Ditch Doc

The last couple of days, that is. Starting with yesterday morning, when we got to do three medication protocols in five hours. Today we had another very interesting medical call, (can’t tell you or I’d have to kill you), the mill caught on fire for the third time in two days, sending up a plume you could see from town all afternoon, and a couple of cars smashed harmlessly into eachother in the lowering sun. In sum, two or three lives saved, relations with the fire department greatly improved, and lime vests miraculously spared from excessive smearage.

Epilogue: Guess where the elementary kids are going for their next big industrial field trip? Hint: Good chance it’ll be way more fun than they’re expecting. Though shorter.

Since we got our new high-vis (read blinding autoluminescent lime yellow) vests, all set about with reflective tape, I’ve noticed three things:
1. I feel like I must know what I’m doing.
2. No one in the vests has been hit by cars.
3. Increased catcalling. Now approaching 0.025 per shift.

This morning we went on a fire standby at one of the mills a couple of hours before shift change. At eight, dispatch called:
“858 Foxtrot, I’ll just page out the day crew to come out and relieve you.”
Us: “858 Foxtrot. Actually, Fox nights IS Fox days, so I guess you could say we’re here already.”
Dispatch: “Uh, stellar response time guys. Talk to you later.”

At the beginning of the shift today, I put on a radio and walked over to the hospital residence to try out the lab tech’s new espresso machine. As soon as I plugged it in, it broke out in an unearthly anguished howling. Taking the noise for an alarm, I pulled the plug, fiddled with a couple of bells and a whistle, and tried again. Cue the apocalypse. But was the noise actually coming from the espresso machine? I looked up at the startled but battle-ready faces of my cohorts in the dining room. I looked down at my belt. The cause was suddenly clear, and with a flick of the wrist I returned the fabric of the universe to its proper state. “Hey guys… Guess what frequency the espresso machine broadcasts on.”

On the way back from an air transfer this afternoon, I fell asleep in the back of the plane. I dreamt that when we’d landed with the patient, we realized that although we’d remembered her coat and bag, we’d forgotten to bring along her lungs. Sorry, we said. We’ll courier them to you.

Everyone please write A&E and tell them you’re furious that they would air a reality show covering four men’s decisions whether or not to enter seminary.

Here’s their address:
235 East 45th Street
New York, NY 10017
Email:
feedback@AandE.com

P.S. I wonder which seminary that is? Maybe they should get a letter too.

Another thought on babies. At the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington in 1994, Mother Teresa said, in reference to abortion: “Please don’t kill the child. I want the child. Give the child to me.” But consider: she lived among the poorest of the poor, and was one herself. So by saying what she did, she was saying that a life of abject poverty from birth is better than no life at all. It’s a direct challenge to the Western idea that third world babies should be aborted to save them from poverty, and it’s from the mouth of someone who lives there.

Please pray for a family friend, dealing with an extremely complicated and dangerous pregnancy. Thanks.