have her around. Just being around the calmness of the nurses and doctors provided me a comfort that was hard to describe. When someone doesn’t know what they are doing, it’s obvious. It’s especially obvious to someone like me….who doesn’t know what they are doing MOST of the time. But this doctor and these nurses, they were on point. It is so comforting to know that while I was sucking down jello shots, perfecting my bounce at beer pong, and gurgling bong water, there were decent people in the world with goals and aspirations , who spent their time preparing to have an impact on people’s lives. I think that it must be great to work in a field where everyday you truly have the opportunity to make a real difference the world. Not that I want to do it, because the only difference I would be making in their life would probably be ending it. But I watch Amanda, and where I want to stay as far away from any emergency as possible, she wants to get closer to it. She WANTS to be in the ER. These nurses and doctors have a NEED to be in the thick of it. Not this dude, the only “thick” I want to be in is a thick mattress or a thick cheeseburger. My job consists of knowing the difference in a grassy weed and a broadleaf weed. Regardless, I need to kill it. If I spray the wrong thing, or prescribe the wrong cure, I can buy a couple of pieces of sod, give an apology, and go on about my day. Things don’t work that way in Amanda’s life. I have seen people spend a lot of money sodding their yard and a drought come right behind it. Sure, it pains me to see it die, but I don’t come home and have to jump an emotional hurdle because some dude is out a few thousand bucks. Amanda and her associates have to press forward and move past all sorts of tragedies involving things which are not so easily replaced. I realize that it is just different strokes for different folks, but damn I’m glad that every one of us is so different. I’m glad that I sling fertilizer and they work at the hospital, and I would imagine the feeling is mutual. Unless the phrase, “Oh Fu*k” while screaming in a pitch that sounds like a hybrid between ET and Freddy Mercury has some sort of medicinal value, then my services will not ever be needed in any capacity at or around a hospital. So, to anyone in the medical profession or emergency responders, my hat is off to you. I hope that you see the impact that you have on people, and are aware of how much you are valued. You are surrounded by people who share your passion, compassion, and bravery everyday, so it is probably easy for you to forget that the world is full of panties like me who would truly be up sh*t creek if it wasn’t for people like you. Have a nice weekend. We will be back to bullsh*ttin on Monday.
Peace, Love, and all things Beef related,